Chapter 1: The Bastard Prince.
"Ah... Oh yes... My lord..."
Well, this is rather awkward, isn't it? Allow me to introduce myself whilst I'm otherwise... occupied. The name's Xolvion. Xolvion Valous, to be precise, and yes, before you ask, that breathy voice you're hearing belongs to one of the castle's maids. Zelara, at least I think that is her name, though honestly, I've bedded so many maids in my day that I've lost track.
"Please... don't stop... Harder!"
You see, seduction is quite literally the only magical talent I possess. Rather pathetic for a demon prince, wouldn't you say? Whilst my half-siblings can conjure hellfire, command shadows, or crush minds with a thought, I can make the opposite sex rather... enthusiastic about my company. It's hardly the sort of power that commands respect in the demon nobility, but it does have its... pleasures.
"Oh gods... Lord Xolvion!"
The bastard son of a low-ranking succubus, you see. Not exactly the pedigree expected of demon royalty. No great magical powers, no fearsome demonic abilities, just this one rather embarrassing talent that seems more suited to a brothel than a throne room.
Yes, yes, you go ahead and do that, darling.
Soft gasps and whimpers fade into contented sighs
There we are. Now, where were my manners? Ah, yes, I should probably get dressed for the family gathering. Father called us all to the throne room for another one of his 'demonstrations of power' sessions. You know the sort where my siblings show off their inherited magical gifts whilst I stand there looking decorative and trying not to appear as useless as I actually am.
"AHHH FUCK!!!" The maid suddenly yelled as she dropped to the bed, twitching from the pleasure she was feeling throughout her body.
Xolvion breathed a sigh of relief and rose from the bed, beginning to dress. The hellish light streaming through his chamber windows illuminated an undeniably striking figure. At six feet two inches, he possessed the kind of lean, muscular build that spoke of natural athleticism with lean and chiselled muscles rather than demonic strength. His silver hair fell in medium-length spikes that caught the amber glow, whilst his red eyes, burning like crimson jewels, were perhaps his only obviously demonic feature.
Unlike his siblings, there were no horns crowning his head, no scales adorning his skin, no wings folding against his back. He appeared almost entirely human, devastatingly handsome in a way that made mortal women swoon and demon nobility sneer. It was a cruel irony that the son who looked most like the classical depiction of masculine beauty was considered the greatest disappointment of the Valous bloodline.
"Will I see you again tonight, my lord?" Zelara asked breathlessly as she adjusted her servant's uniform, pulling it over her tight curves and large breasts.
"Perhaps," Xolvion replied with his charming smile that's served him so well. "We'll see how tedious tonight's family gathering proves to be."
She practically floated out of his chambers, blushing profusely. Xolvion couldn't help but smirk. At least he was good at something, even if it wasn't the sort of talent that would help him inherit a throne or command respect from the demon nobility.
But tomorrow, tomorrow, he would turn two hundred and twenty-one. In demon terms, that made him a full adult, officially eligible for succession rights. He had the distinct feeling his dear siblings weren't terribly pleased about that prospect. After all, why should the powerless bastard prince have any claim to their father's throne?
Still, his father seemed to believe he had some sort of hidden potential. "Different doesn't mean lesser," Lord Malphas always said. Though Xolvion wondered if he'd feel the same way if he knew his favourite son's greatest achievement was shagging half the serving staff.
Taking a deep breath, Xolvion straightened his clothes and checked his reflection. Right then. Time to go pretend he belonged among the most powerful demons in the realm, he said sarcastically as he checked his clothing in the mirror.
The obsidian throne room of Castle Valous stretched endlessly before Xolvion as he entered, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadows that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. Crimson banners bearing the family crest. A serpent coiled around a burning crown, hung motionless in the still air, while the walls themselves pulsed with a faint, hellish glow that cast everything in shades of blood and amber.
Xolvion took his position at the far end of the great hall, hands clasped behind his back as he watched his siblings prepare to demonstrate their inherited gifts before their father's throne. Each display of power would be yet another reminder of what he lacked, what made him different, what made him lesser in their eyes.
"Magnificent, Vorthak," rumbled Demon Lord Malphas Valous from his seat of black stone and iron spikes. The massive demon's voice echoed through the chamber like distant thunder. His red eyes, burning like molten coals, fixed approvingly on his eldest son.
Vorthak, standing over eight feet tall with crimson skin and curved obsidian horns, extinguished the roaring pillar of hellfire he'd conjured with a casual gesture. Flames still licked around his clawed fingers as he bowed deeply. "Thank you, Father. I've been perfecting the Infernal Spiral technique you taught me."
"Your mastery grows daily," Lord Malphas nodded, his approval evident. "Soon you'll surpass even the old masters."
Xolvion kept his expression neutral, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Vorthak was everything a demon prince should be. Powerful, ruthless, bearing the traditional marks of their kind. The stark contrast between them had never been more apparent than in moments like these.
"My turn, Father!"
Seraphine stepped forward, her violet skin shimmering as dark energy began to coalesce around her petite frame. Unlike her brutish older brother, she possessed an elegant deadliness that reminded many of a poisonous flower. Her silver hair, so similar to Xolvion's own, cascaded down her back as she raised her hands. The shadows in the room responded to her call, writhing and twisting into the shape of spectral warriors that moved with fluid grace.
"Shadow Legion," she announced with pride. "I can maintain twelve now without strain."
"Impressive," Lord Malphas mused, though Xolvion detected a note of measured approval rather than the genuine pleasure he'd shown Vorthak. "Your strategic applications continue to evolve, my daughter."
One by one, Xolvion's half-siblings took their turns. Drakonis, with his emerald scales and ability to breathe acidic mist that could dissolve steel. Lilith, whose psychic powers could crush minds or bend wills to her desire. Even young Bael, barely past his hundredth year, could already summon lesser demons to do his bidding with the flick of his wrist.
Each demonstration was met with praise, with nods of satisfaction from their father. Each was a reminder of the power that flowed through their veins. Power that had somehow bypassed Xolvion's genetic coding entirely.
"And what of you, my boy?"
The question Xolvion had been dreading. All eyes turned to him as Demon Lord Malphas's attention settled on the second youngest son. Despite everything, despite his obvious lack of traditional demonic abilities, there was still warmth in those burning eyes when they looked at him. It was perhaps the cruellest irony of all that his father genuinely cared for him, even as that affection bred resentment in his siblings.
Xolvion stepped forward, his movements fluid and confident despite the churning anxiety in his chest. At six feet two inches, he was tall by human standards but dwarfed by his demonic siblings. His silver hair caught the hellish light, and his red eyes, the only clearly demonic trait he possessed, met his father's gaze steadily.
"I have been practising, Father, but..." He let the words trail off, the familiar excuse hanging in the air.
"But his powers remain as pathetic as ever," Vorthak interjected with barely concealed disdain. "Perhaps he could charm a serving wench into warming his bed. That seems to be the extent of his 'abilities.'"
If only he knew how accurate that assessment was, Xolvion thought.
Nervous laughter rippled through the assembled court demons. Xolvion felt heat rise in his cheeks, but he maintained his composure. He'd learned long ago that reacting to such provocations only encouraged them.
"Enough." Lord Malphas's voice cut through the mockery like a blade. The laughter died instantly. "Xolvion is my son, regardless of his... unique heritage. He has other qualities that serve him well."
Unique heritage. The polite way of saying 'bastard born of a low-ranking succubus.'
Xolvion caught the meaningful glances exchanged between his siblings at their father's words. He knew what they were thinking, that their father's favouritism toward the weakest among them was a slight against their own accomplishments. It was a resentment that had been festering for decades, growing stronger as Xolvion failed to manifest any significant demonic abilities.
"Come here, my son," Lord Malphas commanded, his voice softening.
Xolvion approached the throne, aware of every eye in the vast chamber tracking his movement. The court demons whispered among themselves, their conversations a susurrus of speculation and barely concealed contempt. He'd grown accustomed to being the subject of such whispers, but it never stopped stinging, even after the centuries he had endured it.
When he reached the base of the throne, his father leaned forward, those burning eyes studying him with an intensity that made Xolvion want to shrink back. But he held his ground, chin raised in defiance of the doubts that plagued him.
"Tomorrow you turn two hundred and twenty-one," Lord Malphas said, his voice carrying easily through the chamber despite its conversational tone. "In demon years, you'll be considered a full adult, eligible for all the rights and responsibilities that entails."
Including succession rights. The words hung unspoken in the air, but everyone present understood their implication. Xolvion saw Vorthak's hands clench into fists, saw the way Seraphine's eyes narrowed to violet slits. His coming of age meant his position in the line of succession would be formalised, despite his mixed blood and lack of power.
"I won't disappoint you, Father," Xolvion said, though he wondered if he was making a promise he couldn't keep.
"I know you won't." Lord Malphas reached out and placed a massive, clawed hand on Xolvion's shoulder. The gesture was gentle, almost human in its affection. "You have your mother's cleverness, her ability to see solutions where others see only obstacles. That's worth more than raw power."
At the mention of his mother, Xolvion felt the familiar twist of loss and longing in his chest. Lyralei had been a succubus of minor nobility, beautiful and intelligent but lacking the political connections of his siblings' mothers. She'd died when he was barely fifty, leaving him to navigate the treacherous waters of demon court politics alone.
"Your mother would be proud," Lord Malphas continued, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for Xolvion's ears. "She always believed you were destined for greatness, even if it wasn't the traditional path."
"Thank you, Father." The words came out rougher than Xolvion intended, emotion threatening to crack his carefully maintained composure.
Lord Malphas straightened, addressing the court once more. "Tomorrow's celebration will mark not just my son's majority, but the beginning of a new chapter for our house. Preparations are already underway for a feast worthy of the occasion."
The announcement was met with the appropriate murmurs of approval, though Xolvion could hear the forced quality in many of the voices. A celebration for the powerless bastard prince was a political necessity, not a genuine cause for joy among the demon nobility.
"Court is dismissed," Lord Malphas declared. "I would speak with my children privately."
The great hall emptied with surprising speed, court demons bowing their way out until only the Valous family remained. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken tensions, broken only by the distant sound of hellfire crackling in the castle's depths.
"Tomorrow changes everything," Lord Malphas began, his gaze sweeping over his assembled children. "Xolvion's formal recognition as an adult member of this house will solidify certain... expectations."
"Father," Vorthak stepped forward, his voice carefully controlled. "With respect, perhaps we should discuss the succession more openly. I am your eldest son, and I've proven my strength time and again. Surely—"
"Are you questioning my judgment?" The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Lord Malphas's eyes flared brighter.
"Of course not, Father," Vorthak said quickly, but Xolvion caught the flash of anger that crossed his features. "I merely think clarity would benefit us all."
"The succession will be decided when I choose to decide it," Lord Malphas said with finality. "Until then, you would all do well to remember that Xolvion is your brother, whatever his origins. He has my protection and my favour. That should be enough."
But it wasn't enough, Xolvion realised as he looked at his siblings' faces. If anything, their father's continued favouritism was making things worse. He could see the resentment burning in their eyes, the barely contained fury at being passed over for someone they saw as fundamentally inferior.
"We understand, Father," Seraphine said smoothly, though her smile never reached her eyes. "Xolvion is family. We would never forget that."
The words sent a chill down Xolvion's spine. There was something in her tone, a subtle emphasis on 'never forget' that felt more like a threat than reassurance.
"Good," Lord Malphas nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Now, I want you all to rest well tonight. Tomorrow will be demanding for all of us."
As his siblings filed out of the throne room, Xolvion lingered, some instinct warning him to stay close to his father's protection a little longer. He watched Vorthak and Seraphine exchange a meaningful glance while the others disappeared through the massive doors, and his unease deepened.
"Xolvion," Lord Malphas called softly. "Walk with me, boy."
They left the throne room together, passing through corridors lined with portraits of previous Demon Lords. Xolvion had studied those paintings countless times, searching for any sign that he belonged among their legacy. Most bore the traditional demonic features, horns, scales, wings, and burning eyes. A few looked more human, but all radiated an aura of power that Xolvion had never felt within himself.
"You're troubled," Lord Malphas observed as they walked.
"I'm always troubled, Father," Xolvion replied with a rueful smile. "It comes with being the disappointment of the family."
"You are not a disappointment." The words carried such conviction that Xolvion almost believed them. "You are different, yes. But different doesn't mean lesser. Your mother taught me that."
They paused before a portrait of a stunning succubus with silver hair and knowing eyes. Lyralei looked exactly as Xolvion remembered her, beautiful, intelligent, and somehow sad, as if she'd known her time was limited.
"She saw something in you that even I don't fully understand yet," Lord Malphas continued. "But I trust her judgement. I always have."
"What if she was wrong?" The question slipped out before Xolvion could stop it. "What if I really am just a powerless bastard who happened to inherit her looks and your favour?"
"Then you'll prove that power isn't everything," Lord Malphas said firmly. "Strength comes in many forms, my son. Sometimes the most devastating victories are won not through force, but through cunning, charm, and the ability to make others underestimate you. Even in my thousands of years of living, it wasn't until I met your mother that I learnt that."
The words were meant to be comforting, but they only reminded Xolvion of how precarious his position truly was. Tomorrow, he would officially become an adult, formally entering the line of succession despite his obvious limitations. His siblings' resentment would only grow, and his father's protection could only extend so far.
As they parted ways at the corridor leading to Xolvion's chambers, Lord Malphas placed a hand on his son's shoulder one last time.
"Happy birthday, my boy," he said with genuine warmth. "Whatever tomorrow brings, remember that you are my son, and I am proud of you."
Alone in his chambers, Xolvion stared out the window at the hellish landscape beyond the castle walls. Lava flows carved glowing rivers through obsidian plains, while volcanic peaks pierced a sky that never knew true daylight. It was a harsh, unforgiving realm that respected only strength, and he was perhaps the weakest demon ever born to noble blood.
Tomorrow would change everything, his father had said. As Xolvion prepared for bed, he couldn't shake the feeling that the change would be far more dramatic than any of them anticipated. The looks his siblings had exchanged, the tension in their voices, the way they'd said 'never forget' all pointed to something brewing beneath the surface.
He'd spent his entire life being underestimated and overlooked. Tomorrow, for better or worse, that was going to end. One way or another, his two hundred and twenty-first birthday would mark the beginning of a new chapter in his story.
He only hoped he would survive to see how it ended.