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Lucifer's reign had always been a powerful battlefront against the exterminators and their terror over the lands of the eastern continent.
Pride had always been crowned by its strong soldiers and justice in battle. The Morningstar family castle, known as Hazbin Fortress, was a refuge for all those who needed asylum from the bloodthirsty soldiers who called themselves saints. However, the constant war was beginning to wear down the troops, and the assassins of the west, since the uprising of Vox and his partners in an adjacent district, had become a terrible threat from within the territory itself, bringing them closer to civil war.
Still, the blond couldn't believe he would actually do it. Send Alastor, the executioner, to the front lines. They would call him tyrant devil once they knew his fury, his devotion to the king's orders, and his irreverence for any other limits.
The monarch didn't care.
After all, it wasn't even his choice.
His lover's need for glory was what would take him to the front, and there was nothing anyone - not even the one who wore the crown - could do to stop him. Lucifer, ever since his knight made that damn decision, couldn't sleep without tossing and turning, couldn't eat without feeling uncomfortable, couldn't look into the reddish-brown eyes of the love of his life without those scarlet traces reminding him of bloodstains.The day of Alastor's departure dragged on, making an insistent noise like chains scraping the floor so that even the depths of hell could feel its weight. The king sat on his throne, ordering everyone to leave him alone, his legs crossed and gently smoothing the grooves of a small duck sculpture he carried back and forth like an amulet.
It was inevitably tragic to think that this morning might be the last morning he would see Alastor, the pain of the thought threatening to tear his chest apart.
The large doors opened briefly to allow the soldier's slender figure to pass through. His posture, even with all that iron, was impeccable, and he wore the unwavering smile that the monarch had learned to appreciate. As macabre as it seemed at first glance, the constancy of that expression was important to Lucifer. The soldier did not kneel before him as the others usually did. Instead, he maintained his posture, extending a hand for the other man to grab and throw himself into his arms, which he did without delay. Feeling the metal beneath his fingers, the blond swallowed hard, terrified, as if he were the one who would face battle.
At times, he was almost certain that, by falling in love with his cunning executioner, part of him had become permanently attached to him and that, if his beloved died, part of him would never be restored.
— Give up this madness, Al — he begged, as he had done every night until then.
He already knew the answer, but the hesitation of his hands on his cloak gave him a glimmer of hope.
— I believe we have already discussed this matter, Your Majesty, — replied the executioner, stroking the monarch's blond hair. The title was reserved only for when Alastor ran his long fingers under his crown in the throne room, reminding Lucifer who he was without it. — I must go.”
— You don't need glory, my dear.
— You know I do. You always knew I did. That's how we met, wasn't it? — He seemed almost nostalgic, and that made the king of Pride smile.
— It was... You were an insolent assassin seeking glory by trying to kill me. — he recalled, pulling away from the knight's embrace to look at his face.
There was no fear, only deliberate determination.
“So brave...”
— And you fell straight for my charms.
— Charm is a bit strong. I detested you.
— And look where detesting me has brought you, my dear. — His grip, now on his waist, anchored him to the moment with ease. Traveling in dark thoughts was difficult when Al sat in the darkness with him.
— You wore me down.
— True. But it worked. You fell for me, and now, if I wanted to kill you, I could. You would even apologize for bleeding on my clothes. — The provocation was obvious, the polished, intact smile stretching into something more ironic, more provocative.
More Alastor, for sure.
— There's just one problem with your great plan, — Lucifer retorted, making a point of the dramatic pause that accommodated the silence between them. — You also fell madly in love with me. You would never be able to kill me. — Alastor muttered, blushing briefly as if the fact embarrassed him.
The king gently ran his fingers over his cheeks.
— Whatever makes you feel safer, Your Highness.
— That's not my title.
— It's the appropriate title.
There was no tension in the air when they looked at each other. Only intensity, as if the desert brown of the knight's eyes tried to swallow the sea of the monarch's blue, and vice versa. They knew what that feeling was, that line that would bind them until they both died to be together forever as they longed, with their eternal teasing, smiles, and words with ulterior motives.
“Loving you will be my ruin,” they both thought as they stared at each other with the fervor of a thousand angry battalions.
— I have to go. — Alastor said at last, using his touch to guide Lucifer back to the throne and leaving a kiss on his hand, which the soldier refused to let go so easily.
The blond stared at the knight, wanting to engrave every part of him in his mind. The curly brown hair he explored on starry nights, the darkened skin where he placed his most tender kisses, the way his long hands gripped the hilt of his sword.
— Wait. — The man stared at him with confused eyes, his characteristic smile not completely gone but not completely present. — Your sword. —
— What about it? —
— Draw it from its sheath and extend the blade toward me. — He dictated, almost like an order that was willingly followed by the other, with a devotion that no one would believe if they were told.
The king's executioner obeying without question. That alone was absurd.
The silver double-edged blade, polished to a shine, protruded toward him, trembling slightly. He found it adorable how, despite everything, Alastor would never be able to kill him. God, he was afraid even now that the weapon would slip and draw even a single drop of his blood.
He stared for a few seconds at the metal part with small engravings of a forest and parts of a deer, the antlers, the eyes, the hooves, and the ears. He had always found it an interesting choice and promised himself he would ask his love about it when he returned. Then gently held the metal and kissed it near the tip, right above one of the few flower engravings.
A lily. Lucifer's favorite flower. Not the king of Pride, not the ruler of the fortress, not the terrifying and tyrannical devil. Just Lucifer, just the one Alastor knew.
The knight stared at him, and the king held his gaze with equal adoration. Then he motioned for the dark-haired man to approach, rose from his throne, the place from which everyone thought he exuded superiority, and knelt at his feet, as if his lover were a saint of battle to whom he was completely devoted. He gently guided Alastor's hand and the hilt toward his mouth, kissing over his fingers and hoping to leave a permanent impression of his lips there, still staring at the man in front of him, who now looked deeply disconcerted.
— Come back to me, Alastor, and I will stop the war. — His brown eyes flashed red at the mere thought that Lucifer would actually end the age-old war for him.
Knowing that only he, the possibility of never having to think about losing him, could inspire such power in the monarch.
— I will always come back to you, — he promised, touching their foreheads together.
Lucifer stared at his love with pain of longing and hope for the future. How could he wait for the future without Alastor? He couldn't even imagine a life without him. Loving him would be his greatest achievement and his greatest devastation. Loving his executioner was his greatest irony and yet his greatest victory.
— I will wait eagerly. Where the land meets the sun. — The hill where only they went, where they knew they loved each other for the first time.
— Where the land meets the sun.