“Goddess Above,” she groaned, surprised by how hoarse her voice was. “I hope this Demon Lord likes his slaves bathed. I don’t think I can take another night covered in sweat and gore.”
“But being covered in the blood of your enemies suits you.” He propped onto his elbow, a lock of moon-white hair sliding over his forehead as he looked down at her. Firelight glinted inside the glossy black surface of his horns. “Say the word and we will find another way to enter the palace.”
“No. This is the only way.” She tilted her head to stare up at him. “Told you that you wouldn’t hurt me.”
He chuckled darkly as his thumb began lazily circling her navel. “Gloating, on the other hand, doesn’t suit you.”
“Doesn’t it?” As she smiled, she thought she could see all the different facets of him—monster, broken prince, protector, friend, and now lover—struggling for purchase. “Then what does?”
“I can think of a few things,” he purred as his fingers stroked lower. Lower. “Like . . . this.”
She gasped at his touch, and when he brought his lips to her neck, kissing her collarbone, her shoulder, his hand still moving so gently . . .
“That’s better,” he murmured.
This time, they made love while half-asleep, moving together in a slow, sensual rhythm until they shattered together. And afterward, as he kissed her cheek with a tenderness she would have sworn him incapable of a few hours ago, she couldn’t escape the sensation of something clicking into place.
This felt right, righter than anything she’d ever done before.
Wrapped in the self-proclaimed monster’s arms, she tumbled into the most deep and restful sleep she’d had in months. She dreamt that she was a white and gold-tipped wolf hunting across the dunes alongside a midnight-black wolf with yellow-ringed eyes.
The dark wolf howled, and she answered it with a resounding call of her own, so loud that it reached into the heavens and shook the stars from the sky.
46
Haven had sworn she would never let herself be taken as a slave again. Never let herself be bought and sold like property. And yet, here she was, shackled to a group of Solis slaves in front of the Cimmerian palace. A soft silver mist clung low to the ground, obscuring the wide onyx palace steps that led up to an imposing iron gate. Serpents were carved into the doors, their hissing heads twisted around the sharp gold finials.
Ignoring the bite of magick seeping from her shackles into her wrists, she craned her neck to study the palace. An architectural wonder of arches and towers, the dark stone structure was capped by three enormous gold domes.
It was perhaps the largest palace she’d ever seen, which made the poverty and sickness surrounding it even harder to fathom. Beggars lined the dark cobbled streets, and pickpockets hid in alleyways, waiting to filch what they could from demonai nobles leaving the palace.
In that way, she supposed, the Demon Realm was similar to her own world.
There were other similarities. There was a sun that rose and fell—although it was a distant orb muddled by layers of dense clouds that gave everything a faint chartreuse glow. Or perhaps that was the pale green runelight lanterns and lamp posts positioned on every corner and building. The same light flickered from the palace windows and archways.
The markets were also much like the ones in Penryth. The vendors haggled. The patrons claimed they were being robbed. The thieves grabbed what they could.
It all felt so very normal.
At least until she took a closer look at the objects being sold. Monstrous skulls the size of watermelons, jars filled with reptilian eyes that tracked movement, and herbs she couldn’t begin to pronounce. Then there were the demon markets where everything from demon horns to actual demons could be purchased.
But it was the similarity of the people of this realm that was the most jarring. They looked like mortals in nearly every way. Contrasted against the demonai, the nobles who claimed demon blood and possessed some degree of dark magick, they almost seemed two different races.
The palace gates creaked as they slid open, tendrils of mist curling in their wake. A demonai servant appeared, cloaked and stooped. Her heart sped up as he hobbled down the stairs toward the slaves, and for once she was glad she missed breakfast, her stomach churning.
Remember the reason you let Stolas pretend to sell you to the demonai slaver this morning. Remember