Princess Nymphyra Aran, Heiress to the Queendom of Arachnia, most powerful, talented, and yet humblest of all her mother’s hundreds of children, had never felt more offended in her life. Part of her wanted to slam her fists on the thick stone table, perhaps even crack the mighty slab to fully demonstrate the deep insult done to her by making her wait like some kind of worthless drone or bureaucrat.
But the red-skinned, knucklehead general sitting at the Great One’s right hand was already glaring at her like she was some haughty, presumptuous idiot, and the succubus at his left was staring her down like she was competition. Which she decidedly was not, because the race had already ended, and Princess Nymphyra had won. Once the Dark Lord heard her out, there was no chance he would refuse her proposal.
After all, she would make the perfect bride for him.
Upon taking a deep breath, she realized it would probably be unwise to smash her future husband’s perfectly nice table and offend the fragile sensibilities of his assembled retinue. Demons, after all, were the prissiest of all monsters. Unfortunately, for the sake of diplomacy, she would have to act nice. She could do this when she needed to. She had spent years practicing.
Nymphyra slowly and steadily dipped forward with her human half in a deep bow, her arms curved with the perfect form she had long ago mastered as a mere spiderling. “Oh, Greg-Theryx,” she said, reciting the Lord’s name in the Old Tongue with flawless pronunciation and meter before slipping into a smooth and silky demonic. “Please forgive me that I did not introduce myself properly. Allow me to try again. Great Devourer, Nurturer of the Fallen, I arrive humbly before you on behalf of my mother, The Humble Queen Nyphra Aran of Arachnia. We spiderfolk follow you, Dark Lord, with fervent devotion. I come before you for the sake of all Arachnia, pleading for your time and consideration.”
There was a long silence, during which Nymphyra considered glancing upwards to observe the Dark Lord’s reaction to her graceful overture. Sadly, it would have been in poor form to look up from the bowing position, and she could hardly stand up prematurely like an uncultured reprobate. So she waited.
“You shall have it,” the Dark Lord said just when she was about to give up. “My consideration, that is. Please rise, Princess. I assure you, the order in which you and the Minister were seen has no bearing on my decision. It was merely random chance.”
It was a delight to stand again. Nymphyra leaned her human body back slightly to better distribute the weight atop her arachnid lower half.
Damn, she thought. He’s more reasonable than I’d anticipated. She had expected more of a sadistic, chaotic edge to the Great One. He felt almost tamed. Perhaps the succubus had gotten her claws into him and whispered too many sweet words in his ear. Nymphyra sensed this in the way Desdemona Fell looked at her, like the High Priestess was somehow protective of their mutual god. Not that Nymphyra cared, because there was no reason their Lord and Master couldn’t have both of them. She smiled at the High Priestess and clasped her hands gently in front of her. Don’t worry, Lady Desdemona. I’ll share him with you. I’m not half as cruel as I look.
Nymphyra turned her gaze back to the Master of Them All, the One Who Watched From the Darkness. She had to admit, even she trembled a little at the sight of him, the one who would deliver them from over a thousand years of suffering. Or fail and die in blazing white fire, impaled on the sword of the Goddess.
It could go either way.
The Book said their God would deliver them in time, not that he would do so soon. Still, she couldn’t help but pray the Dark Lord would succeed this time. She didn’t want to become a widow. Or at least, not his.
Male Arachnians were tiny things, feeble in mind and body, suitable as drones but little else. She would have devoured any Arachnian who dared leer at her, but when she gazed into the Master’s dark eyes, at his face so finely chiseled as if sculpted by the Void itself, she wondered, this time, if it might be a pleasure to be the one consumed. As long as the Master was her hunter, she would be his prey.
How romantic it would be to lay siege to heaven together.
While meeting his eyes, she asked, “Shall I make my proposal?”
The Dark Lord leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table as he did so. It was unbecoming, a breach of etiquette if she had ever seen one, but perhaps it could be excused since he was her god. “Please do, Princess,” he said.
“Arachnia is willing to enter a military alliance with Dreadthorn if our conditions are met.”
“You would rejoin the Pact?”
“Unless you bring more than Arachnia to your side, it will be the Pact in name only. But if that’s what you’d like to call it, yes.”
“And what are your conditions?” the burly demon beside the Dark Lord said. On that side of the table, two other oafish sorts were also seated, a green one and a blue one, though neither had spoken. How convenient that the Dark Lord had chosen to color-code his drones in such a way. It must have made them much easier to remember.
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She turned her attention back to Greg-Theryx himself. You clever devil, she thought. “Our conditions are modest. Ophidium asked us for reparations and an apology. We will pay reparations because my mother is a ruler of great magnanimity. And besides, the snakes’ faltering economy is on the verge of collapse.” She raised her finger pointedly. “But we will not apologize. Despite Ophidian propaganda, they were the ones who started this stupid war. A unit of Ophidian soldiers crossed into our territory without permission and damaged a host of egg clusters. Arachnia still has our pride. Instead of an apology, we will agree to a proclamation of friendship proposing that all enmity between our peoples be forgiven, considering our shared struggle.”
The Dark Lord looked momentarily flummoxed by what she’d said. But perhaps that was because she had saved the best for last.
“That’s all?” he asked.
“The last part isn’t a condition, Dark One. It is more of a gift.” She took a deep, measured breath before continuing. “In consideration of our budding alliance and as a token of goodwill, Queen Nyphra Aran offers you the hand of her oldest daughter in marriage.” She leaned her body forward to bow again, and her white hair spilled across her shoulders. Under the scrutiny of so many aggravating demons, the Princess felt exposed. This was the moment she had both dreaded and yearned for. “By which I mean myself.”
“I understood who you meant, Princess,” Greg-Theryx replied awkwardly. “This is a significant proposal and I will require some time before making my decision.” His face appeared skeptical, however.
Ah, she thought, the Dark Lord plays hard to get. He must have known it was a phenomenal deal, but he could not appear too eager, especially with the High Priestess sitting there, staring at the Princess like she wanted to stab her.
“And there is one last matter… we can bring Dysthenna with us,” Nymphyra said. “Arachnia has close ties with the dark elves, and the only reason they have not joined with Dreadthorn is that … may I speak frankly?”
“I prefer it,” he said.
“They fear you are isolated and will lose, Master. If we show them that is not the case, with our budding alliance to prove it, we could persuade them otherwise.”
“You’ve been in contact with them? They politely declined to attend the Feast.”
“We have a line of communication with them, yes. I could be a valuable emissary in this regard.”
A floating eye demon hovering at the opposite side of the table from the color-coded ones perked up and said, “They didn’t even open their gate for our messenger. Just threw a reply down to him from the top of the wall, then sent him on his way.”
The Princess thought it best not to mention, for the time being, that her line of communication with the dark elves was solely through a thought-focusing crystal and that, even to Arachnia, those gates had remained closed for years without any face-to-face interaction for reasons the dark elves had never divulged.
The Dark Lord looked at the Princess, and she met his gaze proudly, her back straight so that she now towered over the table. She would bring Dysthenna to their side, even if she had to batter down their gates herself. It would be best not to mention that part, either.
“Indeed,” he said. “So you bring Arachnia and possibly Dysthenna to the fold…” His voice trailed off, as if still uncertain.
“As a Princess of Arachnia, I am skilled in diplomacy, merciless in war, and knowledgeable in alchemy and poisons,” she said. “I would be an asset to your rule and our crusade.”
“I don’t doubt that. You’re willing to pay reparations to the Principality, but you won’t apologize?”
“Arachnia will never apologize for defending our brood.” The Princess tried her best not to glare at the Dark Lord for even pushing her on the subject of the dreaded apology. Her mother had been clear—material payment was acceptable, but no groveling.
“They claim you started the war, Princess.”
“They destroyed my people’s eggs!” she replied, trying to contain the anger rising inside her, and temper the acid in her throat. “And we defended ourselves. It is that simple.”
The Dark Lord seemed confused, as if he were adrift in the conflicting information he had received. This was the problem with having to follow after Ilen Zxystar. That snake had already gotten a chance to poison the mind of the all-powerful yet clearly impressionable Dark Lord. No matter, because as his first wife and High Queen, Nymphyra pledged to herself that she would patiently teach him all there was to know about diplomacy and palace intrigue. He would never be foolishly misled again.
A momentary silence was ended by the red brute speaking up. “How exactly are you ‘merciless in war,’ Princess?” he asked, his lips curled into a fiendish grin.
In response, Nymphyra felt her eye twitch and took a deep breath, positioning her hands in front of her human abdomen as it expanded, seeking to find a measure of calm that would no doubt continue to elude her.
But before she could formulate a measured reply, the Master said, “General, there’s no need to challenge our esteemed visitor’s credentials.” He looked at her, his eyes scanning her from head to toe as if looking for something he’d missed.
Oh, she realized, they have no clue of my true form. Not even the Master seems to understand. They probably didn’t know she’d been fighting in the war since it began, leading her Mother’s armies at the frontlines, which is how she knew that whatever Ilen had told them was bullshit. Minister Zxystar had watched the war unfold from his plush office in Sithos, the snake’s capital. He knew nothing of blood or battle; the so-called Great Serpent knew even less.
“I would show you, General,” the Princess calmly replied to the brutish demon, “but I fear I may cause damage to this lovely, brooding tower.”
“That’s not…” the Dark Lord began, beginning to get exasperated.
“This is hardly important,” Desdemona Fell spoke up. Nymphyra hadn’t heard her speak so far, so it was refreshing that at last a fellow woman had decided to weigh in. The High Priestess met the Princess’s eye, and continued, “What would be your terms for the marriage itself? What do you require?”
“Ah,” Nymphyra said, raising an eyebrow as she surmised why the High Priestess was asking and what exactly she wished to know. You poor woman, are you so afraid that you might lose him? “What do I require? Very little. I will stay at our Master’s side as High Queen, and do as he bids. Naturally, I will bring more of my possessions from Arachnia to make myself comfortable in these new environs, far from my home. To that end, I will require my own quarters on one of the tower’s higher floors which I can decorate to my liking and where I may spin my webs. If the provided accommodations are insufficient, I can afford to remodel them, so you needn’t worry. And as for the marital bed, the Dark Lord can continue lying with you as much as he wants, High Priestess. I know that’s your true concern, and I must tell you, I am not at all a jealous woman.”