Belpheg found he liked the imagery. It held an aura of romance about it that he found particularly fitting in this situation. Soon he would triumph over the evil organization that had massacred his people. And he would rejoice in his victory. When his hand trembled, he let go of the ancient tapestry with an inward curse, letting it fall once more to conceal the square window in his reception chamber. Forcing a careless grin to his lips, he turned to face the man he’d summoned. Mammon sat several feet away in one of his burgundy-velvet, high-backed chairs, and he appeared remarkably in control of himself. Arrogant even. That was something Belpheg hadn’t taken into account when he’d first decided to save him. The man’s haughtiness could fill the entire castle and surrounding grounds. He’d grown too cocky lately. Had dared to intimate on several occasions that he would be a co-ruler of this world once the Council was defeated.
