To be entirely fair, Haviel wasn’t quite sure whether he should be offering up a silent prayer of thanksgiving or actively planning his own funeral.
On one hand? He didn’t have to use that aggressively rose-petaled bed for... well, for the specific, high-friction activities usually expected on a wedding night. That was a massive win for his personal boundaries. On the other hand, he was being transferred to the literal land of demons with the same energy as a company announcing, "Congratulations! You’ve been relocated," five minutes before departure.
He felt like contraband. Like a box of unmanifested inventory being smuggled across state lines in the middle of the night against his will.
The ink on his new marriage certificate wasn’t even dry yet. He hadn’t even had a proper chance to look around this side of this human world, to absorb the local geography, test the plumbing, or figure out how the currency system worked, And now he was being shipped off to the supernatural equivalent of that branch office everyone prayed they’d never get assigned to.
Through the tall archways of the eastern corridor, the entire Elsher estate had descended into complete chaos. Servants were darting around like the building was about to collapse. They hauled iron-bound luggage, crates full of diplomatic documents, massive ceremonial urns, and enough supplies to survive the apocalypse.
"Watch the corners, you absolute idiots!" an overseer barked somewhere near the grand staircase. "If that crystal vase from the holy see cracks, the King will have your hides!"
Haviel leaned against a marble pillar near the main foyer, wrapped in a ridiculously heavy, ridiculously expensive travel cloak that smelled faintly of lavender and old wardrobes. He was trying, and mostly failing, to process the absolute insanity of what was happening.
Immediate departure. No transition period. No orientation week. Not even a generic "Good Luck on Not Getting Eaten" gift basket from the local church. Just straight from the altar to an international relocation.
As a particularly sweaty footman sprinted past him carrying three identical silver tea sets, Haviel seriously debated the logistics of finding a nearby bathtub, dunking his head inside, and pretending to drown. Would that count as a legitimate political incident?
"Lord Haviel?"
A timid voice interrupted his internal crisis. One of the younger maids stood nearby, twisting her fingers so tightly into her apron that she looked ready to tear the fabric. "The Duke requests your presence in his private study immediately before the carriages are brought around."
Great. Excellent. What does the old man want now? The paperwork was signed, the asset was traded, and the demon king was currently waiting outside. What was left?
"Lead the way," Haviel sighed, offering the girl a tired, flat smile. "And please don’t walk too fast."
The maid blinked at him in confusion. Clearly, the original Haviel had known his way around, but she turned and led the way down the maze-like hallway anyway.
The Duke’s study was, well... pretty much exactly the same as the last time Haviel had seen it. Duke Elsher stood by the tall, narrow window, his back to the room, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
He didn’t turn around when the door closed. Classic power move. Haviel had seen middle managers do it a thousand times to intimidate interns.
"You understand the weight of the ink on that parchment, don’t you, boy?" the Duke’s voice was low, gravelly, and entirely devoid of paternal warmth.
"The treaty? Yes," Haviel said, keeping his tone dry and thoroughly professional as he stood near the center of the rug. "Keep the world peace and that kind of thing."
Honestly, what else was there?
That was basically the entire job description, wasn’t it?
The Duke slowly turned around, his gaze sharpening as his eyes narrowed. "This is no time for your peculiar levity, Haviel. The peace between our realms is a glass thread. One wrong move, one hysterical outburst like your sister’s, and that thread snaps. You are there to maintain his favor. Do you take me for a fool? Do not think to imitate Hevira’s little vanishing act."
Haviel scoffed internally. Please. If he actually had talent in that area, he probably wouldn’t still be here.
"You are welcome to try, of course," the Duke sneered, taking a slow step forward, the light catching the harsh lines around his mouth. "That is, if you don’t particularly treasure the skin on your back. Who knows what those creatures do to runaway property? They aren’t human, Haviel. Remember that."
In simpler terms: Do your job or die.
He said it in a calm, measured tone, but the threat hidden beneath all that noble refinement landed like a brick. Haviel didn’t blink. He just watched the old man with a kind of detached, corporate exhaustion.
He realized, with absolute clarity, that nobody in this entire castle gave a single damn whether he was terrified, unprepared, or currently suffering from severe existential whiplash. To the human realm, he was basically the backup they brought in after the original plan went spectacularly wrong.
"The carriage is waiting," the Duke said, flicking a hand toward the door. "Go. And do not make him ask for you twice."
The front courtyard was an absolute circus of shadow and steam.
The night air had turned cold enough that thick white clouds drifted from the nostrils of the horses, or at least what Haviel initially assumed were horses. A line of demon soldiers sat atop enormous dark mounts, their armor gleaming beneath iron lanterns.
In the center waited the royal carriage.
At first glance, Haviel’s actually felt a tiny bit relieved. It was beautiful. Polished black timber, fancy silver decorations around the wheels, thick velvet curtains covering the windows, and two oversized brass lanterns giving off a warm amber light. The thing looked expensive enough to bankrupt a small village. For one glorious, naive second, Haviel thought, Okay, if I’m being exiled to the underworld, at least I was doing it comfortably.
Then, the creatures hitched to the front of the vehicle lifted their heads.
Haviel nearly screamed. He had to physically clamp his teeth together to keep from letting out a very loud, very un-noble screech.
Those were definitely not horses. They weren’t unicorns either. They were massive, six-legged reptilian quadrupeds with scales the color of dried blood, long, whip-like tails, and thick, curved claws that were currently gouging deep ruts into the estate’s expensive gravel driveway. Their eyes glowed with a dull, internal crimson fire, and as one of them yawned, Haviel caught a glimpse of three distinct rows of needle-sharp teeth while a puff of sulfurous, grey smoke escaped its nostrils.
What in the name of the department of occupational health and safety is that?
"Are you quite finished conducting your safety inspection, my bride?"
Jevon was standing right by the carriage step, his cloak pinned at the shoulder with a massive silver crest. The light from the lantern caught the sharp line of his jaw, amused curve of his fangs as he watched Haviel stare at the hell-beasts.
Haviel swallowed hard, his throat feeling like sand. "Are those... do those things require a specific license to operate? Because they look like they run entirely on malice and premium petroleum."
Jevon let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through the night air. "They run on mountain sheep and bad attitude. Now, up you go. The mist is rolling into the canyon, and I prefer to cross the bridges before the visibility hits zero."
Haviel took a breath, preparing to step toward the carriage, but a sudden rustle of heavy fabric behind him made him pause. He turned back one last time to look at the assembly of human standing on the palace steps, the bleak, silent audience sending him off into the dark.
Before he could register the movement, Duke Elsher stepped forward from the shadows. The old man reached out, wrapping his thick arms around Haviel’s shoulders and pulling him into a sudden, tight, completely unexpected embrace.
Haviel went entirely rigid. The smell of tobacco and old wool hit him full force. For a split second, his modern brain panicked, Wait, is this a normal father-son thing? Am I misreading the culture here? Does he actually care?
His right hand immediately lifted a few inches. Then stopped.
What was he supposed to do? Pat the Duke’s back? Hug him back?
The hand slowly retreated. Then, feeling vaguely guilty, he raised it again.
Nope. Too weird.
Back down it went.
In the end, he just stood there with both arms trapped at his sides, looking less like a son and more like a hostage experiencing a very confusing customer service interaction.
Then, the Duke leaned in close, his lips brushing against the edge of Haviel’s crimson hair, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp, venomous whisper that reached only Haviel’s ears.
"You are the one who will fulfill the role Hevira abandoned now," the old man hissed, his fingers digging like iron claws into the meat of Haviel’s shoulder through the thick cloak. "Everything needs to proceed exactly according to the plan we laid out. Do not fail me, boy, or the demons will be the least of your concerns."