Paimon, who had to wait until the coming of a new possible heir was confirmed, became impatient with each of these nights –someone who was normally serene and could take his time to act and who recognised eternity as a concept, rather than a metric unit, could not wait.
He knew well his own strength, his own power –but to know your strength is also to recognise your weaknesses and to know that even in immortality there are limitations. And it was to combat those weaknesses that he needed a true heir, Stolas; sure, he was the first choice that presented itself, but with the slow progress he saw in him and the high expectations he placed on his shoulders –he saw himself in need of having to try again, to make sure that behind him was someone worthy. And he had to do it before Octavia betrayed him –if she really intended to.
So Paimon procured Octavia for all that time. It almost seemed that, if he set his mind to it, he could be a wonderful husband and excellent father –but after so many attempts, he was no longer fooling anyone in the palace, and it was simply to ensure that whatever was born from that womb was in the best condition –nothing more.
Finally, the time came.
According to demonic culture, the birth of a demon royalty warranted feasting, gathering and congratulations all around; a whole ceremony full of gifts and fun, the hope of a future leader who with great power would bring pride to others and carry the name of hell in their blood, if not before, then during, or after pregnancy this would have taken place –so it was curious then to see Paimon taking everything with the utmost secrecy while the midwives helped Octavia with her new egg. As if it were a crime, judging at all times the actions of everyone in the room, even the mother who bore the brunt of it –as if she was not allowed pain and should carry her task with pride and honour, as if it was her responsibility to fulfil vain expectations beyond her control.
Besides, the life of a new being has always been a cause of happiness, even in adversity one sees again and again the beautifying effects of a new dawn; wars ending even in the birth of a new king. But neither in Octavia's eyes nor in Paimon's were there any signs of positive feelings, or feelings in general. Only a desolate mother and a disinterested father as imps cleaned an egg that seemed to exist for no one there. The father not bothering to check its condition or comfort his wife, and the mother denying herself the pleasure of holding in her arms what had been in her womb for so long. There was still no one to judge, and already they both seemed to be disappointed.
It only remained to think what could cause such contempt, what must have happened to discard the cards that had not yet been played. Or was it perhaps the fact that the cards served, were still waiting to be turned over by their player.
Little Stolas, who had been awakened by the cries and scandals –managed to show himself with the slightest curiosity. Concerned again at his mother's wailing. Still not understanding the context of his surroundings; his instinct was pure and sincere in the intention to care for his mother as she had cared for him, and his heart throbbed in grief and pain at not knowing what to do.
—Is the egg ready? —Paimon asked—.
Everyone present was silent, as if that answered the question –even Octavia, who had been through it all, refused to answer.
—Then take it to the throne.
That being said, Paimon began to get ready, wearing his usual beautiful clothes –while Octavia resigned herself to rest as the servants took the egg away from her.
And while Paimon's gaze was earnest and unwavering, Octavia's slowly fractured in the struggle against weeping –hoping that perhaps sleep would hide her from such cruel feeling. But it was a losing battle, however hard she might try to win; for in the end, she knew that whatever the outcome was to come, the nightmare she once thought was over was returning from the grave to take its rightful place.
***
The throne room was then enlisted at the king's command.
Closed windows, candlelight being the only illumination, and in the centre lay the egg waiting on a beautiful cushion which in turn stood on a small altar. Everywhere you could see Paimon's seal engraved –even on the floor, where the largest of them all stood.
Without being able to discern words, there was the whisper of a spiritual chant and like a flute; the wind could be heard blowing through the hinges of the stained-glass windows. This continued until Paimon enveloped everyone with his presence. Then all became silent.
—It is ready, your highness. —With a bow the butler informed him—. When you give the order.
Without a moment's thought Paimon gave the signal to start and everyone left the place except for him, and the little illumination provided by the candles disappeared as if it too was forbidden to witness the ritual.
This is where I depend on your imagination, on your ability to see in the dark. Imagine the figure of Paimon transforming into a darker version of himself, where the glow in his eyes becomes prominent and more intense –but that despite this glow all is still invisible. Try to watch the seals glow and move counterclockwise as one more appears on the surface of the eggshell. The curtains dance to a wind that does not exist, and the heat rises in the wake of a false fire.
When you have all this in your perception then remove it and return to normality for the ritual has taken place.
Now that the view returns to our eyes let us take note of the curtains returning to calm, of the candles relighting; of the windows opening and the sunlight coming back in –as Paimon withdraws leaving the egg behind, being consumed by ash; leaving nothing in its place. Except for the disappointed and annoyed look of a dark lord.
All that followed was the servants cleaning up, leaving everything as they found it –without sharing words or opinions, they seemed accustomed to what had just happened.
But there is something beyond that, the inevitable union between mother and child, a union that nothing can sever until death overtakes either of them. And whoever lives after this death knows and feels it –and this is the case of Octavia who, without being present or aware of it, could perceive the conclusion. The result of the ritual.
***
—Another failure, like your excuse for a son. —Paimon demanded, slamming the door behind him—.
—Stolas is your son too. —Octavia replied, still lying down—.
On her face was the pain of childbirth, the pain of saying goodbye to the life that could not be, and the pain of confusion between being relieved that it was all over for now; and the fear that at any moment it could happen again –and that maybe, just maybe, the outcome will be different.
Paimon was insulted by Octavia's comment –looking her in the eye with a look of disbelief, understanding her comment as a way of saying that in part or in whole; it was not her fault alone. She was the mother; it was her job to see that her son was at his best at all times. For Paimon there was no time for frivolous things like innocence or childhood –if at any time he had to take his place, he had to be ready to take over.
But Octavia was the complete opposite, loving her son as he was, with his innocence and simplicity –she fought for Stolas to have these luxuries as a consequence of her never having them. She knew Stolas was more than capable of taking over when he grew up, and she had confidence in his potential.
—And that's why he should act like so. —Paimon replied, insulted—. But instead, I have a child who can't speak nor walk.
—-It is a child. He acts like a child. —Octavia sounded increasingly annoyed—. If Lucifer asked us to be virtuous, I remind you that patience is one of the highest.
—Insolent woman!
Paimon prepared to slap Octavia, but stopped at the last moment, where his hand reached the highest point in the air before falling and delivering the blow –hovering in mid-air as the two stared into each other's eyes, trying to penetrate the other with their gaze, the anger of the two fighting fiercely to show their superiority. Perhaps it was that Octavia wounded his pride, or perhaps there was another reason for the king's sudden change of heart (if he has one), but ultimately the blow never connected.
Silence then took over the scene as Paimon regained his composure and hid his hands inside his cloak as was his custom.
—I don't know what you're trying to do with him, but he's in my care from now on. —Paimon concluded—. If it turns out to be a lost cause, you'd better be ready by then.
Paimon was leaving the room. Already he was immediately thinking of how he would deal with the prince's upbringing, dissatisfied with the "results" of Octavia's work; it seemed more like sabotage to his legacy –than upbringing.
—And I will continue to give you failure after failure. —Octavia seemed to give up as her voice changed from an aggressive tone to a defensive one between words—.
Paimon, dissatisfied with giving her the last word, threatened her.
—Then I will look for someone to give me what I want.
—Who? Your concubines? King Paimon's son; a bastard?
Octavia's comment finished igniting the flame of anger in Paimon, who slammed the door behind him; and perhaps as a visual display of irony, he made his way to the wing of the palace where the concubines lived.
Despite the fact that for the era; for the society, and the demonic royalty of the time a harem was not frowned upon –and was even influenced in its functioning by the same rules that applied on earth (even using these women as currency), Paimon opted for discretion, inspired by the order and control of the Ottoman empire, (To give an example, while the Ottoman sultan had no problem in using this building for royal events, or some parties, Paimon limited it only to the use of his pleasure).
He forbade the concubines to leave their chambers, limiting who could access this area, and even filling them with luxury; with the condition of preserving their loyalty and obedience. He offered them wisdom and even the opportunity to "renounce" their position, but the fear of his wrath and power, plus the natural ambition of these creatures for riches caused an expected effect –no one dared to escape.
Even getting to the harem was discreet, being a second palace linked to the main one by streets and alleys that likewise appeared to be ordinary roads, travelled and used by the people; unaware that they were inadvertently crossing royal territory.
So was the security; though part of the royal guard, they dressed as a common guard in order to maintain the facade –and Paimon concealed his identity with metamorphoses if required. Everywhere you looked, there was a lie and an illusion covering that lie.
The only thing that did not go unnoticed was the architecture, but in a circle where everything was seen to come from wealth; hiding in plain sight was not the most difficult. Thus, allowing the façade to be completed.
Inside, the harem was as organised as the palace, with the main hall greeting you on arrival. Armchairs on either side on a raised floor, in the centre a decorative vase and in the corners two doors; one on each side, leading to new corridors filled with mystery and discretion.
The left corridor led to the baths and the swimming pool, while the right corridor led to each of these women's bedrooms, one following the other as a stable arranges the stalls of its horses. Finally, the two paths connected in a room the same size as the main hall but where there was only one large bed and the most beautiful decoration. If the whole place overflowed with status and riches, this room made it look like a humble inn, comparable only to the main palace –of course, I am talking about Paimon's room to enjoy these women at whim and choice.
***
—Patra.
Paimon's voice saying this name as he entered was command enough.
Patra was a succubus. Similar to imps in appearance, succubae and incubi are creatures of semi-human appearance. But, unlike imps, these creatures retained their wings, and, as with imps –their use was almost non-existent after the war. Because of this, their wings were relatively small; tiny even, compared to what they used to be.
Also, their horns were different, they could vary in many more ways, and they usually kept the colour of their skin. If their skin was pink, the horns would be pink, for example. In other cases, they would have black markings, or in others, completely black. One horn would also vary from the other; the two could be symmetrical and of the same colour, or one could be larger than the other, one black and the other the colour of their skin, and so on.
We could say that these creatures were among the most chaotic to describe and it was impossible to generalise them. If you happen to be in hell one day, I recommend reading Giacomo Casanova's "Dark Encounters: Tales of Succubae and Incubi". As he was in life, as he was in hell –they used to say of him before he was murdered in the circles of hell at the hands of Asmodeus himself, who despite loving to see the damned succumb to his pleasures, made it very clear that there were limits to what you could fuck with.
Patra is in fact mentioned on more than one occasion and describes her as I will now: "A woman whom the word beautiful cannot cover even the smallest fibre of her seductive hair, who with an exquisite scent captivates your sense of smell and snatches it for herself.
Everything about her is soft as the finest fabrics of Asia, her black hair and ashen pink body overloads your nervous system (if we still had one, anyways) until it shuts down, stealing your touch as well.
Her voice is so soft and seductive that it calms your heart and makes it race; if that's even possible. Her tone is as penetrating as her gaze that takes away your sense of hearing and makes you deaf to anything but her enchanting singing.
Her perfect body, just the way I like it; and this from a man who has enjoyed every woman in his life –it was like a million bodies in one, and there could be even more. Imagine the most beautiful woman and multiply it by thousands –and keep that image, for by then she too will have stolen your sight.
You lose the taste at the end, when you're already in her charms and she kisses you with those honey flavoured lips. The last thing you'll ever taste in your life, or in my case eternity, I'd thank God for this wonderful opportunity, but that would be sinning! Damn if we're in hell what difference does it make, thank you, God for this beautifully killing woman!"
Patra was undoubtedly the succubus among succubae and in Paimon's harem she was the chief and somewhat his protégé –for he relieved her of all the responsibilities of satisfying him, as well as leaving her in charge of the harem as such. Her attire alluded to her position by being of the highest quality and far more ostentatious than what a concubine would normally wear. Or at least in Paimon's system.
—Your Highness.
Patra replied as she bowed and marched to the living quarters, alerting the others that the master had just arrived.
When Paimon arrived in his bedroom, his five concubines, and Patra were already there.
—For you, my lord. —Patra made a reference and held out her hands—.
Showing the others; as a vendor shows their tent to the people one sees passing by, and then she withdraws from the chambers, leaving the others with their king.
From left to right you had 3 hellhounds, an imp girl, and another who looked like a mix of imp and succubus. In the same order their names were Livia, Cornelia, Faria, Mella and Mirra.
Livia's fur was white as the first snow of winter, like all her kind, her corneas were red as fresh blood and her eyes white with black pupils –of the 5 she was the tallest, she looked as if she belonged to a kind of winter wolf; her ears were long and pointed and her hair long and beautiful, reaching to her waist in back and covering half her face in front. Her tail was furry and seemed to be a soft, fluffy cloud. Her body was like an hourglass, her breasts small but beautiful and her ass was big. Despite her lifestyle in Paimon's harem, she was always positive –perhaps because she was younger than the others.
Cornelia had a coat in every shade of grey known to man and two others. Slightly broader in figure than Livia's, but more accentuated in her breasts; it seemed that what one lacked, the other had. Curious when you took into account how close they were; even at this moment –they were next to each other. Although she had entered the harem with Livia and Faria, she was the least experienced as she was terrified of Paimon from the start.
Faria was the least tall of the three; her body was also the most conservative, something that caused her a stir when she was the eldest between Livia and Cornelia –so she used to always stand at a distance from the two in an effort not to be bothered by them.
Her fur was the same as that of a Mexican wolf, with shades of brown and shades of black and grey. It was almost impossible not to mistake her for a coyote; even more so when her personality was as aggressive as one.
Mella, relatively tall for the average height of the imps of the time, with small, striped horns and deep red skin. She was also conservative in body –but no less sensual for that, her yellow eyes appearing tender while her red tail, long and pointed, showed her to be as violent as a scorpion.
Mirra, perhaps the most neglected of the five; the result of a night of passion between an imp and a succubus. For this very reason she was taller than Mella, but because of her defensive position it was somewhat obvious that she was being bullied by the others. Her proportions were the largest of all and her figure the most attractive –her mother's inheritance. Her skin was a shade between Mexican pink and red, with one horn striped like that of an imp and the other pink like that of a succubus.
They all wore the same, a light cloth that barely covered their naked bodies. Each in a different colour; red, blue, purple, white and black.
—Welcome, Master. —They all said in unison.
Paimon was silent as he magically undressed in front of them –depositing his clothes in Patra's arms, who took them away once he had finished undressing.
The five concubines hurried to bed with Paimon: Livia with a cheerful and excited attitude, Cornelia with some nervousness, Faria with a more serious look than the others, and so on, with light, childish giggles or gestures. In spite of their adult age, they seemed to enjoy showing among themselves and with him, a certain air of innocence and submissiveness –showing pleasure at finally being able to submit to the whims of their master.
—Whatever you wish, we will do for you. —Livia said seductively—.
With the most extroverted attitude of all, she was the first to embrace Paimon –on her left side, hugging herself against him while Mella took over on the right.
—And whatever you wish, you can do with us. —Mella continued—.
Paimon looked into their eyes with indifference, but enjoyed admiring their bodies, having them on top of him was enough to excite him as they pressed their breasts against him without any problem. Cornelia, Faria and Mirra, who were the least assertive of the group, sat kneeling on the bed –Faria and Mirra on the right side and Cornelia on the left.
Livia and Mella seemed to do all the work as they kissed the neck and cheeks of Paimon, who occasionally turned to look at them to kiss their lips. Gradually Paimon vented his morning tantrum by scratching or squeezing their buttocks –to which they responded with soft moans of pleasure, plus an uncontrollable wagging of their tails.
But just to have fun with the two of them, it was not necessary to have called them all; so, he saw no alternative but to goad them into action himself. During one of Livia's wiggles, he grabbed her tail by the root and pulled it towards himself –to which Livia reacted with a moan that disguised pain.
The sudden movement forced her to wiggle her buttocks a little and flex her legs as a way of reducing the intensity of her discomfort, something Paimon took advantage of to run his fingers over her vaginal lips. Moving from pain to pleasure again, this was beginning to enrapture Mella, Faria and Mirra, while Cornelia remained inert and showing a pique of fear.
Mella was quick to respond, running her thin but long tail around Paimon's arm –enticing him to tug on it as well. But Paimon's gaze now seemed fixed on Cornelia, further enrapturing Mella.
After running his fingers over Livia's crotch several times already, Paimon spoke:
—Cornelia, lift your sister's leg.
They all turned to look at Cornelia as she fearfully grabbed Livia's paw, who looked her in the eye, and she looked back. Livia knew that her sister was the most fearful of them all, and it helped her courage to look her in the eye when something happened around her that terrified her.
But Paimon would insist on playing with her for a while longer.
—Look down, watch. —He ordered her—.
Gradually she obeyed and watched as Paimon presented her sister to her, his claws opening Livia's vulva, who held back her moans (again in an effort not to frighten her sister any further).
—I have five of you to attend to help me with Livia.
Cornelia was beginning to waver.
—We must obey, sister. —In a gentle voice, Livia reaffirmed—.
After a few seconds and a strong intake of courage, she obeyed –performing oral sex on her sister and licking Paimon's wet fingers.
Livia did not want to take pleasure in this, but her body was stronger than she was, and she would inevitably continue to moan in pleasure at Paimon's caresses and her older sister's tongue.
It was unusual to see the younger sister as the emotional support, but the life they'd had before the safety of the harem had made the younger one's innocence the older one's safeguard. Faria, who was the middle one, fulfilled the cliché better than Cornelia, being more overprotective –the jealousy she was feeling so far was not from wanting to take her place, but from wanting to prevent any harm coming to her, preferring to take her place as a form of rescue.
Mella and Mirra, who had no affiliation with each other or with the hellhounds, only saw this as a sign of immaturity.
When Paimon was finally satisfied with the act, he let them continue as he finally complied with Mella's whim, pulling her tail –but unlike with Livia, he inserted his claws into her anus, making her scream.
—Faria, start licking too if you're not going to do anything.
Paimon already knew that Faria was more concerned about Cornelia than doing her job, although she wasn't bad at it either –even if it was necessary to give her direct orders so that she didn't look like a mere statue.
Perhaps it was a hellhound thing, having a long snout and long tongues; plus, a peculiar hot breath, which made oral sex a unique experience for the recipient –and Paimon was fascinated by it.
In the end Mirra would be left watching as she tried to find her place in the orgy –another one Paimon loved to torment; for being a mixed race, the inferiority complex was ever present –but with one on each side and Faria between his legs sucking his cock, there was little left to do; what she was always left to do.
Without Paimon giving the order she climbed on top of him and put her buttocks as close as she could to his penis and Faria's snout. Faria's job would become: to continue with the oral sex but making certain pauses so that when she lets go; Paimon's penis would fall between Mirra's buttcheeks.
By the time it was her turn to put it back in her mouth, she would have to force it out of the way. What Mirra enjoyed would be the feel of Faria's wet nose trying to push her aside to retrieve Paimon's penis and consequently, the caresses of it as Faria moved her mouth up and down.
It was as if he was playing with each other's personalities, abusing their strengths and weaknesses. Maybe he got more pleasure from doing that than from the sex itself.
The first few times; it was pandemonium, they criticised each other as they tried to please the king, and Paimon had to be more violent to show them their place. After a while, and with Patra's guidance, the desired order would be obtained –and Paimon rarely deviated from the script that he himself implemented; these cases being when he only asked for one, two, or some combination of his choice.
If it was the three sisters, he was sure to make Cornelia do something humiliating, he used Faria to replace Cornelia down the line and always started with Livia.
If it was Mella and Mirra, he played with Mella, but I started with Mirra.
But no matter what the mix, he always included Cornelia or Mirra –which the others saw as being his favourites. This provoked more than one quarrel after his visits.
The same would happen later, for on command Faria would drop the act and force Mirra to be penetrated by Paimon; though forced was not exactly the right word when Mirra enjoyed being used and Faria enjoyed using her; with his supposed favouritism as an excuse, she would make her sit down hard or have Paimon penetrate her anally suddenly and then return to a vaginal penetration –anything involving force, discomfort or both; Faria would be in charge.
Paimon also enjoyed fostering this false hierarchy, watching them take it out on each other was part of the pleasure for him.
Mirra's moans were not long in coming either, her body working with Faria's willingly as she took hold of the hellhound's claws; the more force Faria applied against her the more she enjoyed it, consequently Faria also enjoying the pain she caused her.
Cornelia, whose tongue was beginning to dry up from so much licking, was the one who followed as soon as she stopped to rest when a signal from Paimon to tell her that she could made itself clear. Being taken away excited Mirra too somehow, and Cornelia being penetrated forced her to give a dry moan due to a lack of air and an already numb tongue –but her work would be rewarded as she received Paimon's first orgasm.
From there they would stay and watch while one after the other followed. Mella, Faria and finally Livia, with whom he would last the longest, as not having them all on him allowed him to play more; he enjoyed squeezing her buttocks and teasing her with the sensitivity of her nipples, if the subtext was visible; you could almost discern the king's true favourite.
When he was satisfied, Paimon ordered them to go and clean up, and as a punishment for not following his order immediately –he excluded Cornelia, who would have to clean him, as per instructions. Again, she and Livia stared into each other's eyes as one went to wash, and Cornelia followed Paimon into his personal bathroom.
***
—And how is her majesty the queen? —Asked the young hellhound as she cleaned one of Paimon's arms—.
—She is fine.
—What about the prince?
—In perfect condition. —Paimon sounded a little annoyed with an interrogation—. But I think the state of my wife and child are none of your business. Don't forget your place.
As the afternoon drew to a close and evening approached, Paimon returned to the palace to rest, and to indicate to all that from tomorrow he would be in charge of the prince. Cornelia's question had him somewhat annoyed at just what he had gone to forget; the child seemed a disgrace; compared with what he wanted him to be.
But Paimon didn't want a son, he wanted a surrogate –and the wait to find out if he would be worthy was the worst part, and what worried him the most.
***
—Your Highness Octavia, good morning. —Rym said as she heard the door to Stolas' room open—.
She could not conclude her good morning when she realised that it was Paimon who was entering and not Octavia. Despite the order given, it was still unknown how involved he would be –and by all appearances, it would be to completely supplant Octavia, leaving her to devote herself only to the bureaucracy she had been doing all this time.
—I've come for the child.
Rym handed Stolas into the arms of Paimon, who surprisingly knew perfectly well how to hold a baby.
But Stolas did not feel safe in his arms, on the contrary –in his eyes there was fear, insecurity, and an instinct to flee. When Paimon lifted him up to examine him closely for his physical condition; instead of getting excited as he did with his mother, he kept looking at the ground and shaking his feet thinking that he would let him fall.
—This is ridiculous. —Paimon said to himself, using his telekinesis to put him down—.
Through it all, Rym stood watching, partly out of her own protective instinct for the prince and partly out of morbid curiosity at seeing her master take the baton –a sight she never thought she would ever have.
When Stolas hit the ground, he immediately went into a crawling position, but with the claws of his paw, Paimon lifted him to his feet. Stolas again fell to the ground and got into a crawling pose.
This continued for at least 3 times, for on this last occasion Stolas did not put his hands out to break his own fall –hitting the ground with his beak and bursting into tears, which were short-lived as he realised that his father was looking at him with a look of contempt and disdain, but above all; of disappointment.
Finally, Rym withdrew as she could not afford to see the child go through such abuse and had no choice but not to intervene.
By the fourth attempt, it was Stolas himself who tried to stand up, but fell on his buttocks, and ended the patience of his father, who with his magic lifted him up perpetually enough to keep him on his feet, and not end up on the floor again –from there Paimon left his room.
–You will walk to the table if you plan to eat. —Paimon threatened as he left—.
Little Stolas did not understand the situation he found himself in, he was waiting for his mother's arms to hold him and spoil him; and there to take him to breakfast as they had done the days before. He was even gradually learning a little of the etiquette used at the table –mainly not to smear food on his face.
Now he saw himself almost standing, Paimon's spell only helping him to keep his balance and bear the weight that his little legs could not on their own. As the figure of his father disappeared, worrying Stolas even more as he instinctively tried to reach him.
As usual, Octavia, who had risen early to do her chores properly, was already waiting at the table –and she eyed Paimon grudgingly.
Paimon didn't care, more interested in whether or not Stolas would make it to the table.
—And Stolas? —Octavia asked with annoyance—.
—If he's hungry, he must be on his way.
Octavia knew perfectly well that his legs were still too weak to support his weight and that if he were to walk, it would be clumsily. Worry immediately overcame her, forcing her to get up quickly. For this Paimon ordered her to do nothing:
—My rule stands, woman. —You will not interfere with his growth any longer.
And indeed, Stolas moved awkwardly forward; during the whole discussion he had hardly moved at all, and Paimon could observe him almost out of the corner of his eye. Disappointed at such a display of incompetence he resented it; and with signs, he ordered one of the butlers to fetch him –to bring him to the table and seat him in his perch.
It was the same scene again as at first, Stolas sitting at a table where Paimon did not receive him; and now the little prince embarrassed, without really knowing why. It was enough to feel his father's rejection to notice it.
Octavia's glance at Paimon could also be felt with disdain. She wanted to mock him or make some sarcastic remark, but her concern for Stolas outweighed all her hatred.
Meanwhile, Stolas ate timidly bite by bite; watching the two in between, hoping not to be corrected for his biting of the food or something more.
Ultimately, none of them enjoyed their breakfast that morning.
***
As the day wore on, Paimon kept trying to make Stolas walk, forcing him to follow him as he worked. Stolas, who by sheer necessity learned to be cunning, found that he could throw himself on his father's cloak and be carried by him. His weight was so insignificant compared to his father's strength; and the magic he had conjured up to lift him, made it so he was almost as light as a feather.
The palace servants tried not to laugh or warn the king of this; in a way taking the side of the queen and treasuring the innocence of the little boy. Commoners or other personages who visited or saw these two from afar, inadvertently took the same stance of silence –thinking that not doing so would anger Paimon in some way.
Fortune had somehow taken the little boy's side, and his father never noticed. He gave Stolas the order to walk and he was following it; for what Paimon concerned, the humiliation in the morning had been motivation enough –and now Stolas was keeping up with him without complaint.
At one point Octavia noticed it too; she had the most trouble holding in her laughter, and the sight of her proud smile was enough to make Stolas feel comfortable with what he was doing as if in a way his mother was giving him permission for his mischief.
***
As dusk approached, Paimon felt he had already surpassed Octavia by far, but something still bothered him.
Stolas was still not speaking. The end of the cycle (the year, if you must) was approaching; the prince's third birthday would follow soon after, it was about time he could do it without a squeak.
So, he took Stolas to his studio. Stolas gave a little hop off from Paimon's cloak to pretend he had walked, and Paimon lifted him onto his desk as you would lift an animal, or a plant. He took a deep breath and began:
-Pa-i-mon. -he said slowly to Stolas. Say it, Pa-i-mon.
Stolas stood silently and watched him charismatically, it seemed that his mischief with his dad had robbed him of all the fear he once had.
—PA-I-MON.
The little boy still did not answer him, if at all he babbled in the rhythm of his father's accent –the nearest he had ever come to the idea of speech. Just as Paimon had mentioned Crocell; Stolas seemed to refuse to speak if there was nothing good to say.
Somewhat annoyed, he even lowered the difficulty:
—Paaaaaa —Paimon said, stretching out the vowel—.
Not a word. Stolas was already more interested in the books and gadgets on his father's desk than in his father himself, reaching out and grabbing for anything he could get his hands on.
And Paimon took things away from him again and again, the pen, the inkwell, etc.
—Speak up! —He shouted angrily, banging his fist on the table—.
Stolas was immediately filled with fear of his father again. He wanted to jump, but no longer having the aid of his father's magic he could only throw his weight backwards, almost falling if it were not for a lamp behind him.
—You're useless. —Paimon kept insulting him—.
As the attempts passed, Paimon lost patience, and shouted still more at poor Stolas; for as the shouting increased, his fear grew, and the less noise he made –and therefore the less he obeyed. When Paimon seemed to reach the height of his rage, Stolas was self-conscious and hugged himself, his head bowed down, but his eyes looking towards his father, ready for the worst.
Then Paimon took a breath, and returning to his calm tone, got up and prepared to leave the room. Paimon had tried with several words, which he considered easier to say or certainly impossible to say badly; so, as he went, he left Stolas on his desk, who, as his father walked away, left his defensive position and stretched out his little body again. But never out of sight.
—If you want to come down from there, you'll have to ask. —Paimon said as he walked through the door and closed it behind him—.
Conveniently a servant was crossing the corridor and saw the scene taking place, so he doubled his pace as soon as he understood the context of the situation. Luckily Paimon seemed to have ignored him as he did not threaten him or speak in general after closing the door.
The servant, an imp with half-red half-white skin, dividing him vertically perfectly into two equal parts, trimmed and neatly groomed white hair and small black horns. As soon as he was out of the king's field of vision, he ran to the queen; he knew he couldn't get him out without upsetting Paimon, but he knew she could at least persuade him –or at any rate, defy him.
—Your Highness! —He implored for Octavia's attention—. There is something you must know about the prince.
Octavia was tidying up the plants in the back garden, something she usually did with Stolas to entertain him. As soon as she heard that something was wrong with her son, she didn't hesitate to stop what she was doing.
—What's going on with Stolas?!
—Your highness, please, I beg your discretion. —He whispered—. I saw his highness, the king, lock Prince Stolas in his studio. It would seem-
He had not finished explaining the situation when Octavia was already on her feet and on her way. The servant kept imploring her not to be so indiscreet as she would give him away at once and feared for the king's wrath –but Octavia already had this in mind of her own accord, she was to walk in all directions of the palace until she found Paimon or his son. Unfortunately for her fortune, she got the former. Seeing the king, the imp quickly retreated without a trace. For Octavia, holding back the rage was truly her most difficult challenge at that moment.
—And Stolas?
—It's none of your business.
—He's my son, that makes it my business.
—-You'll see when it's ready.
Octavia would not take no for an answer, and showing little by little her real humour, she walked on at a brisk pace.
Opening door after door of various rooms made it appear that he was looking for him; but she knew well where to go and how not to let Paimon suspect anything.
—I forbade you to interact with the child, and you will comply with that order!
She refused to answer, walking faster and faster until she reached Paimon's studio.
Octavia's swift footsteps towards the door gradually alerted the little boy, who, like a sixth sense, could already discern that it was his mother who was running.
All the time he had been alone he had not moved an inch from his place and was even beginning to worry that no one would rescue him from there, but feeling his mother approaching provoked in him an impulse of bravery equivalent to that of the most valiant knight in the court of King Arthur or the army of Alexander the Great, immediately crawling to Paimon's chair (taking something like a leap of faith) and from there to the floor.
Of course, being a small boy, both moves were met with a blow; and the second one was impossible for him not to cry for, and this was the final motivation Octavia needed to open the door and rescue him immediately.
—You barbaric bastard! —Octavia shouted at him as she ran to carry Stolas in her arms—. What kind of a father does this?
—The excuse that you call your son can't even say his name, even if his life depended on it. —Paimon replied in annoyance—. Especially not with a mother who covers everything up for him.
Octavia didn't even bother to answer him, devoting her concentration better to her son's cries; trying to soothe him as best she could, but nothing was working. As she gave up hope of comforting him, she tried other ways to make him feel safe; like clutching him to her chest and cuddling him.
Paimon found himself growing more and more furious with Octavia, he was sure that it was this protective attitude that was holding back the child's growth. So, he could only resort to intimidation.
Without a second's hesitation and in a violent act worthy of him, he snatched the child from her arms, intensifying the screams of the little one and ending up invoking the wrath of his wife.
—Let Stolas go! —Octavia ordered him—.
Paimon; while carrying the child by his clothes, with his free hand he slapped Octavia hard.
—You have interrupted and ignored my orders enough. —He rebutted her—.
Ready to get his message across; and as Octavia recovered from the first assault, he seized her by the throat –beginning to choke and lift her by the neck.
—Now choose, you, or the child. -I threatened her as he lifted Stolas as high as his hand would allow.
Stolas' cries went on and on throughout the discussion, and Octavia's panic to spare her son from harm was stronger than her rebelliousness, and as soon as she was able to trade her welfare for his, she did not hesitate to accept the deal.
She didn't need to answer the question either, letting her body go, she communicated her decision.
With a ghoulish laugh that could barely be heard, he released her. Stolas, who was still suspended in the air, tried to reach her by stretching out his arms, but to no avail. Paimon then pulled him closer to her on his own and dictated his final rule:
—You lay your hands on him again and it will be the end of him. —Then he addressed Stolas directly—. This is what happens to anyone who doesn't follow my orders, kid.
Stolas was terrified as Octavia tried not to look her son in the eye, fearing that eye contact would be enough of an excuse to provoke Paimon.
And as he took him away, Octavia simply remained on her knees on the floor; wondering how it had all ended so badly.
***
The rest of the night Stolas spent with Rym, who was also threatened from even informing Octavia of the child's condition. And Paimon spent that night and the others alone in his room –Octavia would not sleep next to him from then on.
***
Divorces certainly existed in those days, but they were so frowned upon and such a total embarrassment to either party involved in the situation; but there were certainly cases where it was more than inevitable. The only way in which this separation could be accomplished unceremoniously was to live their lives as separately as possible; Octavia ceasing to sleep next to Paimon would be the best example of this. Octavia had divorced Paimon, if ever by word of mouth; but never officially.
To make matters worse, divorce would only give Paimon another excuse to take her away from Stolas or get rid of him altogether, as he would be left in total charge of him, and she would lose any chance to intervene.
In addition to the social stigma, which harmed women more than men as well as their families, giving them the image of a defective or problematic wife, anyone in her situation knew that the best thing for both of them –and for the child, was to keep the marriage, however cruel it might be.
This separation was also visible in other areas, such as when eating –where Octavia sat at the other side of the table; away from the two of them, or in the throne room with Stolas sitting to the right of his father.
Public appearances were the only exception for the next few months (as this had gone on for a long time), precisely for the reasons I have just explained. But you could still see certain signs that something was wrong.
Octavia's gaze, Stolas' now funereal silence and Paimon's steady gait.
This and more showed an image of the family that even the commoners themselves were not used to.
Somehow, everyone was beginning to sense that something was about to go very wrong.