that it fell in rose-gold waves down her back. Out of all the jewelry presented to her, she chose two diamond-encrusted black clips in the shape of serpents to hold her hair out of her face.
The style bared the elegant curve of her neck.
Stolas was right; the black gown clung to every curve she possessed, and even Haven had a hard time looking away from her reflection in the full-length dressing mirror.
If Imara thought Haven’s chances had dramatically improved, it was hard to tell. She could have been grimacing or smiling as she herded Haven down the runelighted steps toward the dining hall. The dagger—coated in half the jar of potion—was strapped tight to her right thigh, and she welcomed the chafing as it rubbed between her legs.
The pain reminded her she wasn’t totally helpless.
A cool weight pressed just beneath her sternum. She’d used strips of the sheets to tie the jar around her chest. Just in case.
Haven was too caught up in the dark beauty of the castle to feel anxious. The walls were created from onyx marble veined in gold, the ornate carpet runners made from strange patterns. Jade chandeliers hung from the arched ceilings, their runelight tinted chartreuse. Demonai servants and nobles strolled the halls.
They passed a demonai girl no older than ten walking a leashed panther. Only when the panther’s green eyes met Haven’s did she realize the pet was probably a Solis shifter. But it was the pitying look in the panther’s eyes that made Haven realize she was leashed too.
Even if her chain was invisible, she was a pet. Groomed and fed and ready to perform for its master.
They had just descended a majestic stairwell leading into a foyer when a figure caught her eye. She wasn’t sure quite what drew her attention to the pale blue skinned male in the corner. The deep hood of a lovely silver and turquoise cloak cast most of his features in shadow. But even without being able to see his eyes, she felt him tracking her every move.
“Imara.” Haven turned to the hunched woman. “Who is that male?”
But when Haven looked back, he was gone.
Haven let the odd encounter drift from her mind, her growing nerves all but erasing the memory.
The long hem of her gown swished around her legs as she entered the banquet hall. A smoky haze of incense and strange magick layered the air. Demonai of every kind filled the rows of tables. Some were dressed in finery that rivaled Solissian rulers. Some wore travel-stained tunics and breeches. All had the yellow eyes and silver teeth that marked them as demonai, tails and horns and other beastly features hidden beneath cloaks and hoods.
And every single one was filled with a terrifying bloodlust. But it was the quiet figures in the mezzanine above the dais that chilled Haven’s blood. It was their stares she felt crawling beneath her skin as Imara prodded Haven toward the dais in the center of the room.
Several other Solis females were already lined up. They wore similar form-fitting gowns, cut to reveal as much flesh as possible. By the glazed sheen of their eyes they had all sampled the tea. Goose bumps swept over Haven, and she fought the urge to wrap her arms over her chest as she climbed the steps to join them.
Where was Stolas?
She scoured the crowd for his face, only to come across what had to be the Demon Lord, Malik, looking down from the mezzanine. Her heart stumbled into a frantic pace as she took in the enormous throne he reclined on. The high back resembled a hooded cobra, complete with two giant rubies for the eyes. A crown of fang and bone jutted from his jet black, shoulder-length hair, along with the mostly hidden points of his ears.
That was all the confirmation she needed. Stolas said every Demon Lord could be marked by two attributes: startling beauty and unnaturally pointed ears.
The ears were real, but the rest was an illusion, and she wondered what face this Demon Lord hid behind his pleasing mask—although pleasing might have been a stretch.
Every feature was just a little too sharp, a little too severe to be considered alluring. Then there were his yellow serpentine eyes.
Something in his cold gaze hinted at unfathomable cruelty. Her hand fluttered nervously to where the dagger hid, comforted by the cold bite of steel against her thigh.
And when the Demon Lord’s eyes shifted to her and lingered, his razor-sharp focus brimming with insatiable