why you tolerate the shackles and leering grins. Remember who you are.
But her flesh remembered too. It recalled years ago when Damius had placed an iron shackle on her ankle and staked it deep into the sand. It could still feel the searing pain as weeks turned to months and her flesh turned raw and infected beneath the metal.
Fighting through her panic, she managed to lift her dry lips in a timid smile, mimicking the expression of the other Solis chosen to be presented to the Lord Malik. Most were probably already addicts, and yet it was hard to reconcile their hopefulness with her rage.
Harder still to stand there looking grateful as the hunched demonai servant appraised her, when what she really wanted was to take the dagger hidden along her thigh and ram it through his misshapen skull.
But she wanted immortality more, and somewhere in the recesses of this dark palace, in a tower built just for her, was the Cimmerian Demon Lord’s mistress—and her mother’s painting.
So Haven looked obedient instead of murderous. She even twirled a little for the small, hunched demonai with pointed ears and a bat-like nose.
And leaned against a column close by, she felt Stolas’s stare. Her cheeks heated, and last night’s events came back to her in a fiery flash. If not for the subtle ache between her legs, she might have thought it all a dream.
Haven flexed her wrists, trying not to stare at the faint red marks her shackles had rubbed into her skin. She was settled inside a large chamber, one of hundreds tucked away in a forbidden area of the palace. Only female mortal servants and the Demon Lord were allowed to roam the halls.
If Haven managed to become the Demon Lord’s favorite, she might even get a nicer room with her name on the door.
A fresh round of disgust filled her as she realized how much the arrangement resembled the royal stables back in Penryth. Except, when one of King Boteler’s prized stallions became lame, the poor beast was killed.
Here, the women were simply thrown outside the palace walls to fend for themselves. Most were addicts by then, and they ended up in the camps.
Killing them would have been more merciful.
She clenched her jaw until her teeth ached, focusing on her surroundings to temper her growing rage.
The room was large and airy, with a scattering of furniture—a couch, a loveseat, a few cushions. Brass chimeneas were placed near the couch and the bed, flames crackling behind their grates. A dark teak wardrobe sat in the corner, it’s parted doors revealing countless dresses. The bed itself was small, barely large enough for one person, which bolstered her hopeful suspicion that the Demon Lord entertained his blood slaves in his own private chamber.
A door clicked shut, and Haven turned to see the woman who removed Haven’s shackles holding a pile of colorful silks in her arms. Her name was Imara, and Haven watched the tiny woman flit around the room, gathering all the lotions, soaps, and tints that were supposed to prepare Haven for the Demon Lord tonight.
Haven sighed as Imara approached with a wide comb made of ivory. She had been surprised to learn the leathery woman was from Haven’s realm. Haven had immediately peppered Imara with all kinds of questions, the first being how Imara ended up here.
But the wizened woman, who had to be approaching eighty years, refused to discuss anything beyond the most basic questions.
Was this Haven’s room? It was.
Was she locked in? Another yes.
When would she see the Demon Lord?
Imara had stopped jerking at a stubborn rose-gold knot and laughed, revealing a sum total of three teeth.
According to Imara, all new blood slaves were shown off their first night after dinner. The Demon Lord had to choose Haven. Otherwise, she would be dragged back to her room and locked inside until she was summoned, which could be days—or years.
The way Imara raked her gaze over Haven, lingering on her tangled hair, crusted with a lovely mixture of blood, ash, and sand, she was going to be in this room for a very long time.
The other option, Imara mentioned offhandedly, was being given tonight to the Demon Lord’s friends.
Neither of those options could happen. She needed to be chosen tonight. The Keeper’s tower would be near the Demon Lord’s rooms for easy access. Once there—well, Haven didn’t yet have a plan for how to deal with the Demon Lord.