Flames of Betrayal - The four concubines

Prologue

No matter how he turned and twisted it, Astaroth was in a tight spot. The tax increase hadn't covered the war expenses as expected. Not even close. Silvery moonlight poured through the open window onto the financial report in his hands. The Grand Duke of the seventh level and supreme treasurer of the North swallowed, his mouth bone dry. "The situation is grim, Your Majesty," he finally admitted, without taking his eyes off the document. The many red figures on it were eating into his mind, making him dizzy. He could already hear the lash of the whips and sighed. "My advisors and I miscalculated. My plan did not yield the desired results; the additional tax on luxury goods from the East was not high enough... forgive me..." His voice trailed off. His words were meaningless; his apology was unnecessary. He might as well have gotten up from the council table and left. He knew what the punishment for failure was. One hundred lashes with the nine-tailed cat and twenty more for every time he made a sound. The numbed part of him just wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible and slip back into bed with his wife. It was already the third time this week that his Majesty had called the council for an unscheduled conference from bed, and gradually, the members were getting tired of it. Hardly any of them could keep their eyes open or suppress a yawn behind their outstretched claw.

Spiked tails rustled impatiently over the burgundy carpet, jaws ground, claw-like hands twitched. The air crackled with tension. They all mentally prepared themselves for an explosive outburst from their monarch. They saw chairs flying through the air, shattering against walls... they saw bones break like dry branches.

But the outburst did not come.

For a moment, there was a silence at the table so thick you could almost touch it. All eyes were fearfully fixed on the King of the North, mightiest son of the seven dark princes, greatest of the four archdevils ruling over the Hells.

Asmodeus. Master of sorcery, guardian of gold, bearer of truth.

He had many names.

At the head of the lavishly set table, he sat still and motionless like a statue. The mighty bat-like wings, pale membranes—delicate and almost transparent—in their unfolded form, stretched the entire length of the hall. Golden pendants and diamond-encrusted chains glowed at the spiked wingtips, spanning the entire span and forming intricate patterns under the exposed nipples of the archdevil. It was known in all seven Hells that he often wore nothing more than a crooked smirk on his lips and gold and gemstones worth an entire kingdom on his body.

Tonight, that was not the case. The King of the North did not smile, partly because the tightness of his leather pants chafed his dick. The other reason was the incompetence of his statesmen.

A rumble that made the glasses on the table clink escaped his chest. He grabbed himself by the crotch and readjusted things so it didn't hurt so much. Then he leaned back in his chair and let his gaze sweep over the gathered crowd of devils, demons, and idiots. "As my right-hand, I expected more from you, Astaroth. You have torn a huge hole in my treasury, and I am keen to know how you plan to stop the bleeding," he said, his voice sliding smoothly like silk across the table.

The King's treasurer lowered his head as the weight of his words hit him along with a charge of scalding magic. Beads of sweat dripped from his crimson forehead. "To answer that question, Your Grace, will require a little more time," Astaroth murmured, his sharp teeth clenched tightly under his lord's burning gaze. The surge of magic emanating from the devil's golden eyes clawed at his flesh, burning him, assaulting him from all sides. The feeling of suffocation overwhelmed him; he wanted to get up, flee... but his body no longer obeyed him. Like threads pulling on him, Astaroth's hand rose, unwillingly, and roughly clasped his own throat.