The four maids stood stunned and confused, watching in utter silence as Zaliyah followed the mysterious woman out into the dark corridor, the trailing yellow silks disappearing around the corner.
Zaliyah followed the woman silently as she navigated a series of dimly lit passageways. Eventually, she pushed open a door, ushering him into a large staging room filled with roughly a dozen other dancers. Every single one of them was a youth dressed in varying shades of translucent silk, their faces concealed behind ornate veils. Zaliyah seamlessly integrated himself into the back of the group, lowering his gaze to the floor.
A moment later, a set of double doors swung open, and the troupe marched out in single file.
The moment Zaliyah stepped over the threshold into the Great Banquet Hall, his senses were violently assaulted. He felt as though he had stepped directly into an opulent, lawless brothel.
The grand hall was massive, its towering stone arches draped in deep crimson banners. The space was intentionally dimly lit by flickering wall braziers, casting long, swaying shadows across the crowds of revelers. Powerful, oppressive auras lingered in the air. the suffocating weight of ancient demon nobles, ruthless generals, and battle-hardened commanders.
They were dressed in the finest silks, rare furs, and plate armor. Some of the demons possessed grotesque, terrifying features—horns curling from their skulls, extra eyes, or skin the color of slate while others looked remarkably human, possessing sharp beauty.
Dotted among them were female demons clad in exquisite, revealing gowns, laughing loudly as they drank alongside their male counterparts. The demons were drinking recklessly, slamming iron tankards onto long wooden tables, tearing into roasted meat, and bellowing with crude laughter.
Zaliyah's stomach turned. The sight, the smell of spiced liquor, and the oppressive roar of the crowd instantly tore him back in time—taking him straight back to that dark day. The day his life was finally ruined. It reminded him of the "Bloodied Banquet."
His hands trembled slightly beneath his silk sleeves, but he forced his feet to keep moving.
As the line of dancers glided toward the massive wooden stage set up at the far end of the hall, the chaotic background music began to quietly die down. The stage itself was elevated, constructed from dark obsidian. Along the rear of the platform, several elderly demon women sat cross-legged on plush cushions, their gnarled fingers resting over exotic stringed instruments, traditional lutes, and small leather-skinned drums.
As Zaliyah stepped onto the stage, taking his position near the center of the formation, his sharp eyes frantically scanned the hall. He was searching for one person: Xulthas.
He looked toward the high dais where the most elite figures sat, but Xulthas was not there. Panic fluttered in Zaliyah's chest for a split second, but he quickly forced himself to calm his nerves and focus his mind. He closed his eyes, tuning out the roar of the crowd, expanding his hearing until—there.
A familiar, deep voice drifted to his ears from a table situated just below the stage.
Xulthas was sitting back in a carved chair, a roguish smile on his sharp face as he toasted his iron tankard against that of a massive, burly general.
The burly demon took a massive swig, letting out a booming laugh. "A great show you've put together tonight, Commander!"
Xulthas smiled, taking a slow sip of his own drink. "It was Thalassa's doing. I dare not take the credit for her tastes."
Another general sitting across from him leaned forward, pounding his fist on the table. "Ah, you're always so humble, Xulthas!"
Xulthas chuckled, but before he could respond, a sudden, prickling sensation washed over the back of his neck. He felt the unmistakable sensation of sharp, intent eyes locked directly onto him.
Instinctively, Xulthas's green gaze shifted away from his companions, tracing the line of sight back up toward the stage.
His eyes landed on Zaliyah's figure.
Zaliyah, catching the sudden shift in the commander's gaze, instantly turned his head to the side, looking away as if he were merely adjusting his posture.
Xulthas froze, his hand tightening around the handle of his tankard until his knuckles turned white. He blinked hard, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he tracked the slender, jewel-encrusted figure on the stage.
Am I drunk...? Xulthas thought, his mind racing as a bizarre sense of recognition hit him in the chest. ...Or is that Zali...?
Before he could process the thought any further, CLACK!
The entire banquet hall was suddenly plunged into pitch-black darkness.
A collective gasp echoed through the room. A second later, the simultaneous sound of a hundred demon heads snapping toward the stage sounded through the shadow like the crunching of dried leaves.
SNAP.
Above the stage, over a hundred floating lanterns suddenly ignited all at once, bursting into dazzling light. The light illuminated the stage so intensely that the dancers seemed to glow like ethereal spirits, while the rest of the vast banquet hall remained shrouded in deep, cavernous darkness.
The show had officially begun.
The elderly women at the back of the stage struck their instruments. A low, seductive rhythm began to pulse through the air, the deep thrum of hand drums paired with the haunting, hypnotic whine of stringed lutes.
The dancers began to move.
Their bodies swayed in unison, a mesmerizing sea of color, silk, and bare skin. Zaliyah forced his body to remember the movements, his hips swaying to the beat of the drums. The gold coins at his waist jingled with every drop of his hips, producing a crisp, metallic rhythm that cut through the music.
The gold chainmail covering his face clinked rhythmically against his cheekbones, the metallic links catching the overhead lantern light and scattering tiny specks of gold across his exposed chest and shoulders.
Below the stage, the darkness masked the faces of the crowd, but their loud, raucous monologues carried clearly to the performers.
"Look at the one in the red!" A general shouted, slamming his cup down. "I'm claiming that one after the feast"
"Forget the red!" Another sneered, leaning forward with a hungry grin. "Look at the center, the one in the yellow skirt with the gold chain face veil. Look at that waist!"
"He's far too thin," a third demon scoffed, taking a long drag from a pipe. "I prefer them with more flesh on their bones."
"Are you blind?" The second general barked back. "Look at the way he moves. I want that scrawny one. I'll pay double whatever the madam asks!"
While the rest of the hall hooted and argued over the dancers, Xulthas heard none of it.
His green eyes were utterly, helplessly locked on Zaliyah. He couldn't tear his gaze away even if he tried. He sat frozen in his chair, chugging tankard after tankard of hot, spiced wine, but the alcohol did nothing to cool the sudden, searing heat roaring through his blood.
Every sway of Zaliyah's hips, every fluid wave of his bare midriff, every precise roll of his shoulders sent a spike of intense arousal straight through the commander's veins. The sheer contrast of the delicate, soft yellow silk wrapping around his legs and the harsh gold chainmail masking his face was intoxicating.
The veil hid his expression completely, but every time the dancer turned, his dark rimmed eyes locked onto Xulthas through the metallic mesh, holding his gaze with an unbearable defiance.
The heat in Xulthas's body became overwhelming. Groaning softly under his breath, he reached up with a hand and aggressively removed his outer robe, his chiseled chest was exposed.
Zaliyah saw the movement from the stage. His painted eyes never left the commander's, his movements becoming subtly more fluid,weaving a spell of pure, hypnotic temptation that dragged Xulthas deeper and deeper into his web.
Slowly, the rhythm of the drums began to decelerate. The stringed instruments played a final, high-pitched note that echoed in the hall.
The music ceased.
In perfect synchronization, the dancers hit their final, seductive pose. Zaliyah sinking low onto one knee, one arm arched gracefully over his head, the long yellow silk draping dramatically over the floor while his gold face veil caught the dying light of the lanterns.
The entire banquet hall erupted into a deafening roar of applause, whistling, and pounding tankards.
"Brilliant!"
"Incredible!"
Several generals surged forward, clapping Xulthas on the shoulder. "A magnificent performance, Commander! You outdid yourself tonight!"
"Yes, job well done, Xulthas!"
Xulthas barely heard them. He didn't even acknowledge their praise. The second the dancers rose from their pose and began filing off the stage toward the side exit, Xulthas stood up so fast his chair topped backward, crashing onto the floor.
He moved at once, his mind completely consumed by a single, burning need: he had to unmask that dancer. He had to know who was behind that gold chainmail. Why did that person make his blood burn so hot? And why did he possess the exact same figure as Zaliyah?
It can't be him, Xulthas reasoned, as he shoved his way through the crowded dark hall. Zaliyah's hair is as white as fresh snow. This person's hair was as black as pitch.
Yet, the urge pushing him forward was uncontrollable.
Behind the stage, a long, narrow corridor led toward the private dressing chambers. The dancers were walking in a quiet group, chatting softly among themselves as they prepared to change out of the tight, revealing performance clothes.
Suddenly, out of the shadows of a side archway, a large figure emerged like a predator.
Before Zaliyah could even register the sudden shift in air, a calloused hand shot out and forcefully grabbed him by the wrist.
Zaliyah gasped as he was violently yanked out of the group and dragged backward into the dim shadows of the corridor.
The other dancers whipped around, their eyes widening in shock and rage. Seeing a large, half naked man grabbing their fellow performer, they immediately assumed he was just another drunk, entitlement-crazed noble trying to take advantage of them.
"Hey! Let go of him, you filthy beast!" One of the dancers yelled, stepping forward with her fists clenched.
"Who do you think you are?!" A dancer hissed, reaching into her costume for a brass hairpin. "Release him right now or we'll scratch your eyes out!"
"Get your hands off him, you drunk pervert! We're getting the guards!"
The troupe began surging forward, fully prepared to beat the intruder into a pulp. But before they could leap, the lead woman, the tanned dancer in silver stepped swiftly between them, her face pale as she recognized the powerful, dangerous aura radiating from the intruder.
"Stop! All of you, back down" She commanded loudly, spreading her arms. She turned toward Xulthas and immediately dropped to her knees, bowing her head low to the floor. "Forfeit our impudence, Commander. They did not recognize your esteemed face"
The other dancers froze. The anger drained from their faces instantly, replaced by terror and deep flushes of embarrassment.
The Commander...?
"W-We offer our deepest apologies, Ruler of the north" The dancer who had called him a pervert squeaked, her voice trembling as she bowed alongside the others.
"Please forgive our ignorance"
Zaliyah remained silent in Xulthas's grip. He didn't say a word, nor did he make a sound, standing like a statue as the gold chainmail draped over his face hid his rapidly quickening breath.
"Get out," Xulthas growled,
The lead woman scrambled up, ushering the terrified troupe forward. They quickly hurried down the dark corridor toward the dressing rooms, practically running to leave the two of them alone in the dim, silent hallway.
The door at the end of the hall slammed shut, sealing the corridor in near silence.
The moment they were alone, Xulthas stepped closer, closing the distance between their bodies. He didn't just hold Zaliyah's wrist; he reached out with his other hand and wrapped his arm around Zaliyah's slender waist, locking him in a iron grip and pulling the smaller man tightly against his chest.
Zaliyah's bare skin pressed against Xulthas's hot, exposed chest.
Xulthas leaned his head down, burying his nose directly into the side of Zaliyah's exposed neck, right where his jaw met his collarbone. He inhaled deeply, pulling the scent of the dancer's skin deep into his lungs.
A dark intoxicated smile spread across Xulthas's lips.
"Flowers..." Xulthas muttered against his skin, his breath hot and against Zaliyah's trembling pulse point.
He chuckled softly, a low sound that vibrated straight through Zaliyah's chest. He couldn't mistake that scent for anyone else in the three realms.
There was only one man in the entire demon realm who smelled like fresh flowers.