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Blurb:

Guilty of poaching his husband’s soul from the archduchess of Hell’s first circle, Duke Suneelon is dragged before the Infernal Court and demoted to the form of a common imp.

To make up for his transgression, he has three days to prove unconditional love can exist in Hell… or remain an imp for good, losing his fortress, his legions, and his husband.

Can Suneelon convince his husband to give up power for love in a world ruled by ambition?

Tropes:

🖤 love vs duty

☠️ devoted knight x spoiled prince

🖤 doomed love

☠️ yearning & obsession

🖤 Swan Lake meets the Odyssey

☠️ Dante’s hell setting

Chapter 1

The Warmth of Your Hell

Just when he thought he could enjoy his honeymoon, a faction of enemy devils decided to ruin Suneelon’s day. A scream sputtered from a hellknight’s lipless mouth as Suneelon pierced its chest. He lifted the writhing, wormy thing from its nightmare mount with his spear and chucked it onto the black quartz below like a useless rock.

His second lieutenant and husband soared across the battlefield, four scarlet eyes gleaming as he dipped low, heading off the insurgent army. At least someone was having fun. Hurricanes swept the rocky plains of Suneelon’s terrifyingly beautiful domain—the first circle of Hell.

When the archduchess of Aornos had summoned them, her orders had been clear: exterminate Balthazar’s army. The rogue archdevil’s incursions had grown more frequent and brazen, sowing seeds of doubt among her ranks. Did a devil, no matter how ancient, really think he could invade an archduchess’s territory with brute force?

More of Balthazar’s foot soldiers undocked on the banks of the Styx, colliding with Suneelon’s own troops of furies, crawlers, and spiked devils. Suneelon threw a look toward his husband on the banks below. The squadrons of devils clashed, and he breathed out in relief. His husband still lived. But the need to hide Aeramia from the archduchess turned his stomach. He flew to the other side of the river—closer to his husband.

Focusing his mind on Aeramia, he ordered telepathically, That’s enough.

Deaf to his command, Aeramia swung a grappling hook around a creature’s neck, decapitating it, then reached for another. A spray of infernal blood painted the banks of the River Styx, indistinguishable from its fetid waters. The young devil dismembered limbs and scattered them into the memory-rotten river—an echo of Suneelon’s own beginnings in Aornos. Even if it had only been a month, Aeramia had more than shown his worth.

Suneelon frowned and drew a glowing sigil in the air. I said, ‘That’s enough.’

An invisible force seized Aeramia’s body, and, wings folding, he plummeted to the riverbank. Suneelon gasped and pulled back his fists, wishing there had been another way to stop him. But pain was the only language devils understood.

Aeramia dragged himself to his feet, shaking his head and wings, while more enemy devils lashed acid-soaked whips at him. Suneelon winced even as he tightened his hold on Aeramia’s heart.

Were all devils born from suffering, or were they shaped by it, made to crave it in some penitence for a forgotten misdeed? Suneelon remembered the pain that made them—the sin of bringing his husband’s soul back from Limbo so they could suffer together until their bodies had lost all meaning.

A devil with protruding bone spikes raised a halberd high above Aeramia’s head. Hellfire flared in Suneelon’s gut. He hurled his spear at the devil, piercing it through the heart. Immediately, Aeramia grabbed Suneelon’s spear, then flew to his side and returned his bloodied weapon.

Suneelon flicked the blood off the spear. “Aeramia.”

“Yes, my love?” The young devil had already healed from the wounds he had suffered.

Suneelon’s apology stuck in his throat. All he could bring himself to do was wrap his arms around his husband’s body, the one thing he had managed to keep for himself. The ring around his finger pulsed to the devil’s heartbeat, tickling Suneelon’s skin.

He tightened his embrace, knowing the source of any joy was a prelude to desire, a longing to return to something that was no more. His husband was not the elven clergyman, Kyarlin, he once knew, but a high-powered malebranche. Driven by their loyalty, malebranches led infernal legions for their masters, knowing no other pleasure than to conquer and serve.

A fireball streaked overhead, exploding on the banks of the River Styx, blasting several devils into the putrid water that would wipe their minds clean. Suneelon shielded himself and Aeramia with his wings, breathing in the scent of Aeramia’s damp skin.

His heart, once filled with heavy promises, sought the grooves in Aeramia’s body, spelling out the love they had shared since adolescence with his fingertips. Their hands folded over one another, closing together in a comfortable languor. He rested his cheek upon Aeramia’s chest, lulled by the steady heartbeat, and let out a sigh.

Suneelon linked his hands around Aeramia’s waist. “Don’t leave my side.”

Aeramia caressed his hair. “My soul has but newly been reborn, and already you treat me so sweetly. Why would I leave the warmth of your hell?”

Calling the pain he had inflicted “sweet” because it came from him made Suneelon’s heart ache. Still, Aeramia’s reassurances lit up the farthest corners of his mind, dimming all other thoughts. He shut his eyes. For only this moment, nothing else existed but the beating of their hearts. In the burnt soil of his body, where no tenderness grew, Suneelon cradled Aeramia’s devotion, never letting go.

A stray arrow knocked into the clasp of one of Aeramia’s pauldrons, causing it to slip. Freed from the armor piece, the archduchess’s red mark of three entangled serpents pulsated vividly on dark skin under Suneelon’s own imprint, signaling Aeramia’s true ownership. Suneelon sucked in his lower lip.

Then the shadow of a beast with a lion’s body, dragon wings, and a humanlike head swooped low, its scorpion tail stabbing the hot air. Suneelon looked up. Atop its back was a devil with deep-blue skin and large horns, wearing a ceremonial breastplate—one of Archduchess Zagramon’s top commanders. What drew her here? As she stared at Aeramia’s shoulder, realization dawned on her face.

Suneelon peeled himself away from Aeramia, gut clenching. He picked the pauldron up and flattened it against Aeramia’s chest. Cover your shoulder.

Did she see it? Pinching her lips, the blue devil reared her manticore upward. Hells. She would report to Zagramon that he’d stolen one of her souls and would then gleefully watch him get demoted. He was not about to let that happen. Suneelon strode across the rocky landscape and aimed his spear. With a powerful thrust, he threw the spear toward her. The sharp tip plunged into the back of the blue devil and burst out the other side. Her stiff body slinked off the manticore and dropped to the ground.

Straight to the heart. He flew to the fallen commander to retrieve his spear as the manticore circled above, directionless. Aeramia followed close behind.

The commander coughed, smiling through crooked lips. “Do you truly believe you can steal a soul from Lord Zagramon without consequence?”

Suneelon pressed an armored foot into her chest and growled. “I am the duke of Aornos. I can do as I please in my domain.”

The blue devil sputtered, ichor dribbling down her chin, sunken eyes flashing bright yellow. “A false duke… who hides and plots under the archduchess’s skirt. Your only value is the spear and fortress your master left you.” She wheezed. “Why should I answer to a devil who did not earn his place? You will find your reckoning soon… you and the illegitimate malebranche you keep as your consort.”

With his foot, Suneelon pressed the devil into the quartz, itching to tear out the rotten mouth that dared question his authority. But an unsettling feeling wormed its way under his skin. Who else had seen his mark? His chest constricted.

Aeramia swung his grappling hook low, a sharp glint in his eyes. “Shall I bend my hook on her backside, my love?”

“Don’t bother,” Suneelon said, then moved quickly to erase the evidence. With his tail, he drew a line from navel to chin, spilling rotten guts into the open as the devil howled, still capable of feeling new heights of pain.

She screamed in his mind, Lord Zagramon will punish you, and you will serve her like the slave you are!

Amid the entrails, Suneelon found her pale-blue heart, still warm and plump. He brought it, heavy with soul fuel and power, to his lips and sank his teeth into the organ, lapping up every drop of infernal energy before she could heal. Her strength was now his.

A faint droning vibrated in the distance, the buzzing growing faint as a fly-like devil with bulging multifaceted eyes vanished behind a throng of devils. A zabub. It would relay everything it had seen… but to Zagramon or Balthazar? One thing was certain: He had to leave, now.

Suneelon shook his spear clean of guts and faced Aeramia. “Our business here is concluded. The rest of the troops will take care of the stragglers. Now come.”

Whoops and jeers rang out as his soldiers hunted down the rest of Balthazar’s devils.

Aeramia took Suneelon’s hand and brought it to his lips. “You needn’t have dirtied your hands for such a threat, my love.”

“Your business is my business. And you could never dirty me.”

A shadow shifted in the corner of his eye, and Suneelon jerked his chin toward it but found nothing but more black quartz. He chewed his lip, recalling the blue devil’s warning. Never. He would never go back to being powerless. Under the archduchess’s rule, he had retained his dukedom, his fortress, and the duty to judge souls within his territory. He was no one’s slave.

Aeramia squeezed his wrist, red eyes softening. “Is something the matter?”

“Not at all. Let us depart for more pleasant scenery.”

Together, they unfolded massive wings and launched into the air. Hopefully, it would take Zagramon a while to gather additional troops to find him across the endless expanse of the first circle.

* * *

Sulfuric winds breathed in Suneelon’s face as he landed at his citadel’s gate. A great fortress of obsidian and ash, his home sat atop a disc with hundreds of clawed legs that clung to sheer cliffs among superheated gases. Earthquakes devoured whatever approached his home uninvited.

Gargoyle-like devils atop an iron bridge bowed their heads at Suneelon’s approach. He brushed ash off his shoulder, then flung the gates open with a wave of his hand. He exhaled and tensely made his way to a secluded chamber. Hearing Aeramia’s wing beats close behind, he finally allowed his muscles to relax.

Once in the command deck, Suneelon closed the door and hung his spear on the white stone wall. Its tip was split into two intertwining flames, while the pommel bore the mark of Leviathan, Eater of Souls—a double cross intersecting with an eternity symbol.

Taking a step back, he muttered, “Datcaeyl.” The wall shimmered, then sprouted another layer of stone that blocked the spear from view. He opened the door again and spied Aeramia patiently waiting to be let in. Both on the battlefield and in the privacy of their chambers, Aeramia submitted to him wholly, body and mind—his loyal guard and husband.

Turning around, Suneelon hid a satisfied smile. “You were quite gladly indulging yourself in today’s patrol. It seems my presence is redundant.”

Aeramia shut the door behind him and kneeled, his crown of six horns pointing toward Suneelon. “Never, my love. I only indulge in my duty.”

Suneelon lifted Aeramia’s chin with a clawed finger. “I am your only duty. Indulge in me.”

Flames lit up magical sconces, bathing Aeramia’s dark figure in a red glow. Four scarlet eyes focused on Suneelon, the smaller pair nestled beneath the larger, like wet carnation petals on a black branch. Aeramia’s white fangs poked through his lips in a sharp smile. “Of course. I want nothing more than to serve you.”

Suneelon’s brow furrowed. It should have been what he wanted to hear, but the tone carried a hint of mocking. He placed his heel on Aeramia’s knee, pressing into the bone. Without wincing, Aeramia undid the laces of his boot, unwrapping his foot like a gift. His lips brushed against Suneelon’s pale ankle, sending tingles up his leg. Suneelon’s heart squeezed. Aeramia unfastened the rest of his armor for him and hung it on a stand.

Suneelon rolled his neck and shoulders, settling into an upholstered chaise longue that overlooked a jagged mountain spine. The number of enemy devils crawling like roaches around his domain continued to increase. It was time to change location. Closing his eyes, he focused on the citadel and ordered it to move to the Bleeding Canyon. A deep rumble rolled throughout the fortress. But even as the walls and floor shuddered under his command and the fortress itself moved, everything inside stayed in place, as if afraid to provoke the duke’s ire.

A shower of fire and brimstone pelted the fortress, and Suneelon waved his hand, muttering an incantation that shielded the fortress’s windows. The unpredictability of this circle was so… predictable. With a sigh, he stood and stretched his fingers. He walked to the pile of the arcane books on the table next to him, picked one up, and inscribed runes into the fortress’s deck to adjust its course through the Bleeding Canyon. After returning the book to its place, he crumpled back into his chaise longue. He hadn’t expected to use this much arcane energy today.

Two warm hands hooked around Suneelon’s shoulders, fingers digging into the pale, knotted muscles beneath. Suneelon sighed, baring his neck for Aeramia. Fully capable of maiming Aeramia with a thought if he so wished, he let him explore the bare planes of his body.

Aeramia cocked his head to the side, his gaze settling on the pile of arcane books. “How do you manage to control the fortress?”

Suneelon scowled. “Why do you want to know?” There was no reason for him to worry about the fortress…

Aeramia raised his palms in the air. “There is no hidden motive behind my words, my love.”

Naturally he would say that. Suneelon cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. It was time to get back to paperwork. He clapped his hands, conjuring a contract he had been preparing to entice a budding talent in the Physical Realm.

Aeramia leaned over his shoulder, breath curling in his ear. “Is this how you prepared my contract?”

The question yanked Suneelon’s gaze away, and he bristled at the silent accusation: Is this how you trapped my soul? He sprang upright, narrowly missing Aeramia’s chin, a numbness sinking into his stomach. “You followed me to Hell. You wanted to be with me.”

Aeramia went quiet, and Suneelon tucked his lower lip under a fang. Was Aeramia regretting his choices? Though Aeramia had pledged his soul to him in his former life, all souls Suneelon collected ultimately reported to Zagramon. The guilt had eaten at him ever since he marked Aeramia’s soul as his a month ago. But if he hadn’t done it, Aeramia would have been forever lost to him. Exactly like Astaroth had claimed his own soul and remade him to his liking, Suneelon had reshaped his husband into a loyal devil. And perhaps Aeramia would come to replace him too.

The young devil stroked the thick white curls of Suneelon’s hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Forgive my ignorance, my lord—” At Suneelon’s frown, he quickly corrected himself: “—my love. I didn’t mean to upset you. You know there is nowhere else I would rather be than by your side.”

Suneelon’s heart thudded, caught between wanting to believe the words of a devil but knowing better. Trusting one before had cost him his soul and freedom. He thumbed the ring around his finger, cheeks flushing. Despite Aeramia’s infernal nature, the confession sounded exactly like his mortal husband.

Suneelon lifted Aeramia’s chin with his bare foot. “Why don’t you prove to me how devoted you are, Lieutenant.”

A flush of excitement darkened Aeramia’s eyes. Wasting no time, he flicked a long tongue between pale toes, and Suneelon flinched with a small gasp.

Long fingers inched under his tight breeches, rubbing his ankle. Aeramia swept his tongue under the arch of his foot, tasting… devouring him. Suneelon’s tail quivered. He wanted to stay upset at the brash devil who delighted in battle more than him, but every tender touch unmade him, marking him with a lifetime of love he sorely missed. His body trembled with terrible expectation.

Unable to resist, he let a breathless cry bubble from his throat. “Aeramia…”

Aeramia laid him flat on the chaise longue, lips teasing the crook of his neck. Chest throbbing, Suneelon arched his back as Aeramia continued to indulge himself upon Suneelon’s writhing form, imprinting a trail of kisses down his sternum. But the warmth felt tainted.

Aeramia’s eyes gleamed bloodred. “What reason has my pretty master to be so anxious?”

The cold taunt doused his mind, and Suneelon grabbed a fistful of Aeramia’s oil-black hair. “Don’t call me that.”

“‘Pretty’?”

Suneelon jerked Aeramia’s head back so their eyes could meet. “‘Master.’ I am your husband.”

Aeramia’s mouth cracked into a keen-edged smile reflected in all four eyes, and Suneelon’s breath quickened. He knew that look. The hungry look of greed.

Aeramia swiped a tongue over his lower lip. “If you are my husband, is your heart not mine as well? What of your fortress and your legions? Your spear? Will you give them all to me if I ask?”

Aeramia gaze drifted to the wall. Was he looking for the spear? Was he planning on taking it for himself? No. No, Suneelon had made sure the wardings were intact. Nausea dripped through Suneelon’s insides, his face breaking out in a cold sweat. He tugged on Aeramia’s hair again and hissed, “Are you asking?”

Aeramia chuckled as he brought Suneelon’s free hand to his lips and kissed the slight tremor in his clawed fingers. “I have everything I need right under me, and it is begging for my attention.”

Suneelon loosened his grip, tilting Aeramia’s head back as Aeramia snaked a hand under his shirt and pinched his nipple, beating the cold dread under his skin into a swirling flush of heat. The reverberations of the moving citadel tingled in his stomach.

Suneelon huffed. “I never knew you to have such cheek.”

Aeramia nibbled Suneelon’s throat. “I will show you more than my cheek… But first, I have a gift for you, my love.”

Suneelon’s chest swelled as Aeramia reached into his mantle. Then a knock sputtered into the room. Aeramia’s hand stilled.

Glaring at the door, Suneelon barked, “Do not interrupt us.” Then he turned to Aeramia, expression softening. “Won’t you show me your offering?”

Suneelon hoarded these small acts, as if collecting lost parts of his husband’s soul. There was still a little bit of Kyarlin in him; all he needed was some prodding to make him come out. The young devil’s body hesitated between attending to the door and to Suneelon.

Once again, the knock echoed, this time accompanied by a quivering voice as the door opened. “I beg your forgiveness, my lord, but someone has come to call. Th-they desire an audience with you and Lieutenant Aeramia.”

Heat flashed through Suneelon’s face. “Who managed to enter the citadel while it is still moving?”

The beaked devil wrung its fingers, bowing low. “It’s High Arbiter Malacoda, my lord.”

Suneelon clicked his tongue. Perfect. The single most loathed courtier of Despond, who reported to Ashmedai, lord of all nine circles, was at his door. Aeramia sat upright and slid off him. The shift in attention drained the heat from Suneelon’s body, replacing it with a prickling sensation that needled his stomach. Nobody else could be more important to Aeramia than him. Where had the affectionate lover gone?

With a scowl, Suneelon grabbed Aeramia’s wrist. “Let the high arbiter confer with someone else. You are my lieutenant, and I am your duke.”

Aeramia pulled back, raising a brow. “I thought you were my husband,” he said before walking away.

Suneelon’s chest throbbed at the sight of Aeramia’s back. The moment he lost sight of Aeramia, he worried he would never see him again.

Suneelon clenched his fist. “Fine. Let us see what is the cause of this nuisance.”

Art by mandarina_art