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Vayla makes a small noise of assent. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Silence falls again, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to say something about the time she’s spent with Allie in her workshop, question what happened during their afternoon together. However, considering the circumstances, and that Allie would give me a healthy ration of hell if I interfered when she expressly told me not to, I hold my tongue.

“The rest will be tended to?” I ask her instead. “And you’ll make it known if you need any other supplies?”

“Yes to both, majesty,” she says with another small bow. “I had better get back to work.”

Leaving the medical tent, I’ve barely made it a dozen steps when another voice calls out from the opposite direction.

“Your majesty, a word?”

I turn to find Crowley, one of my most senior courtiers and a member of my council, standing at the head of a small group with a dark expression on his face.

“Yes?” I ask him, body already bracing for whatever it is he means to say.

“You fare well? I trust you were not injured in the quake?”

I glance down at myself and shrug. “So it would seem.”

“And your consort?”

Asked by anyone else, I might make the mistake of believing it’s a good faith question. From Crowley? It’s nothing more than an inroad to level more criticism against the bargain and witchmagick which holds it together. When Emilia’s power failed, he was one of the most vocal opponents of renewing the bargain at all. And when the realm started to show signs of magickal decay, he was among the first to call for a return to the old ways.

“She is well and safe.”

“Is she here? I have not seen her—”

“My consort is safe.”

Taking the hint, Crowley inclines his head slightly in deference. Still, there’s something sour in his expression, something that hints he wants to say more.

“Out with it,” I tell him, impatient.

On any other day, I might play along with him for another minute or two, goad him a little to rile the temper he has on such a short leash. But today? With my mate somewhere far away being guarded by another, and my court in chaos, I have no time for it.

“Is what happened here today in any way related to the bargain?” he asks, letting his mask slip entirely as his lips curl into a sharp sneer.

I bite back a growl. “It does no good to jump to those conclusions.”

Crowley scoffs. “Doesn’t it? Floods and famine and disaster, magick which can’t keep this realm stable any longer. And there are some who say…”

He trails off.

“Some who say what?”

There are few times when I feel the true need to exercise my power, few times when I let the mantle of authority fall completely and flex the might my position affords me. I’ve found it to be largely ineffective. My father taught me that a good king rules with strength, yes, but also compassion, kindness when possible, and by never forgetting that titles and formalities aside, there is nothing at all which separates me from those I would rule.

It’s served me well, kept my head level and my kingdom running smoothly.

But here? Now? With a portion of my capital in ruins and damning accusations on this fool’s tongue? I feel no need to sensor myself.

Crowley still hasn’t answered.

“Some say what, Crowley?” I press him. “If you have something that needs to be said, I suggest you say it and say it quickly. Before my patience runs even thinner than it is now.”

He draws himself to his full height. “There are some who say that it’s time to abandon the bargain and return to the old ways. That we’ll have no peace until the bargain is discarded for something else.”

The old ways. Soul reaping. Harvesting the life essence from humans by deceit and bargains and using it to power our realm. There’s not a demon alive today who’s had to shoulder the burden of reaping, and we’ve been all the better for it.