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The Archdukes and Duchesses of Hell littered the grand hall with the same thought in each of their heads. It should have been me.
Mammon kept apologizing at the foot of the throne for offenses the Emperor knew nothing about. Mephistopheles had found a nice corner to skulk in while his wife held his arm like an owner restraining a pet. A promotion had given Bel the means to strong-arm Dispater, who shook like a leaf at the new state-approved price of his arms. The Emperor could just make out the gossip of Glasya and Fierna beside the buffet as they discussed the execution of Levistus. Along with the delicate fruits, wines, and exotic meats for the attendees was the roasted and seasoned carcass of Moloch, happily enjoyed by Belial. Baalzebul, once again an immaculate specimen, stewed in his seat as he grappled with gratitude brewing in his heart for the first time.
None knew exactly how to hold themselves, for despite the legalistic nature of Hell, there were no laws pertaining to succession for the highest position. Only two other people had ever sat on the throne before. The interloper, Satan, and dearest Dad.
The sharp clink of a spoon against glass drew the court's attention.
"Friends, enemies, and those who lie betwixt." A dry chuckle passed through the crowd, and thankfully their eyes drew to Queen Bensozia instead of their new lord, lest they catch dampness in his eyes.
"My husband, may he never return, once told me that crowns are a shoddy display of power that obscures a lesser man's faults." Bensozia was no longer the woman who traded time with her child for the company of spirits. Life had flushed her cheeks as porcelain pale had been dyed a deep and natural golden brown. The wings she bore before the fall now extended forth from her back in the very blue the sky had stolen its color from.
"But the old king is dead, and I think the new one likes his indulgences."
Each click of her heels sent a tremor through the Emperor's heart, who was reduced to a child in the glow of his mother's smile. With grace in her step, she moved past the chained slaves Malcanthet and Gwynharwyf.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered as she placed a crown of platinum atop his head.
Graz'zt tried to thank her, but her eyes told him to stay strong. There would be time for that later.
"All hail Emperor Graz'zt, Arch Duke of Baator, Prince of Demons, Lord of all Fiends." Applause filled the air, and even though this was all he ever wanted, the Emperor could only see his mother's smile as she returned to her seat.
Titivilus rose to propose a toast, only floored by the hall's massive doors swinging open. The guards reached for their weapons until they realized they would do them no good.
She strode through the crowd of the most powerful beings in the universe and let them move aside for her.
"You're late," Graz'zt said.
"And?" Everyone here had dressed to impress the Emperor in one way or another. Either showing off their form to tease their new master's voracious appetite or an opulent display of wealth and strength to cement their usefulness. Everyone except for Iggwilv.
Draped in a witch's gown, her hair a matted mess, and her steps uneven after putting to bed a wild animal of a man, she was the perfect thorn in Hell's bouquet of roses. She took her throne gracefully atop the lap of her dear husband.
"Hope I'm not embarrassing you."
"Just a little," Graz'zt replied, taking her with a kiss. Demorgon's heads adorned his throne, Fraz Urb'luu occupied his dungeon, and the heart of Asmodeus lay beneath the foundation of his castle. Nothing in Heaven above or Hell at his door could hurt him now.
"How about a roast?" barked Glasya.
Perhaps there was something to be gained by a little vulnerability among loved ones.