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"That's the point, though, isn't it?" He leers. "Complete control. They're so... pliable."
My lip curls involuntarily. "Sounds boring."
A commotion near the main entrance draws our attention. Asmodeus and his mate make their grand entrance, his arm protectively—possessively—around her waist. For all his power and intimidating presence, the Hooded King looks at his human mate like she holds the secrets of the universe.
"Never understood that match," Thaxilius mutters. "Sure, humans are fine for entertainment, but to elevate one to queen?"
I remain silent, watching as the royal couple moves through the crowd. There's something in their interaction—a genuine connection—that makes my chest tighten uncomfortably. Not envy, surely. Just... recognition of something I've never experienced.
Suddenly, a ripple disrupts the practiced elegance of the gathering. My attention shifts instinctively toward the source—a human woman I hadn't noticed before, entering the ballroom on the arm of Captain Drez'kor.
She stands out among the other humans like a flame in darkness. While the rest shrink into themselves, she holds her head high, her long brown waves cascading down her back, catching the crimson light in auburn highlights. Unlike the others in their deliberately revealing attire, she wears a simple emerald dress that conceals more than it shows, yet somehow accentuates every curve.
"Who is that?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.
Thaxilius follows my gaze and his mouth curls into a knowing smirk. "Ah, the infamous Trinity."
"Trinity," I repeat. The name feels strangely significant on my tongue.
"One of the Protheka girls. Plucked from some forgettable human village about a year or so ago." He takes a long sip of his Amerinth. "She's been climbing her way through the ranks quite efficiently."
I watch as she navigates the room, her movements fluid and deliberate. "Meaning?"
"Meaning she started in the dungeons with the rest of the breeding stock, but hasn't spent a night there in months." He leans in conspiratorially. "She's slept her way into betteraccommodations, better treatment. Started with the guards, moved up to lieutenants, now she's with Drez'kor. Next stop, probably someone in the royal court."
I bristle at his tone. "You sound impressed."
"Not judging. She's survived. And I hear she's very good at what she does." He winks crudely. "Very attentive to a demon's... specific needs."
I want to look away from her but find it impossible. There's something calculating in how she scans the room, something strategic in her movements. When Drez'kor pulls her to the dance floor, she transforms—body languid, smile bright, every inch the captivating companion. But when his attention drifts to speak with another demon, I catch a flash of something else—a hardness, a wariness.
Our eyes lock across the room.
She falters mid-step, her carefully constructed expression slipping for just a moment. I feel a strange pull, like gravity shifting toward her. She looks away quickly, laughing at something Drez'kor says, but her gaze finds its way back to me moments later.
This happens several times—our eyes meeting, hers darting away, only to return. Each time, the connection feels more electric than before. I realize I've been staring without pretense, my goblet halfway to my lips for what must be minutes.
"She's noticed you," Thaxilius chuckles. "Better be careful. You might be her next target."
I ignore him, watching as Trinity whispers something in Drez'kor's ear. He nods, releasing her waist, and she glides across the floor with purpose—directly toward me.
Her approach is like watching a storm gather. The closer she gets, the more I notice—the controlled rise and fall of her chest, the slight tension in her jaw, the way her soft green eyes have hardened to emeralds.
And I find myself getting excited, ready to face her. I've never cared about anyone before but with her…
There is something different about her.
3
TRINITY
I've learned to move through these demon gatherings like I belong. Head high, shoulders back, small smile playing on my lips—just enough to suggest I'm pleased to be here without inviting unwanted attention. It's all part of the performance.
But that demon has been distracting me all night.
I accept drinks from the captain, the purple liquid burning pleasantly down my throat as I survey the room. Every event like this is an opportunity—to gather information, to make connections, to secure a better position. For myself and the other women.
My gaze drifts across the ballroom, mentally cataloging the demons present. The usual court parasites, several military officers, a few I don't recognize?—