A betrayed princess sacrifices herself to get vengeance for her ruined mind and life. A newborn prince will become the ultimate weapon for her bloody revenge.
View MoreI am a half-demon.
Oh, why have you all gone pale? Afraid I'm going to leap at you and rip your throats out? I'm not. First, that would be really messy, and second, there are oh so many ways to kill a man in a much faster and more efficient manner.
Why are you making the sign of the Bright Saint? I am no vampire, no spirit of darkness, not even a pureblood demon. Actually, I could even enter a church without any problems. I don't, though. There are a few reasons. First of all, I'm lazy. The service starts at dawn, as you are well aware, even a bit earlier. Why would I get out of my warm bed to drag myself somewhere and wail together with the parishioners? Dream on. The other reason is no less important. The people are so sure I'm scared of all that holy paraphernalia-no use in disappointing them. I'd rather that become the last thing they learn in their lives. Yeah, you know what I mean. They wouldn't be disappointed anymore afterward. Well, maybe at their funeral.
Hey, stop with the pale face! This is all pure theory. Oh, and the third thing, chances are, our god-fearing thrall would suffer a stroke if I were to appear inside the holy walls of a temple. After all, "ungodly vermin are to suffer in the eternal darkness until the end of time..." Yep, that's from his speeches. Oh well. If I got angry with each fool who crossed my path, I'd tire my tail out.
Which tail? My tail-a long, pretty, scaly tail, with a scorpion's stinger at the end. One sting, and you have a date with the Bright Saint, telling him all about my wickedness. One drop of my venom could poison an entire barrel of water.
Actually, I'm quite catlike. Have you seen an angry cat? They strike their enemies with their tails...and so do I. Sometimes, I miss. Sometimes, I don't. Why not, really? I am a half-demon, am I not? An unholy creature? You bet! A crown assassin? Absolutely. Too bad for me, though, half-demons aren't fit to be kings. I fell into a trap; I served the crown so well that I ended up wearing it, and it doesn't want to let me go. How did it happen?
The usual way. They say, there is no fool like a fool with initiative. I can confirm that. Yet, there is an even worse idiot: a crowned one, with rich imagination and initiative. Now, this is a terrible combination-a real disaster-and that's what my uncle was like.
How did I turn out to be a half-demon? Don't ask me stupid questions. A half-demon is born when one of the parents is human and the other is a demon.
You say that's obvious? So what do you want to know? Ah, how could a human meet a demon? Fine. I'll tell you my story-from the very beginning.
My uncle-and I sincerely hope he gets the hottest frying pan in all of hell and no oil-was happily married to a beautiful girl. They were a gorgeous couple. He was a tall, fair-haired knight in golden armor, straight from the sappy dreams of teenage girls. He had a fair share of female admirers, too, and waited to settle down until he was thirty. He would have done it even later, but his father, my grandfather, forced him to get hitched. He needed heirs, you see-legitimate heirs, not bastards born by maids and ladies-in-waiting.
So half of our nobles are related to me through my uncle. They called it "merit to the crown" and took a lot of pride in it, and the especially daring ones even tried implying something in front of me. I didn't get it. If my uncle had screwed their moms, whose husbands had turned a blind eye to this, what would the crown have owed those people? Nope, no way. Whoring yourself out is everyone's personal matter. And don't tell me he was the king and would get furious upon a refusal, punishing the entire family. The proud ones had refused, not giving a damn about the money. There was one case... But I'll tell you about it later.
I dealt with those implications in a simple way. I told them the merits belonged to their parents, and not from the crown, but also from my dear old uncle in particular. If they wanted anything, they could earn it themselves, from my own person. My bedroom was open, and demons, as everybody knew, were bisexual. Half-demons as well. Oddly, nobody volunteered.
They did come at me with their daggers, though, and swords, and spells; they even brought an exorcist once. After that, I had to raise the housemaids' salaries. Now, they had real merits to the crown. I mean, removing those noodles from the chandelier... Why noodles? Well, if half-demons get mad, they can cut you into ribbons-with their claws. And I was really mad that time. But I'd better tell you how it all started.
My uncle married a gorgeous duchess. She was a real beauty, that one. I wouldn't be against spending some time alone with her myself, just no marriage. She had raven-black hair, deep blue eyes, delicate features as if painted with a fine brush, and her figure...you couldn't see everything because of the dress, of course, but her bosom was to die for. And everything else, in all likelihood, was at least as good. Her legs might have been a little bit crooked, but who could notice that under a long skirt before marriage? Anyway, my uncle was head over heels. She wasn't having any of that, though. She fluttered her eyelashes and wiggled her behind, but as soon as he tried to touch her under her corsage, she rebuffed him. No sex before a wedding, she said. At the slightest provocation, she burst into tears, asking His Majesty to take pity on her virtue, show some understanding for her situation, and not to rob the poor girl of the only thing she could use as her dowry.
Well, as for poor, she got it right. She was as poor as a church mouse; each of her several dresses was patched up eight times at the very least. Later, after the king's death, she became known as One Dress Queen, as she never wore the same dress twice. She gave them away to her maids or court ladies. My uncle pandered to her every whim. What can a man do? It was love. I always wondered, how do people think when in such a state? Probably not with their brains. In short, that lady had only one treasure-between her legs, and she sold it to the highest bidder-for the crown. Don't tell me about love, please. Those who loved him, my uncle used and discarded like trash. When you love someone, you're not thinking about yourself, and they didn't, giving their honor and soul to the knight in golden armor-no bargaining.
They were simply happy that the crown prince stooped as low as to spend a whole night with them-or even two nights. That was real love. What she did was prostitution. At least common whores were cheap. That one turned out to be expensive.
My uncle, then Prince Rudolph, finally proposed, making her Princess Abigail.What a good-looking couple they were!
You could hang their portraits on every wall in the city, and nobody would complain. Once Rudolph was king, folks rushed to gawk at them during royal parades on Sundays. There they went, my uncle, tall, golden-haired, on a black stallion, the crown barely visible in his hair, and his wife on a white horse, slender, delicate, bedecked in diamonds, like a midwinter tree. I never liked those baubles, maybe because she did.
Both threw copper coins into the crowd, as people cried tears of adoration and showered them with flowers. How...wonderful. Wasn't there anybody who could throw a brick? It was all bought with their money, with their blood. The coppers got fleeced from them, too, the very next day. Yet how could you prove that to a crowd? You couldn't.After marrying the king, our Abigail started churning out kids. There were four: two boys, two girls, alternating between genders-boy, girl, boy, girl-so everyone got what they wanted. Everyone was content. My grandfather got noble offspring for the Radenor dynasty-that's my last name as well, if you hadn't gotten that yet, and the name of our kingdom. Abigail got the crown and money, my uncle, the position of a gorgeous wife and children. He never stopped fooling around, though.A leopard can't change its spots.
That's right. I am his sister's son. How was I born? As I might have already mentioned, my uncle was a fool, which is why his father tried to school him as much as he could. He tried sending him out as an ambassador, as a negotiator-escorted by veteran diplomats, too-but Uncle was always present. He needed to be taught at least something, or the kingdom would be plundered while he, with all his chivalry, stood by and watched. His own wife would be the first in line to try something. I also suspect that on top of everything, Grandfather did that to save money. Uncle's retinue cost a pretty penny. I spend less money a year for the entire court than he does in a month, and that's mostly because of the palace. It's gotten old, needs constant repairs. Otherwise, it would be even less.
As for our neighbors... East and south, thank the gods, Radenor doesn't share borders with any countries. It is just the sea. That's why our poor and destitute didn't die of hunger during Uncle's reign. The sea's bounties are plenty, the waters warm. Throw a rope, and you'll catch a fish. In the north, we have Riolon and Tevarr-two kingdoms. On the west, a mountain range. Not a proper one, really, more like a chunk of it. Behind it lies the third kingdom, Mirall. We're constantly at odds with Riolon and Tevarr. If they ever forgot about their own squabbles and joined against us, it would mean curtains for Radenor. Yet they never do.
As for Mirall... Our mountains aren't much to look at, not very tall, not really impressive. Yet they are home to lots of rich mines. Gold, silver... And both Radenor and Mirall need these metals. There was a constant back-and-forth because of these mountains: we warred, negotiated, sent diplomats, had fallings out...
That time, my uncle went as an ambassador. He took Abigail with him and all of their children. My mother went with them. She was the heir's younger sister, my grandfather's second child, a late-in-life daughter. He loved her immensely, causing my uncle to be green with envy. She was about eighteen years younger than her brother. Nobody had expected her birth. The queen had died in labor, yet Grandfather had risen to the occasion. He hadn't sent her away; he hadn't come to hate her-he had said that the child had been his late wife's last gift to him, and he would do anything to keep her safe. And he did. He looked after her, cared for her, and catered to her as well as he could, until that ill-fated trip.
Why did my grandfather send her? The girl was already seventeen, high time she got married. Finding a good suitor in her own kingdom was a challenge, however. She was a princess! She deserved no less than a prince, or at least a duke, and not just any duke. Royal heirs are historically accustomed to selling themselves for land, for a signature on a document, for something useful for the kingdom. Actually, Grandfather would have never let my uncle marry Abigail if he'd had a choice. Their wedding happened in secret. The priest who married them was banished as far away as Torwhal Island, populated with two dozen fishermen and their families, six ravens, and four dogs. What an illustrious career after serving at the royal temple in the capital! His place was taken by Felix, the retainer. He was a wonderful person.
A retainer? Nothing special, that's just what we call priests of the Bright Saint. Those at the bottom of the church hierarchy, who are just starting out and just swore their oaths, are called slaves of the Bright Saint. Thralls are the next stage, followed by servitors. Then there are the retainers, and the Confidant is the head of the church. As for common folk, they are simply the fruits of his work-not even slaves, more like toys. He can play with them, break them, toss them aside-except for necromancers, really. Throughout all the kingdoms, necromancers are known to serve the Dark Tempter, and their unclean souls should be sent all the way to heaven, to be dealt with by the Bright Saint-and become new toys, better ones. What a nice system.
Still, Felix was different. Grandfather chose him randomly out of a dozen sent by the Confidant. He never regretted that. First of all, Felix was a person-a true Radenorian-and only then a slave, a thrall, or any other unholy spawn.
Oh, sorry. The only unholy spawn here is me, and I'm no worse than many people. Anyway, let us continue with the story.
My grandfather didn't send Princess Michelle for no reason. He wanted her to get to know Duke Philip, the ruler of Miellen, a border dukedom. He wasn't old yet, around forty, and was known to be a smart and gentle man. He was a widower; his wife had fallen to her death during a hunt. He never married afterward, as he loved her too much. But he was getting on in years, and had to start thinking about heirs. A princess was a good match; anybody would be flattered. Plus, Grandfather was thinking about eventually annexing Miellen to Radenor. Let the kingdom grow.
Why didn't he offer a marriage right away? He wanted to let the princess look at her potential husband-to-be. I did say she was his favorite child, and more: my mother had a powerful gift for fire magic. This is something known to manifest in the royal bloodline-rarely, yet in a huge way. Princess Michelle had been able to light up candles on chandeliers since her childhood. Once, she singed a court lady's hairdo, and no cocky courtier could even think about propositioning her in a dark hallway. After all, nobody would want their tender bits burned to a crisp.
Abigail didn't like the princess. Michelle was her complete opposite. Abigail was a brunette, somewhat of a vamp. Personally, I thought her face was a bit rat-like, but I'm biased. Uncle liked her, after all. Michelle, on the other side, was frail and waifish. Her hair was white with a bluish tint, her eyes big and blue. She was of short stature, her face like a porcelain doll they make in Riolon, her figure delicate. Next to her, Abigail was nothing. I once hung their portraits together and realized why my aunt had hated my mother so much. Because she was prettier, smarter, and kinder than Abigail. Because of her royal blood and her magical gift; there were lots of reasons. In a word, my mother was a thorn in Abigail's side. And then, there was another important matter. Michelle's children had rights to the throne, too. Grandfather always joked that if anything happened to Rudolph, his daughter would bear him a grandchild-the future king. How ironic.
âHow do you know about the charm spells?ââHow could I not! Innis, do you know that your mother had an elder brother?âInnis grew pale.âY-yes. But heâs...ââDisappeared without a trace. Why would Sidon Andago need him?âI caught the girl so she wouldnât faint.âTell me more, you corpse!âThat tone finally made him pay attention. The ghost looked at me once more, I released my power, and it was his turn to become paleâor, rather, translucent.âBy the Bright! YouâââYep. Me. And if you donât answer me right now, I will burn your chicken coop to the ground!âThe spirit sighed and began telling his story. He was also a necromancer, who, by a cruel twist of fate, had become a healer.If you make a drawback your advantage, you can heal with the power intended to destroy, that was true.I had never been taught that, but the Andago family seemed no stranger to experimentation.Anyway, Tidann had died like he was supposed to. But during his lifetime, he had conducted trials in that same labor
I was barely moving my lips, but she definitely heard me, as she ran her hand over her hair and all of a sudden, broke down in tears. It had been a while since I had felt myself that stupid.Still, Martha didnât cry for long. She raised her head high.âAlex, boy, yer alive!âAnd there was so much love and happiness in her voice. She didnât care about herself at all, the main thing was my safety.I couldnât help but blurt out, from the bottom of my heart, âMotherâŠâTruly, the mother is not the one who gave birth.âI was so scared for you. After we spoke, I ran off here, yer snake led me. Everythingâs quiet, but the ghosts are all afraid. Lots of templars in the palace, all tip-toeing âround yer wifey. Methinks, âtwas the bitched viper who started all this, mark me word!ââMother, but whereâs Tommy? Rene?ââTommyâs on the lam, heâs taking his wife to Rick. Rene and his pa high-tailed, too. Probably hiding somewhere, âlest they lose their knobs in the heat.ââDid somebody getâââYep. The
During dinner, I felt like I was the main course.The local residents questioned me about everything, starting from silk prices in Tevarr to my family, from weather to the royal palace.I squirmed like I was in a hot pan, trying to avoid telling too much. I was pretty good at that.By the end of dinner, Amorta graced me with a smile and a suggestive look from her thin eyelashes, while Sidon thawed out and started to tell me his hunting stories. If they had been true, all the beasts in Radenor wouldnât be enough for him.I listened to them, nodded, and was finally rewarded with seeing the heir: Sidonâs complete copy. He had Amortaâs ears, but was the spitting image of his father otherwise.Maybe that was why he cherished the child so much. Innis was way too smart, sharp, and independent, not to mention, entirely Andago in her appearance.Blood couldnât be locked away. I had to coo for a bit, while discreetly collecting a few stray hairs from the babyâs clothes.Letâs see if heâs truly
Summoning Ak-kvir was easy.He appeared almost right away and sniffed the air.âYou again, necromancer?ââDo you object?ââDo you have the payment?âI sneered viciously.âIâll figure something out.ââGet comfortable, then.âI sat down on his back, and Ak-kvir darted off straight ahead. Eight hours to the town?Dear Innis, just twenty minutes...and thatâs taking into account that the demon had grown very lazy.We passed the town wall in a few rough leaps.Good thing that Ak-kvirâs claws were saber-sharp and could pierce any stone three feet deep. And finally, I was left standing in a narrow street. Monsignors bandits, come on.I canât believe nobody wants these easy pickings!Yeah, that was rhetorical.Five minutes later, a three-man group stumbled upon me.They were so delighted that it was even funny.âOh, look whoâs come to visit!ââA noble boy, bless his heart!ââYou there, stand and deliver!âThey tried to surround me; how naive. Did they want me to speak?Like dark lightning, I d
Tommy was blissfully sleeping inside his house with Henrietta nestled against his shoulder, snuffling and smiling in her sleep. But when an ice-cold wave came over them, both had to rise up, their peace disturbed.That wind was something they could never hide or shield themselves from; it was a death wind, and it brought cold from the grave, making him feel as if he were in a coffin.Even dead men could wake up after feeling something like that...and sometimes, they did.âWhat!âThe darkness in the room grew thicker and took on Marthaâs shape, smiling with her mouth full of shark teeth.âItâs me, Tom. Martha.âInstantly, Tommy was relieved. He had seen that many times before.No big deal, Alex had pulled stunts much worse than that. When you live with necromancers, do as necromancers do.âWhatâs wrong?ââTreason. Take your wife and hide, I will warn the Morinars, so...try to get to Torrin. You are the most vulnerable of us all.ââHowâs Alex?ââAlive.âTommy breathed out.âGood. But wh
I had two options: either promptly summon Ak-kvir and get to the capital, wherein I would clean up the mess, but the schemers would have time to get away, that was as clear as day.The other option...Fine, youâve gotten rid of the rightful king.Now what?Oops.Well, you can sit on the throne of Radenor, you would even stay there...for like twenty seconds. After that, prepare a dust tray and a broom. No need for a coffin, the remains could be poured over a flowerbed in the palace garden. If I held off my return, I would get the chance to reveal the plotters.But what about my family?Well, that was a moot question. If I were a plotter, I would first kill the kingâmeâand then, if everything worked out well, switch to his entourage.Yet, I suspected that no templars had survived. Generally, I was a nice guy, but they had managed to really piss me off. I still had some time before they would attack Martha, Tommy, Rene, Dariola... Although, why would they attack Dariola?Her child was th
Surprised, Innis stared at the demon who had appeared in her pentagram. He wasnât quite what she had expected. Visually, he seemed a proper demon: claws, scales, and a tail.But should he really be all bloody and unconscious?Grandpaâs diary never said anything like that. Too bad I couldnât find any other notes.But...what am I to do with it? Try to call him? Shake him awake?No, reaching inside the pentagram was forbidden.What if I poke him with a stick? He canât just lie there in my tower, can he?I have enough problems on my plate without a dead demon!**I was in agony. Every bit of my body that was still there was emanating with pain, even my tail. âDemon, are you alive? Demon! Damn you, youâre a rascal, not a demon!âIt was clearly a girlâs voice. She seemed young and quite upset. She had a throaty contralto, clear and singsong, like hot chocolate.I definitely wasnât in a temple.Where then?I focused and tried to prop myself on my elbows, then open my eyes.Yeah, they had gi
After Martha told me that my wife was likely with child, I wasnât even surprised or worried.She isnât saying anything to me?There could be lots of reasons!Maybe she didnât know so herself or wanted to make sure. What was there to discuss? I just had to charge the court healer with a task.Alas, I was wrong, and I had to pay for that mistake sooner than I had expected. Two days later, I found myself on the way to a small town called Livaren.I was still traveling around the country so the officials I had appointed would stay on edge. When the king shows up on your doorstep and demands an answer...or just shows up...it can really shake you up.Bad news came from Livaren.Somebody destroyed ten of my ghosts. I had to visit and figure out what was happening there. That was exactly what I did. I was used to nobody ever standing in my way. Have I already mentioned that sometimes, I can be a real idiot?The mayor, Baron Fagin, was cheerful. He had clearly screwed up. But considering that
Princess Dariola.What did she look like?Not a beauty, or at least I didnât think so. She was tall, half a head taller than me, and thin as a rail.She had blonde hair and blue, watery eyes, and her lips were so pale they seemed almost white. She did have nice hands, with long thin fingers, worthy of an artist or a musician.I also liked her voice: high-pitched, clear. She would probably sound great singing merry songs somewhere in a meadow, during summer.Alas, but during our introduction, I didnât seem to attract her much, either. I guess she thought me too weak and fragile, and I had no wish to disprove her.So, I just kissed her hand.âYour Highness.âJust a neutral phrase. No âMy princessâ or âWelcome to my kingdom.âThey made me an offer I could hardly refuse, and that was enough.Oh, I had divorced soon after getting crowned.The church granted me my request, even if they did try to negotiate. Your Majesty, of course, weâre ready to help you in any way you want, but weâve gott
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