Like a night sky full of stars, a crystal chandelier twinkled above the ballroom floor. Glasses clinked and guests giggled, each one dressed in the finest opulence that money could obtain. Plumes of feathers sat upon hats; golden thread held together silks and velvets; jewels decorated necks, fingers, and ears. They sat before tables covered by only the finest lace cloths, using only the most expensive silverware to slice and spear only the finest of morsels. At the far end of the room were doors with decorative stained glass, and on the opposite side were two staircases that led up to a mezzanine. Between those staircases stood a fountain, the stone taking the shape of cherubs and angels that poured water from their mouths and jars.
All guests sat on the bottom floor, with the mezzanine being completely clear. If one were to venture up there, however, he would find two hallways, both similar in appearance but wholly different in their ends. To the left, the hall led to a grand dressing chamber worthy of a king’s occupance—fitting that it did, in fact, serve that purpose. King Amadeus, a jovial man of about fifty with a laugh that could light even the darkest of corridors, occupied this space for the first time in many months. He’d been off in a distant nation for the past three years, improving political relations and enjoying the rolling hills of its countryside. He’d returned the day previous, and tonight, all the finest nobles had gathered to celebrate his return. He decked himself with a robe of royal purple, and a bejeweled crown sat upon his greying hair. In the silver mirror he gazed at himself, a smile upon his wrinkled yet youthful face. Ah, the night would be excellent. It would be a time to feast and imbibe—a celebration of good fortune and future, a time where nobles convened as friends.
That is, except for one.
Down the right hallway lay another dressing chamber, this one slightly smaller but none less opulent. For this, a prince would be suitable. Aged twenty-five but thought of as forty, Prince Malkom stood before a silver mirror of his own. He shared features with his father—naturally so, as they were of the same familial ilk. However, these features were minor. Whereas the father had kind, honest features, the son had angular, sharper features. His gaze held more ice than the coldest winter, but he was by no means unattractive. In fact, many had attempted to obtain his hand, whether minor lords or well-known princesses. Malkom had no interest in such trivial affairs as love, however. He only wished for one thing: the crown.
Upon a velvet pillow it had resided, sharing its plush surface with Malkom’s russet-haired head when concerned with housing. However, the bejeweled ornament sat atop neither, a fact that perturbed and angered the prince. For the past three years he’d held control of the kingdom, pushing it into a span of economic and cultural prosperity. He’d gained large amounts of territory, alliances, and support from other nations. Some had said it was intelligence, but most attributed his success to his eyes. The crystal-blue orbs had a hypnotic, beguiling quality about them, one so powerful that they could allegedly charm even the wildest of beasts with a single gaze.
But more than persuasion sat in those sapphires. A tad behind the surface, hiding in a little gleam, was malice. It had been there long before now, but never had it been quite so strong. Though, this wasn’t very surprising—the object of that malice had been gone for three years now. But yesterday he’d returned, and within moments, the tower that Malkom had built up seemed to crumble. With each hour that passed, his malice grew more insidious, until finally it had evolved from a simple gleam to a horned demon. The demon stood only a few inches behind him, regardless of where he went. Its dark grey countenance loomed over the prince’s shoulders, his crimson eyes full of glee and his jagged teeth fixated in a wide grin.
When Amadeus had returned, Malkom had expressed great relief and jubilation. The demon, however, was not as elated. It glared and growled at Amadeus, flexing its grotesquely clawed fingers and toes as violent desires crept into its body. It could have sprung forth at any time, easily ripping apart Amadeus’s feeble flesh with its sharp tips. However, Malkom held it back.
“Not now,” he would say. “We must wait until the event. Everyone must know how feeble of a leader he truly is.”
Grumbled and groused the demon did, but it did not attack. Instead, it assumed its place over Malkom’s shoulder, observing the surroundings with malevolent, avaricious eyes.
Father and son met at the mezzanine, greeting each other with a smile. Amadeus, of course, beamed, but Malkom chose a far dimmer approach to the emotion. Both stood at the banister that guarded the edge of the mezzanine, and all quieted when Amadeus gazed at them.
“It brings me great pleasure to return to you,” Amadeus said, his warm voice echoing through the room. “For three years I have been gone, but now that all has been resolved, I shall rule over you once more. My son has done an excellent job in keeping this nation great. He will make a fine king one day.”
Amadeus clapped Malkom on the shoulder, and the nobles erupted into cheers. Malkom smiled, but from a distance, no one could tell it was forced. They acted as if he hadn’t excelled as king for the past three years—how foolishly disrespectful.
“I propose we toast,” Amadeus said. He glanced at his son. “Malkom, could you retrieve our glasses?”
Now his smile turned more genuine. “Of course, father.”
Malkom strode off, smirking once his back was turned. The demon at his back snickered into Malkom’s ear.
“Is the time now, young lord?” it giggled in its childish tone. “Do we get the crowns now?”
“Soon, my pet,” he murmured, soft enough that his father couldn’t hear. “Just a few more moments. Then all shall be ours.”
The demon cackled, its voice more than powerful enough to shatter even the strongest of glass. Nevertheless, the two chalices on the golden tray remained intact. Malkom poured into both an amount of champagne, though to the second glass he added a small drop of another clear liquid. Grabbing both glasses by the stems, he returned to his father and handed him one.
“Thank you, son,” Amadeus said.
“Of course, father.” He could barely contain himself; nor could the demon behind him.
“A toast,” Amadeus boomed, “to prosperity and nobility!”
The other nobles raised their own glasses in concurrence, and all drank at once. Amadeus gulped quickly and strongly, but Malkom sipped slowly, gradually, watching over the lip of the glass the change in the atmosphere.
Amadeus gasped and grasped his chest, his eyes wide and nearly bursting from their sockets. He gasped for air with feverish efforts, but all attempts were in vain. The substance Malkom added had been supplied by his demon, fast-acting and very lethal. Within moments Amadeus collapsed, and only a minute later he ceased struggle. Gasps and screeches came from below, and though Malkom wore a countenance of shock, he chuckled within. All had been complete—everything that Malkom wanted had finally come to be.
Oh—where had the demon gone?