TRINITY FORGED: A Why Choose Romance (MFM)

Lucifer.

1971.

The throne room was empty, save for the line of legionaries who flanked the back wall behind my chair.

Already annoyed, I sat and crossed my legs. My finger tapped a slow beat against the armrest.

Kain was late.

Each second that passed felt like a deliberate slap in the face. Perhaps a calculated choice on his part.

Because in any other circumstance, I would have beheaded him before the doors ever opened.

But I needed him. And his army.

My temper soured even more.

The doors flew open. Without apology, a large, sandy-blonde, middle-aged man strode in, clad in ceremonial military uniform.

“Your Majesty. Forgive my tardiness, please.” He spread his hands as he made his way to me, laughing lightly. “We cannot all travel through portals as you do.”

My mouth tightened. Not even an attempt at humility.

As he approached, he gave me a bare, shallow bow at the waist—before straightening to his full height again.

Another point for beheading.

I withheld a sneer.

“Moreso, getting to the palace without catching notice from others has become increasingly difficult.” His smile widened. “You’ve been collecting enemies.”

“Only those who forget who leads them,” I muttered.

Because I had been… distracted. Indulgent. A mistake I was now paying for.

Tragically, the only man with enough power to stabilize my throne stood before me now. Smiling like he already won.

“I haven’t forgotten, sir,” Kain said smoothly. “And I heard Her Majesty gave birth to a girl. Congratulations.”

Something heavy, vicious coiled in my stomach.

My court had long accused me of being too protective of Sandra.

They had not been wrong. But that instinct grew and sharpened into something far less reasonable the moment my daughter was born.

My voice came out measured, restrained. “I did not summon you to speak of them.”

“But, my Lord, we must,” he retorted quickly. “Because we each have something the other wants.”

Kain’s smile only widened as my face blanked.

“You want my armies,” he continued. “And I am willing to send them under your banner.”

My brow creased. “Go on.”

He lifted a hand and pointed, but not at me. The seat.

“In return, I want a place on the throne for my blood.”

Silence stretched between us for the simple reason I could not let myself speak or move. I would do something impulsive. In fact, the shadows at the corner of the room began to thicken and spread. I could feel control slipping from me.

“My son, Aldrin, stands to inherit the Fearless army,” he went on as I struggled with my calm exterior. “He is only a boy, but he will make an excellent warrior.”

When I didn't reply, he added, “And an even better warrior king.”

My hands slammed into the armrests as I rose to my feet.

The sound echoed through the chamber.

“I will not barter with my child—”

“Barter?” Kain scoffed, now the one who looked offended. “Do you think your daughter will form a stronger alliance elsewhere, Lucifer?”

My name, spoken without title.

“Or is it that you believe you will still have the luxury of choice by the time she comes of age?”

Arrogant, insolent little worm.

My fury surged and for a moment, I envisioned it. Closing the distance. Snapping his throat. Watching his soldiers decide, in that instant, whether they wished to die with him or to run.

My fingers twitched.

Death that would only beget death.

I let out a long, uneasy breath as my shoulders slumped. It would be unwise. But damned satisfying.

Without Kain's armies, I would lose this war before it began.

My own people already turned on me. A coup was inevitable.

And this man, this insufferable, grinning opportunist, knew it.

“I will… put it under consideration,” I grit out.

Kain dipped his head in a bow, a smile tugging at his mouth. “How very tolerant you are, my Lord.”

Condescending, miserable rat.

He turned without waiting to be dismissed.

The solution rolled out before me was simple. I would take the deal and use his armies.

Andrea would not be of age for marriage, not for many years. There was more than enough time to wage war.

Afterward, all I would have to do was remove the problem. Kain and his son would die before they ever got remotely close to her.

***

I found Sandra standing in the nursery, whispering to the bundle in her arms. The baby was gently rocked up and down.

The anger I carried only moments before bled away.

And fear returned tenfold as I watched the moment between them.

I would not be able to protect them forever.

I could fail miserably. And they both would pay for my mistakes.

She smiled at me as I approached from the doorway, never able to stay away long.

“How was the meeting?” she asked.

“As expected.” I peered through the swaddled fabric to find my daughter's cherubic face peering up.

The face that would someday rule this Kingdom.

If I didn’t lose it first.

“Lucifer,” Sandra whispered.

I glanced at her, only able to hold her gaze for a split second.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Of course.” It was a reflexive answer.

"Hm." Her attention returned to Andrea. “You weren’t in bed this morning.”

“Duty calls.”

Her eyes were sharp when they met mine, I winced.

“Everything is fine. I promise you.” Another horrid lie.

“Then why do you look so troubled?” she whispered. “What’s wrong?”

All these years together, I still couldn't understand how she could see so plainly past my mask.

It was what I deserved for marrying a witch.

“Is your Mother’s old coven still around?” I heard myself ask aloud.

Sandra was taken off guard by the question. “I… imagine so. Why?”

I tried to remain nonchalant as my fingers brushed over Andrea’s forehead.

She didn’t stir, unaware of the world crumbling around her. Born into a war she didn’t ask for.

“Look at me.”

I lifted my eyes.

Her face had changed, no longer soft, but searching.

“Why are you asking all of a sudden?”

Setting parameters. Contingencies. Escape routes. Places no one would find them.

“Only thinking.” I brought my arm around her, and she curled into me.

“You’re going to try something foolish, like send us away.”

My throat flexed. “It is not unheard of for royals to leave their country when at war,” I said. “Until it is safe to return."

Safe.

The word felt hollow even as I said it.

“You, me, Andrea-- we stay together. You promised,” she whispered.

“I know, Sandra.” I gently stroked her hair. As her head rested against my shoulder, I frowned to myself. “I know.”

Present Day, 1998.

I did not feel the pull of Andrea’s magic. That should not have unsettled me as much as it did.

She was a grown woman and proved to be marginally capable of taking care of herself.

I was sorely tempted to check on her in the mortal realm... but it was clear to me there were problems I could not fix.

Like a bloodsworn. A fated mate.

The words made my stomach churn.

I hated them both. The demon, especially.

At least the wolf had the decency to keep his mouth shut most of the time.

Wherever she was, she sorely needed to come back. Here at the palace, she was safe.

As I waited, Gerald—the butler she named and now I couldn’t very well un-name— brought me a second cup of tea in the library.

Sandra’s library.

Since they left decades ago, I rarely went in there. It did not feel the same without her in it. Her warmth and light.

My fingertips pressed over my eyelids.

The light that would never return.

It was curious to me that Andrea was immediately drawn to this room, as her mother had been. The same shelves. The same corner by the window.

My eyes opened again and fixed upon the cello on its stand.

The very moment I heard her play, something split open in my chest.

Like a door I had boarded shut had been forced open. Like sunlight.

Like Sandra was still here.

Andrea resembled her so much that it was jarring. Even more jarring when she spoke without her mother’s softness.

Perhaps that was a good thing. Softness did not survive in the Underworld.

I glanced at my watch.

She had been gone for nearly two hours.

When was I supposed to step in? How much was I supposed to help?

I had no damned clue how to be a father. In my eyes, she was still a baby, crawling across the rug to me. That was how we parted ways. I didn't know how to behave around a twenty-seven-year-old with an attitude alarmingly similar to my own.

My eyes fell on the cello again.

“Perhaps,” I muttered to the empty room, “I should ask her to play again.”