5. Dryston
Chapter 5
Dryston
D ryston sat in his room, squinting against the dim candlelight as he composed the letter to Lord Killgan. It didn’t matter how many times he had written missives to other rulers, he could never stop himself from overthinking it.
Probably because his requests for even an audience had about a seventy percent fail rate. And of the ones he did receive an audience for, those rarely panned out to be anything considered an alliance. He rubbed his forehead, trying to stave off the headache slowly throbbing in his temples.
He never should have been chosen to be the Lord of Shadows. Was he the most powerful demon? Yes. Did that matter when he lacked the political skills needed to rule? He doubted it. In the last eleven years since he’d taken over, it had been a series of defeats to remind him of exactly how much of a failure he was. Any time there was a border conflict or a battle, he did amazing. He’d been built for war. Not politics.
A cool breeze drifted through the window, darkness following, the candle suddenly bright against it. He turned to see shadows twining up and through the window.
Curious.
He leaned out the window and looked down at the gardens behind the tavern. Standing amongst the hedges was Onora, shadows around her, shifting and twirling up at her command. She looked like the moon goddess in that light, smokey tendrils dancing around her hair and up to the sky.
But then they shuddered, dancing, flicking her hair and teasing. She let out a low growl, trying to command them, only for them to become more rambunctious.
Dryston chuckled, and she looked up, scowling at him. He swung a leg over the windowsill, and jumped down, landing in front of her with a thud. She let out an alarmed gasp and stepped back.
“Why are you still awake at this hour?” she asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I think it’s quite obvious what I was doing.” She looked around nervously. For fear of being alone with him? He took one step back, making his wings come in tighter, less imposing.
“It seems your shadows have a life of their own.” Some demons reported their shadows acting in that way, but it wasn’t common, and since shadows weren’t innate to her, it went against what he expected. They should just be a manifestation of his and the other demons residual energy from nearness to them.
“They’re unpleasant things,” she replied.
“Do you need help?”
She raised a brow, and he held out his hand. “Give me yours.”
She stared at it with mild disgust.
“I’m not going to infect you, Onora.”
“Are you going to put me under your thrall?”
Did she think a thrall was real? He knew some humans did, but he’d thought it was the mystics or people with less exposure to the world. Not her.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t, even if I thought I could bring you under one.”
“How do I know you haven’t already?”
His lips tugged at a smile. “Have you been experiencing a thrall with me, Lieutenant?”
Her cheeks turned rosy, and she swallowed hard.
Oh.
Now that was an interesting response.
“Not at all,” she said, her voice cool and unaffected.
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
He gestured again for her to give him her hand. She hesitated, but finally did. He cupped it, palm up, tracing the center. Her hands were rougher than his, wrought, no doubt, from a life in the woods and wilds. She drew in a sharp breath as he continued his swirling, and her eyes darkened, darting away when he looked at her.
Well, fuck.
This woman might very well be the death of him, the way those simple sounds and manners made heat rush straight to his groin.
He needed to focus. Keep his mind on helping her and building a bridge of trust for a future alliance.
He didn’t need to think about fucking her until she screamed his name. And he especially didn’t need to wonder what that would sound like.
He shifted on his feet, swallowing as he concentrated, swirling his fingers until he felt it, that connection of his shadows to hers. They met, the magic so similar yet somehow distinct from his. With humans, their magic acted as a conduit, taking the energy from other beings or around them as it flowed and then learned to manipulate it.
This felt like nothing he’d ever encountered before.
“Your magic is strange,” he said.
She pursed her lips, cheeks fully red now as she met his gaze, and he clenched his jaw, shoving away the fluttering feeling the sight sent to his stomach.
“Gee, thanks,” she said. “That cleared things up.”
He rolled his eyes. “My magic is different from yours, so I can only help a little. I thought I could with this, but it seems there’s something odd about yours ...”
She pulled her hand away, frowning and taking a step back. That seemed to strike a nerve, but he couldn’t parse out why. She rubbed her hands, looking down at them in confusion, glancing up at him and opening her mouth, then slamming it shut again before speaking.
He crossed his arms and raised a brow. “What is it?”
“What is what?” she asked.
“You want to ask me something.”
She hesitated, and he could see it in her eyes. The distrust. It hit him like a blow. Maybe he shouldn’t care what she thought of him. Maybe he shouldn’t care what anyone did. But as the ruler of his realm, he didn’t have that luxury. What others thought of him was what they thought of all demons. The Cruel Lord had seen to that. He’d spun lies and woven sparse truths in order to make them believable. He’d only cared about bringing people under his rule, conquering, and making the world fear demons.
He hadn’t thought of how long lasting that effect would be.
Dryston didn’t want to admit that he hated even more that Onora didn’t trust him—still. A human from Nemus not trusting him was one thing. But he and Onora had spent several months together to find Evolis. They’d worked together and fought together. He thought he’d shown her his integrity.
Even if he wasn’t the easiest to get along with. Enid reminded him of that often. Controlling and angry is what she called him. A hothead is what the gossip pages back home painted him as.
Maybe he was.
But he’d argue that there was only so much disrespect a person could take before they had to stand their ground.
“Why are you still here, in Orc Haven?” she finally asked.
That wasn’t a question he’d been expecting. He wondered how much to share with her. His ego hated to admit that the Shadow Realm was low on allies, and he’d been waiting months for Lord Killgan to respond.
He sighed. “There are rulers here that are willing to have an audience with me.”
“Why not focus on your own continent? Why come here where the Cruel Lord oppressed us? Many people don’t welcome demons here.”
“I want to continue the work of my father and try to make right the wrongs that the Cruel Lord did.”
Her eyes narrowed, lips curling into the beginnings of a snarl, and she let out a mirthless laugh. “Sounds about right.”
She brushed past him, leaving him in the garden, wondering what in the darkest pit he’d done to warrant that response.