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"I am," I reply, matching her coolness. "And you are...?"
She turns back to whatever she's cooking—something that smells like roasted meat and unfamiliar spices.
"Domemri. I manage this household." She stirs something in a large pot. "Have for many seasons."
Before I can respond, heavy footsteps approach from behind me. My pulse quickens even before I turn, recognizing the cadence of Vael's stride.
He fills the doorway, dressed in dark leathers that hug his muscular frame. His gaze flicks between Domemri and me, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
"You've met," he observes, voice neutral. He doesn't reach for me or acknowledge what happened between us the night before. Why would he? What did I expect—for him to sweep me into his arms in front of his... servant? Friend? Something else?
"Vaelrix," Domemri practically purrs, her entire demeanor shifting. She straightens, shoulders back, the movement emphasizing the elegant curve of her neck. "I've prepared gormash with dreelk. Your favorite."
I shift uncomfortably, feeling like an outsider watching a familiar ritual. She knows his favorite foods. Of course she does.
Vael grunts in acknowledgment, his attention shifting to me. "Hungry?"
"Yes," I reply, then belatedly add, "Thank you."
The three of us settle at a table carved from what appears to be a single massive slab of ebony stone. Domemri serves Vael first, placing a steaming bowl before him with a flourish that brings her close enough that her arm brushes his shoulder. He doesn't react, but she lingers a moment longer than necessary.
She serves me last, the bowl landing with a dull thunk that nearly sloshes the contents over the rim.
The meal passes in uncomfortable silence. The food—chunks of meat in a savory broth with unfamiliar vegetables—is delicious, but I barely taste it, too aware of the simmeringtension. Domemri watches Vael with naked longing while pretending I don't exist. Vael eats with single-minded focus, offering no conversation.
When he finishes, he rises abruptly. "I have matters to attend to. I'll return later."
I set down my spoon and follow him from the kitchen, feeling Domemri's glare burning into my back.
Once we're in a corridor far from the kitchen, I touch his arm. "Wait."
He stops, turning to face me. His expression is unreadable, red-gold eyes narrowed slightly.
"Who is she?" I ask, hating the uncertain quaver in my voice. "Really."
"I told you. She?—"
"You told me someone would cook and clean," I interrupt, then immediately regret my boldness. But Vael doesn't strike me or even snap at me. He simply watches, waiting for me to continue.
I take a breath. "You didn't say it would be another female demon who looks at you like she wants to devour you."
A flicker of something—amusement?—crosses his face. "Jealous, little human?"
"No," I lie. "Confused. If you have her, why did you choose me from the dungeons?"
Vael leans against the cool stone wall, crossing his arms. "Domemri works for me. She cleans, she cooks. That's all."
"That's not how she sees it."
"What Domemri sees isn't my concern."
I press my lips together, uncertain why this bothers me so much. I'm property, not a partner. What do I care if Vael beds every demon female in Aerasak?
Yet something in my chest twists at the thought.
"She looks at you like she owns you," I murmur.
Vael's laugh is sharp and sudden. "No one owns me."