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When we finally land on the outskirts of Ikoth, her eyes widen at the perpetual crimson sky, the rich black soil, the strange metallic plants that glitter under the alien sun.
"Welcome to Aerasak," I say, guiding her down the ramp. "Different from what you're used to."
Trinity steps onto the dark soil, her gaze sweeping across the unfamiliar landscape. "It's called Ikoth, right? The demon homeland?"
"You've been paying attention." I'm oddly pleased by this. "This is the southwestern region, less populated than the cities. I prefer it that way."
As we approach my estate, I watch her reaction carefully. The structure rises from the landscape like a natural formation—black stone and gleaming metal twined together in elegant, angular patterns. No neighbors for miles, just dense forest with their strange, dark-leaved trees surrounding the property on three sides. A private oasis, far from prying eyes.
Trinity's expression gives little away, but her pulse quickens. "It's... secluded."
"That's the point." I lead her through the massive front doors, which swing open at my approach. "No one bothers me here."
Inside, the space opens up to high ceilings and wide windows that frame the crimson sky. The furnishings are minimal but well-crafted—dark woods, metal accents, comfortable seating arranged around a central hearth. Weapons hang on the walls, trophies from successful hunts and contracts. Not warm by human standards, perhaps, but it's home.
"This is where I live when I'm not traveling for work." I gesture for her to explore freely. "And now it's where you'll stay until our arrangement is complete."
Trinity moves through the space cautiously, like she's entering a predator's den. Which, I suppose, she is. Her fingers trail along the back of a chair, eyes cataloging every detail. Always looking for escape routes, this one. Smart.
"It's larger than I expected," she admits. "And... nicer."
"What were you expecting? Chains on the walls? Torture devices?"
Her lips quirk up. "Something like that. Demons aren't exactly known for their hospitality."
"We appreciate comfort as much as anyone." I move past her to throw open another set of doors, revealing a long corridor. "Your quarters are this way."
I show her to a suite of rooms on the eastern side of the house, well-appointed with a large bed, bathing chamber, andprivate sitting area. The windows overlook a garden of strange, metallic-hued flowers that catch the light of Aerasak's sun.
"This is... mine?" Disbelief colors her voice as she moves into the space, touching the plush bedding with hesitant fingers.
"For as long as you're here," I confirm. "The rest of the house is yours to explore at your leisure, except my private chambers and the weapons room."
Trinity turns to me, arms folded across her chest. Her initial awe fades, replaced by that calculating look I'm beginning to recognize.
"Let's talk about this contract," she says firmly. "I need to know exactly what I'm agreeing to."
I lean against the doorframe, appreciating her directness. "Simple enough. You'll bear my heir. Stay here during the pregnancy and until you've healed completely. After that, you're free to go." She asked if she'd have rights, but she never said what she wanted. If she would want to be a mother at all.
I can't imagine she'd want to continue sacrificing for others, but I won't take that choice from her.
"And the child?"
"Stays with me."
Her shoulders relax a fraction. "Good."
I study her reaction, intrigued. "Most would find that a difficult condition."
Trinity shakes her head, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "I never wanted to be a mother. Even before..." She gestures vaguely, encompassing her captivity and everything that led her to this moment.
"Would you want any part in the child's life? Visitation?"
"No." Her answer is swift, unhesitating. "A clean break is better. For everyone."
I nod, oddly relieved by her certainty. "Then we part ways after. I got you off Galmoleth, and I'll set you up with a new lifewherever you choose to go. Resources, housing, everything you need."
Trinity's expression shifts, a brief flash of something—hope, maybe—crossing her features before she schools them into neutrality again. "That simple?"