Split of the Worlds (18+)

Chapter 7.2

Veidja had just found enough time to more or less digest the knowledge of the existence of a garden in the Red Depths and at least partially restore her inner balance when she was summoned to change into a fresh white dress and head for the throne room.

In plain language, summoned meant that an aisle-full escort made sure she didn't go anywhere else. N'Arahn had not come to pick her up himself, which almost disappointed her a little.

But after he had shown her around the garden, she was, she had to admit to herself, ready to very carefully engage in whatever he wanted to confront her with next. Or did he have to? He himself had not seemed too enthusiastic about his announcement that other demonlords were coming to visit.

In order for her to make a proper choice.

The warrior shook inwardly. That was so absurd. But thankfully she was stronger again, both physically and mentally, and felt ready to take on the challenges ahead.

She had hardly entered the throne room since the feast the warmonger had thrown a while ago. There had been no reason for it and she didn't want to be here now. To her relief, there was little to remind her of the orgy that had been celebrated in this room back then. Benches and tables were lined up in a rather functional way, there were no empty spaces for dancing or other games. No decorations, no buffet tables or servants scurrying around with carafes of drinks. However, there was once again a second chair made of ironwood next to the high-backed throne on the platform at the end of the hall.

Which guest of honor was expected this time? Or was every higher demon who appeared individually offered a seat next to the lord of the fortress?

The angel's escort dispersed, most of them disappearing through side doors or into low passageways. Only one of the demonlord's hulking captains remained at her side, half behind her back. She could feel the burning gaze of the misshapen creature between her shoulder blades. None of them would underestimate her anymore. Which was unfortunate, really.

"Keep going." The captain creaked out just that one command. Veidja was tempted to resist the request, but she didn't want to waste her regained strength on a pointless skirmish. As she walked with deliberate steps towards the pedestal, a crawler with fabric sheets in its red claws whizzed past her. Then another. And another pair.

The lowly servants tinkered with the chairs, draping the fabric over the seats and backrests. The throne was decorated in red and black, the smaller chair in white and silver.

Oh Mother...

Of course. She herself would be the guest of honor. N'Arahn would show her off. Which probably meant she would have to endure several demonlords today.

It was only when she received a rude shove in the back that she realized she had stopped. The captain pushed her further towards the pedestal and with a stumble, the warrior started moving again.

Veidja scolded herself for not having thought of it sooner. Not that it would have changed anything, but the realization had not come as a surprise. She shook her head at herself. She probably just hadn't wanted to think about it. Her previous run-ins with demonlords had been terrifying at times even nauseating, and the fact that N'Arahn had announced more private meetings with the higher demons had left her reeling at the time. Perhaps she had wanted, indeed needed, to suppress what was coming in order to survive.

Now the time had come.

After all, the word private appeared in a different light in a room like this.

When she reached the ironwood chair, she wanted to take a seat on it, but was stopped by a growl from the almost-demon. Annoyed, she rolled her eyes.

"What?"