Chapter 27
CHAPTER
Zinlia guided me out of my confinement.
Beyond the room where I woke up, the décor followed the same style; dark and flashy, golden frames around the paintings, the floor covered in a vivid red rug that was a sharp contrast to the darkness.
There were statues of weird monsters, sharp teeth, horns, I had never encountered any of them. Maybe they weren’t based on real demons…or maybe there were abominations here we could never have imagined. I guess Virraan indicated as much.
The air smelled of sulfur and cold iron, of something ancient. My footsteps echoed faintly behind hers—steady, human, small against the vastness of this place.
Zinlia said nothing, her long black hair danced with every movement, the very picture of perfect hair.
Red banners dripped from the walls, embroidered with sigils I didn’t recognize, but most of them were torn down the middle…
By the time we reached the great doors, magic itched beneath my skin, restless and hot. The fire in me wanted out. I forced it down with a breath. I would not show fear.
Not here.
Zinlia stopped before the doors, placing a pale hand on the blackened metal. The shadows across the surface pulsed faintly, alive. Was it magically sealed?
“The King will see you now,” she said, her tone flat as stone.
The doors groaned open, heat washing over me—not from fire, but power. It thrummed through the marble floor and up my legs, prickling my skin like static.
The throne room was vast, a cathedral of obsidian and shadow. Pillars twisted upwards like petrified trees, and at the far end sat the Demon King.
He lounged in a throne carved of bone and dark marble, red and black magic swirling in his palm, like a kid playing with a lit match out of boredom.
His hair was a deep crimson, spilling over his shoulders like silk, his eyes scarlet rubies that burned too bright.
Power radiated from him, and something else, something familiar.
I froze.
It was the way he tilted his head. The subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, the same arrogant calm I’d seen every day with Malakai, when he had teased and kissed and…
I knew Malakai said the Demon King was his father, but… I never thought they’d look so similar.
The King’s eyes sharpened, his nostrils flaring. He leaned forward, gaze sliding over me, lingering knowingly.
“Interesting. You smell… familiar.” His voice was low and as rich as dark wine.
My heart stumbled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
A faint smile curved his lips. “Don’t lie to me, little flame. My blood recognizes its own.”
My throat went dry. The air between us burned, not with heat, but revelation. He didn’t know. Not yet. But he would.
He didn’t move at first, he simply watched me. His gaze was heavy, like pressure building behind glass, testing the limits of what would break first—my self-preservation or my loyalty.
When he finally rose, the air itself seemed to recoil. His presence filled the room, swallowing the space between us until the torches along the walls flickered in submission.
I stood my ground, barely, my fingers betraying me with a slight tremble. I tried hiding it by curling them into fists.
“You reek of familiarity,” he said, his voice velvet and venom. “Not of my kind, not quite… but close enough to be unsettling.”
He descended the steps of the dais, slow and deliberate, the clack of his boots echoing like a countdown. Each one sent a tremor through the floor, through me.
“What are you, little fire mage?”
His eyes flicked to the faint flames sparking around my fists. “You carry the most desired power of them all. I’m amazed that the humans haven’t locked you up for their own greed.”
My throat worked around a dry swallow. I wanted to speak, to lie, to laugh, anything to make him think that I could stand my ground against him. Yet my tongue felt heavier than ever, as if it had doubled in size.
“You’re mistaken,” I said, forcing steadiness. “I’m a simple fire-wielder, they don’t thirst for my powers, they respect it as any other.”
He stopped a few paces from me, close enough that the heat of him pressed against my skin, aberrant and threatening at once. He leaned in, inhaling sharply, a predator scenting blood.
And then his eyes changed, narrowed.
“Ah…”
His voice dropped, soft but slicing the air. “There it is. Someone marked you.”
I flinched before I could stop myself.
“A demon… well, half, maybe,” he continued, circling me now. “Not one of my minions. But…” His tone sharpened, as though cutting through memory. “My blood, a part of my scent. You carry it.”
He stopped behind me, close enough that his breath grazed the back of my neck.
“Who marked you?”
I said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy as a blade against my throat.
“Who,” he repeated, quieter this time, and far more dangerous.
The fire in my veins surged, instinctively. Flames shimmered around my hands and wrists, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he laughed, a low, amused sound that made my stomach twist.
“You think your flames frighten me? My dear, I made creatures that burn brighter than you ever will.”
He moved in front of me again, his hand reaching out, not to strike, but to grip my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. They burned crimson, and for the briefest moment, I saw something behind his cruelty: confusion, annoyance.
Was it the mark that bothered him, or the scent of who made it?
“His scent clings to you like a claim,” he murmured. “Tell me his name.”
I hesitated.
Malakai, the Demon King’s son.
My love, the only one anchoring me to sanity in this endless nightmare. If I said his name, I’d doom him. If I didn’t…
“You’re protecting him,” he said softly, realization dawning. “That’s adorable.”
His thumb brushed against my jaw, mockingly tender. He leaned closer, taking a deep sniff from my hair. I warred with myself, wondering if I should strike him with my flames or feign obedience.
I felt his grip of my chin tighten, saw his teeth clenching together.
“It can’t be,” his voice was a mix of disbelief and poison.
“Kalani,” he whispered to himself, his voice almost regretful. “Half of mine, half of hers.”
He released me abruptly, stepping back, jaw tightening as he pieced together the truth.
“So,” he said at last, voice edged with bitter amusement. “It seems I have some family to catch up with.”
The fire within me trembled. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, not really. He was staring past me, calculating, planning. The Demon King was hard to read. He had said ‘Kalani’ and I wasn’t sure if it was another language or a name, but it felt like it made him hesitant.
And in that moment, a thought struck me, as dangerous and fragile as glass.
If his son was the bridge between our worlds…
If I could make him care, even a little bit…
Could I use that? Could I make him see that this war didn’t have to continue?
But then his gaze returned to me, sharp again, unreadable.
“You’ve given me much to consider, little flame,” he said, voice smooth once more. “You, and the boy who thought to claim you.”
He turned away, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
“For now, you’ll stay here. I’ve decided you’re far too interesting to kill right now.”
His magic pushed me out even though I struggled against it, red mist shoving me back, and the doors slammed shut in my face, sealing the throne room and its suffocating heat away.
For a heartbeat, I just stood there, lungs inhaling air much colder than a moment ago.
Zinlia appeared, silent as a shadow reborn.
Her expression hadn’t changed, still that porcelain calm, eyes as dark and empty as a moonless night.
“The King is finished with you,” she said simply. “You will return to your quarters.”
I wanted to ask, ‘for how long’ or ‘what for’, but something in her tone made the questions die on my tongue.
The answer wouldn’t matter.
Two more demons had joined her this time, both female, both dressed in similar black, silky dresses, but a shorter model with a bolder statement. One of them, the one who walked just a little too close to me, was smiling.
Her purple hair fell in unruly waves, her skin dusky and glowing faintly from within. Her eyes, clear violet, gleamed with the kind of hunger that had nothing to do with food.
“So, this is the little flame who caught the King’s attention?” she purred, lips curling. “No wonder the halls are buzzing. Tell me, darling, how does it feel to be noticed by royalty?”
I didn’t answer.
Her grin widened. “Oh, the silent type. I like that. I’m Iris,” she said, as if offering her name was some great kindness. “I heard you’ve been marked.”
My stomach twisted.
“Marked,” she repeated, drawing the word out like a thread she intended to strangle me with. “Not by the King, obviously, I mean look at you. But there’s something on you… Mmm.” She leaned closer, inhaling like a predator catching a trail. “Familiar, sweet and young.”
Zinlia shot her a sharp look. “Enough, Iris.”
Iris laughed, the sound musical. “Don’t be such a corpse, Zinlia. You smell it too, don’t you? That faint sweetness of a demon, not the King, someone else, someone beautiful.”
I clenched my fists before I realised it.
Iris noticed, of course. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a taunting whisper.
“Whoever he is, he must be strong. To leave his scent wrapped around you and let you live like that… A claim, wasn’t it? Did you beg for it?”
Fire licked under my skin, pleading to scorch this demon out of existence. I could feel it there, rising, desperate.
But I didn’t move. I didn’t speak. I just looked at her, long enough for her smile to falter for half a heartbeat.
Then I let the flames curl back into place, defiantly.
“Careful, Iris,” Zinlia said quietly. “You’re playing with fire. She ended Virraan.”
Iris smirked, flicking her gaze between us. “Oh, please. She’s human, she’ll burn herself out long before she sears me.” Her eyes turned cold. “Although… She seems to think herself above us, and it makes my nails itch for her skin.”
We walked in silence after that, though the air between us vibrated with the unspoken. The demons we passed watched me intently, some curious, some hungry, some wary. News traveled fast here; one second the corridors were empty, the next all demons were out to inspect their new prisoner.
When we reached the bedroom again, it was exactly as before—quiet and suffocating, too soft for a prison and too cold for a home. The air still smelled faintly of smoke from Virraan’s demise.
Zinlia gestured towards the room. “You will stay here until summoned. Do not attempt to leave.”
She turned to go, but Iris lingered in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame.
“If your demon comes for you,” she said with a sneer, “I might greet him first. See if he still smells as good up close.”
That did it, my magic surged, heat rippling through the room in a wave. The silk curtains fluttered. The torches hissed.
Iris’s grin sharpened, delighted.
Zinlia’s hand shot out, gripping her arm. “Enough.”
For the first time, Iris looked as if she was about to go feral. She clicked her tongue, pulling free.
“Fine,” she said. “Leave it to the lap dog to defend the prisoner.”
And then she was gone, leaving behind laughter that scraped my nerves like claws.
Zinlia lingered a moment longer. “Ignore her,” she said. “She feeds on reaction.”
“I noticed,” I muttered bitterly
Zinlia studied me for a long moment, and though her face didn’t change, something flickered in her eyes. Something that wasn’t quite indifference.
“Rest,” she said at last. “You will need it.”
When the door shut, I was alone again.
My hands trembled. The scent of Malakai, lingered in my mind, the memory of his warmth, his voice, his touch. And now, the Demon King knew that scent, too.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring with an empty gaze in front of me, letting memories of my friends flash by, drawing strength from them.
I couldn’t show fear, couldn’t show anger, not yet.
They thought I was prey?
Let them.
Fire waits, and when the time comes, it leaves nothing but ash in its wake.