[ When Lucifel first proposed the idea he'd thought it a tasteless joke. Surely they were not so desperate to avoid the near total annihilation of their kind that they would stoop to such undignified measures. That they would sacrifice their pride as demons.
Up until the very last moment he had been convinced. Surely, his own brother and King would not hand him off to such lowly beings as a prize.
"You won't have to bare it forever." Lucifel had reassured him on the journey from Cocytus, his lips pulled into that knowing smirk that very frequently drove Azazel to an irrational desire to punch him in the mouth. "After all, humans have such short lifespans. After 50 years or so of playing nice you may come home."
If they hadn't been surrounded by retainers and human envoys he would have punched him right there.
The ceremony was boring. The filthy humans had attempted to fit him into some hideous white raiment covered in lace and bows and he threatened that he would dye the fabric red with their blood to fit him better. They stopped trying after that.
The King-- Charioce XVII-- seemed less than concerned with his choice to attend the ceremony just as he was. He sat where he needed to, he exchanged the vows that he was told to exchange. All the while making it very clear that he had no business being here.
"An offering of peace" his tight leather ass.
In the morning the maids tried once again to "make him presentable". The King expects his newly wed bride to break morning fast with him. "The Queen" must look the part. He just about ripped their heads off right then and there.
He had it in his mind to never attend this breaking of fast. In fact he had it in his mind to simply never give the King anything even resembling his cooperation. However...
There was one thing that continued to rub his spine raw. One gnawing concern of his that drove him to storm his way through the castle, ignoring all protests that he is not following proper decorum or dress code. He all but kicks the door to the dining room open and comes to stand at the end of the table far across from Charioce.
His eyes narrowed in a wary glare, he reaches to grab a knife. And to the alarmed gasps of the easily frightened masses, stabs it into whatever breakfast meat is right in front of him. That's your face Charioce. ]
thanks i am physically crying
Up until the very last moment he had been convinced. Surely, his own brother and King would not hand him off to such lowly beings as a prize.
"You won't have to bare it forever." Lucifel had reassured him on the journey from Cocytus, his lips pulled into that knowing smirk that very frequently drove Azazel to an irrational desire to punch him in the mouth. "After all, humans have such short lifespans. After 50 years or so of playing nice you may come home."
If they hadn't been surrounded by retainers and human envoys he would have punched him right there.
The ceremony was boring. The filthy humans had attempted to fit him into some hideous white raiment covered in lace and bows and he threatened that he would dye the fabric red with their blood to fit him better. They stopped trying after that.
The King-- Charioce XVII-- seemed less than concerned with his choice to attend the ceremony just as he was. He sat where he needed to, he exchanged the vows that he was told to exchange. All the while making it very clear that he had no business being here.
"An offering of peace" his tight leather ass.
In the morning the maids tried once again to "make him presentable". The King expects his newly wed bride to break morning fast with him. "The Queen" must look the part. He just about ripped their heads off right then and there.
He had it in his mind to never attend this breaking of fast. In fact he had it in his mind to simply never give the King anything even resembling his cooperation. However...
There was one thing that continued to rub his spine raw. One gnawing concern of his that drove him to storm his way through the castle, ignoring all protests that he is not following proper decorum or dress code. He all but kicks the door to the dining room open and comes to stand at the end of the table far across from Charioce.
His eyes narrowed in a wary glare, he reaches to grab a knife. And to the alarmed gasps of the easily frightened masses, stabs it into whatever breakfast meat is right in front of him. That's your face Charioce. ]
This is a farce.