Chapter 10: Demon's Harem

The first glimmer of morning struggled through the iron barred windows of his cell, and he lay awake when morning began to break. The heavy iron door with its ponderous creak whisked Alex from his brooding. Alex sat up in one swift motion-the heart pounding with every thought-as a man stepped into his cell.

The man was tall; his face didn't show an inch of emotion. In one hand, he held a small bag and pointed at the only wooden chair standing in the corner of the room.

"Sit," he said once, flat, and his voice gruff but not unpleasant.

Alex hesitated for a second, then followed his order and dragged his tired body to the chair and sat down.

He dropped the sack to the floor and began to unpack it: a comb, a pair of scissors, a basin of water, and several cloths.

The man didn't say another word but went behind Alex and started combing his hair out, working the tangles with surprising gentleness.

"Why are you doing this?" Alex asked finally, his voice hoarse from disuse.

The man did not immediately respond but continued to snip away the uneven strands in Alex's hair.

Snip by snip he worked, trimming the ends and giving it some semblance of order.

"It's not a place for me to question orders," he finally said after a very long pause, "I'm here to clean you up, that's all."

Alex said nothing to oppose him as he started doing his thing: once he had finished cutting his hair, he took a cloth and plunged it into the basin of water to wring it out and start wiping his face and neck.

Efficiently, his hands moved in precision to clean off grime and dirt built over days, perhaps weeks.

"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked suddenly.

"No," Alex whispered. "I'm not."

The man nodded; he'd expected that. He didn't press it instead returning to work with the same silent deliberation. When he was done cleaning up Alex he stepped back and drew a small, polished mirror from the bag, offering it out to Alex.

"Here," he said. "Take a look."

Alex hunched over, his shaking fingers wrapping around the mirror as he held it up to his face. His breath seemed to catch at the back of his throat as he stared at the face that stared back because it sort of resembled his, yet not quite.

His hair had been trimmed and combed, pulled around his face in such a way as to make him appear tidier, less frayed. The color was deep chestnut brown, richer even, though a few stubborn strands refused to lie down.

Alex exhaled long and slow as he lowered the mirror, handed it back to the man. "Thanks," he said softly.

He took the mirror and tucked it in the bag, nodding at Alex. "Don't get lost in this place," he said-the soft note in his voice escaping. "You need to be strong."

Alex looked up at him, surprised by the unsolicited advice.

But before Alex could utter a word, he turned to leave, already packing up his things, heading for the door.

"Wait," Alex called, desperation tingeing his voice. "What's going to happen to me?"

The man paused at the door, turned and faced Alex once again. "I don't know," he admitted. "But whatever it is, you're going to need all the strength you can muster. Don't give up, no matter what."

Minute after minute flipped until finally the heavy iron door to his cell creaked open once more. In stepped two guards clad in dark, menacing armor from the forces of the demon king. Of course, their faces were obscured by helmets, but he could almost feel the cold, indifferent gazes set upon him.

"Get up," snarled one of the guards. The voice was jagged, wholly unsympathetic.

Where am I being taken?" Alex croaked. His voice hoarse from the lack of sleep.

There was not a single word spoken by the guards. They turned to him, grasped his arms, and dragged him out of the cell.

It felt like ages, then they came before a thick iron door at the end of the corridor. One knocked twice and, with an earsplitting sound, the door slowly creaked open.

On the other side, he was greeted by a golden glow: a grand hallway so different from the grimy, dark fluid that seemed to seep from the dungeon.

The guards pushed Alex forward, and he fell into the hallway, his eyes partly blinded by sudden brightness.

It was then, with time passing and him slowly getting used to them, that the beauty occupying the air hit him. The walls had great tapestries of battles and conquests, and from the ceilings of these places came chandeliers with ornaments of crystals sparkling like stars.

The floor below his feet was made of smooth marble, cold and without a single bump.

Snarling statues of demons guarded the hallway, their faces twisted into snarls. The heavy sweet perfume smell of incense swirled thickly in the air, making Alex's head spin.

"Where are we?" he whispered.

"This is the demon king's palace," growled one of the guards. "The king has decided to let you see what lies within.

They continued on down the hall, stopping and then going beyond many closed doors-all of them progressively much more decorative.

The guards said nothing; their hands unwavering on his arms as the three worked their way through the maze of corridors before stopping before a large double door carved in leaping flames and shades on the wood.

The guards' force flung the doors open into a grand chamber. Alex came to a stop, his breath taken in his throat as he stepped inside; his eyes widened to what lay before him.

But it wasn't the decoration of the chamber that held Alex's attention. It was the people within it.

She and the women were lying upon the couches of luxury, some prone, others propped upon their elbows, and their robes of flowing silk and velvet were glinting in the soft light.