Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
NOVA
Abet with the demon king.
It’s likely to be a losing battle—just a way to make me subservient without a prolonged fight. I can see right through his intentions.
But it’s my chance for freedom. If I can convince him to leave a loophole open, I can manipulate it to work for me. I don’t struggle as he carries me through the halls, the other three men trailing behind us.
We head up to the second level, past servants and guards who bow their heads at the procession. I’ve only been up here a few times, to wash the feet of visiting officials like the guard said. The rooms up here are maintained by the hired maids.
It’s much like the lower level, with dark flooring and dark walls and ornate windows, but only on one side of the castle. Now that I’ve been outside, I know that this castle is built into the rock of a mountain cliff, a feat of architecture beyond human capabilities.
The king doesn’t set me down until we’ve turned into a set of private rooms. Then, he places me carefully on the couch and breaks the iron shackles off each ankle with an ease I envy.
“Don’t get blood on the fabric,” he warns.
I’m tempted to disobey. It would be so easy to rub the bloody gash on my arm onto the green velvet fabric or bring my feet up beneath me.
The way he looks at me with dark, piercing eyes says he might retract his offer of a deal if I push my luck.
I huff, looking away. “Have someone bring water so I can clean up, then.”
A bucket and a cloth are dropped beside me by one of his advisors—this one with midnight blue skin with cream markings, a perfect match to another one of the men. They must be twins.
I can tell them apart by their demeanour—the one who caught my blade earlier hasn’t stopped smirking since.
I reach in, finding the water to be warm. There’s a cloth waiting in it, and I use it to gently wipe the blood away from my arm so I can see the embedded piece of glass. I pry it out with a wince and place it on the coffee table beside the couch.
“What’s your name?” the king asks.
They’re all watching me keenly as I work on fixing my injuries. I would be worried about giving my name to a demon, but I already did when I made my first ill-fated deal. If I refuse to answer, they’ll only have to ask the Baron about it.
“Nova,” I say. “What should I call you?”
He’ll probably say ‘Your Grace,’ like everyone else has been calling him.
“Damek.”
I lift my gaze to meet his in surprise. “Is that your first name?”
“Yes.”
“Why would I call you that? Aren’t you the king?”
“If you lose the bet, you’ll be my wife. Of course I’ll have you call me by my first name. You’ll use the others’ first names too.”
My lips part on a gasp. “Your wife?”
I must have misheard him. He probably means his courtesan or consort, some ranking that makes me a toy for him to use. Or maybe for demons, taking a wife isn’t significant. There’s a lot I don’t know about their culture, even though I’ve been trying to absorb everything I can.
Damek flashes me a grin. “Yes, love. My wife and my queen. Their queen, too.” He gestures to the other three men.
I scan them, each one eyeing me with potent interest. The intensity of the attention makes me shiver.
The twins are lithe, one slightly taller than the other. Damek points to the shorter, smirking one first. “That’s Izoran.” He switches to the taller of the two. “And Lorcan. They’re dukes of two major regions in the Underworld.”
Izoran is the most excitable of the group. I don’t think he’s stopped looking at me since the moment I tried to make my escape. Lorcan is calmer, hands shoved casually into his pockets.
Next, Damek gestures back over his shoulder to the imposing demon who always seems to hover near him. “Brellan is my principal advisor, duke of the capital.”
Damek is the most muscular, but Brellan isn’t too far behind—and he looks far more imposing, bordering on angry. I’d expect him to be more of a warlord than an advisor.
I look back to the king, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip nervously. “So, if I’ll be your wife, what will I be to them?”
“They’ll be your consorts.”
The piece of glass I’m holding pierces my finger when I grip it tighter in shock. I curse and drop it to the table, bringing my finger to my mouth to suck on it and quell the bleeding.
All four men look on—Izoran is especially interested in my bloodied finger. I taste copper in my mouth, but it’s quick to stop bleeding. Wiping the last drop of red on the cloth, I swallow hard.
“What do you mean, my consorts?” I ask.
Damek’s expression is lit with amusement. “They’ll serve you.”
“How?”
“In bed and in politics.”
I can’t help but look them over once more. They all look strong and capable. If they weren’t demons, I might actually be interested.
But they are, and they’re complicit in how I was manipulated, captured, and placed in this hell. I want my freedom. I want to go home.
“That’s not going to happen,” I say. “No way are any of you having me serve you in bed.”
Iz laughs. “You got it mixed up, Fire. You don’t serve us, we serve you.”
“What’s the fucking difference?”
He exchanges a look with his twin, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I think that’s easier to explain by doing.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Brellan barks.
He’s been mostly quiet, brooding as he stands just behind Damek’s shoulder, but his voice is deep and rough.
“Why not?” Izoran complains. “We all know she’s not going to win any bet. Even she knows that.”
“We have to let her fight for what she wants.” Lorcan places a hand on his twin’s shoulder. “A good queen always fights.”
I hate how they taunt me, but I grit my teeth and bear it. If they think I can’t win, they might make a mistake. “Tell me what the bet is,” I say.
Damek walks over with an ethereal grace to his movements. He takes every step with confidence that the world will bend to his will, but I hope I can shake that confidence. I won’t bend; I won’t break. I’m going to put everything I have into winning whatever little game he has planned for me.
He folds himself down onto the couch beside me. “Iz, get the glass out of her feet and heal the wounds while I explain.”
The twin demon drops to his knees so fast the thump sounds painful. A heated hand grabs my ankle, and he uses elongated claws to remove glass fragments from the broken skin. He wipes dirt and blood from the wounds with the cloth as he goes.
“I propose a game of chase,” Damek says, wearing a cheeky smirk. “Simple, really. You flee. We hunt.”
My heart begins to pound. There are four of them and one of me, and I’m only human.
“How do I win?” I ask. “I can’t run forever.”
“Well, today’s the day you humans call All Hallow’s Eve—our name for it is the Night of Nuvelia’s Reign.
One of my favourite nights of the year, because the veil between this realm and the Underworld is thin enough to travel over from anywhere.
It’s also the only night we can claim a queen.
If we drag you back to the Underworld before dawn tomorrow, we win. ”
I’ve got no concept of days in here, not with the lack of windows in the dungeon. At first, I tried to count the weeks I’d been trapped in the basement, but it was more depressing to know. I stopped paying attention. It could have been the middle of summer, for all I knew.
Fitting, that the demon king has come for me on Halloween.
“What does winning entail?” I ask cautiously.
This might be where they catch me. What if the win means nothing? I need to clarify before we start any kind of hunting game.
“Freedom,” Damek says simply.
“Tell me specifics.”
“Whatever deal you made that brought you here will be void, and no new deal will replace it. You’ll rejoin the human world. I can even erase your memories so you don’t remember the existence of the supernatural, if you would like.”
Being ignorant of the second world is what got me in this situation in the first place. “No, I would not like. I’ll keep my memories as a cautionary tale.”
He shrugs. “Your choice.”
Iz removes an especially large piece of glass from my foot, and I wince. Blood is dripping down onto the floor from the open wounds, and I wonder if this is the catch.
How am I supposed to run tonight with my feet like this? I can work through the pain, I’ve done it before, but it’s a disadvantage.
I keep my attention on Izoran while he removes the final pieces from my left foot. He wipes away blood and grime from my calloused sole with the wet cloth, and I think it’s the cleanest I’ve been in ages.
Damek instructed him to heal me, but surely that just means wrapping it in bandages now that the glass is out. Whether they can heal me instantly or not, I don’t know—but I doubt they will.
Except, he doesn’t reach for bandages.
He leans forward, his tongue flicking out to caress my sole. I jerk my ankle from his grip, almost kicking him in the head. “What are you doing?”
He’s quick to grab my foot again, bringing it back to his lips. “Give me a moment, I wasn’t done.”
His tongue is ticklish against my flesh, and I squirm on the couch. My blood smears his lips, painting them a deep red. It only takes a moment before he releases me again, sitting back on his heels.
“I’m not here to entertain your fetish,” I hiss.
Damek chuckles. “Iz has a lot of fetishes, but feet aren’t one of them. Look at your sole.”
I wiggle my toes, grabbing my ankle and lifting until I can see the bottom of my foot.
Every scratch is healed, the skin knitted together without any hint of scarring.
“You have… healing saliva?”
“Our saliva does heal humans, among other things,” Damek explains.
I’m not going to ask about the other things.
“If you’d like me to heal the other foot, you’ll have to let me lick you again.” Izoran grins. “Or you can try to escape while heavily favouring one side.”