His Broken Fairy

Chapter 7: The Depths of Power

The night descended over Zareth's fortress like a velvet cloak, the darkness thick and almost tangible. The air inside the grand hall buzzed with an undercurrent of excitement and unease. Demons of all shapes and sizes filled the room, each one a creature of nightmare, their glowing eyes and sharp, gleaming fangs casting flickers of firelight across the stone walls. The celebration Zareth had spoken of was already in full swing, and the energy in the air was palpable.

Lysandra sat beside Zareth on a dark throne carved from obsidian, her posture poised but uncertain. Despite her earlier resolve, she couldn't ignore the knot of tension tightening in her stomach. The weight of her new role pressed down on her more heavily than she had anticipated, and every glance thrown her way by the demons who now called her Queen felt like a judgment—a test of her worthiness.

Zareth sat confidently beside her, his presence commanding even in silence. His dark eyes surveyed the hall, and any demon who dared to meet his gaze quickly looked away, a mixture of fear and respect crossing their faces. He exuded power with such ease, as though he was born for it. But then again, Lysandra reminded herself, he was the King of Hell. Power was in his nature, it was his birthright.

"Relax," Zareth's deep voice murmured beside her, his hand resting lightly on her arm. The contact was warm, grounding her in the moment. "You're doing fine."

Lysandra forced herself to breathe more evenly. "I don't feel like I'm doing fine," she admitted quietly, her gaze scanning the crowd. Some of the demons still whispered among themselves, no doubt speculating about her—about why their mighty king had chosen a fairy, a wingless one at that, to sit beside him.

"You're nervous," Zareth observed, his lips curving into a faint smile. "That's normal. But you don't need to prove yourself tonight. Simply being here, beside me, is enough. They'll come to respect you in time."

Lysandra glanced at him, her pulse quickening. His calm confidence was reassuring, but it didn't erase the lingering doubts swirling in her mind. "And if they don't?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "What if they never accept me?"

Zareth's expression darkened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Then they'll learn that defying you means defying me. And no one in this realm is foolish enough to challenge my will." His voice held a dangerous edge, one that sent a shiver down her spine.

For a moment, Lysandra allowed herself to relax into his presence, letting the strength of his power flow over her. But beneath the surface of her thoughts, she couldn't help but wonder what it truly meant to be a queen in this place. Was she merely a figurehead, someone Zareth had chosen out of affection or protectiveness? Or was she destined for more—meant to wield power in her own right, to claim a place of authority beside him?

As if sensing her thoughts, Zareth straightened and addressed the hall. His voice echoed through the cavernous space, instantly silencing the murmurs of the crowd. "Tonight, we celebrate our return," he declared, his tone commanding and firm. "But this is not merely a victory for me. Lysandra, the Queen of Hell, stands with me now."

A ripple of surprise ran through the gathered demons, their glowing eyes flickering with intrigue and uncertainty. Lysandra felt every gaze turn to her, as though the weight of their collective judgment could crush her beneath it. She resisted the urge to shrink under their scrutiny, instead holding her head high as she had learned from Zareth.

"She is no longer the prisoner you might have heard of," Zareth continued, his eyes hard and unyielding. "She is no longer the broken creature who suffered in chains. She is my queen, and under my protection, she will be feared and respected by all who dwell in this realm."