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She reaches for the canteen with a nod, taking a cautious sip. Then she breaks off a piece of jerky, chewing with a grimace. “Tastes like old leather. But I’ve had worse.” Her gaze flicks to the ointment. “Another salve?”

I tap the container. “More potent. Dab it on your wounds before you sleep.”

She exhales a short laugh, tinged with disbelief. “You’re practically mothering me.”

A growl rumbles deep in my chest. “I’m ensuring my investment doesn’t rot from infection. Don’t mistake it for kindness.”

She raises her hands in mock surrender, though a faint smirk lingers. She resumes chewing the jerky, swallowing withdifficulty. I watch the muscles in her throat work, aware that each unguarded gesture highlights her humanity—a frailty I both scorn and feel oddly drawn to examine.

She finishes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she eyes the basalt slab. “Can you at least conjure a blanket with your chaos magic?”

A humorless chuckle escapes me. “Blankets are not my specialty. I shape stone and ward illusions, not mortal comforts.”

She sighs. “Right. I should’ve guessed.”

I shift my stance. A flicker of memory reminds me I once stored furs in an upper chamber, trophies from hunts. But do I truly want to indulge her request? She’s no queen to be pampered. Yet the memory of her scowl tugs at something in me, a desire to see that defiance remain unbroken.

I turn away. “I’ll see what I can find.” As I walk out, I toss over my shoulder, “Don’t wander.”

Her irritated retort echoes after me. “You never stop giving orders, do you?”

I ignore the jibe, ascending another staircase. My domain is labyrinthine by design, ensuring intruders become hopelessly lost. I pass rooms filled with arcane relics, half-finished experiments from centuries of tinkering. A door stands ajar, revealing shelves cluttered with tomes about chaos spells, but I ignore them for now. My mind churns with more immediate concerns—like keeping her safe from the lesser demons’ curiosity.

At last, I find a side room where a battered chest brims with thick animal hides, trophies from hunts in the demon realms. Their texture is coarse, but warm enough for mortal flesh. I heft a hide onto my shoulder. The memory of her kneeling vow surfaces, unbidden: that moment she agreed to my dominion in exchange for survival. It should have been satisfying, yet thevictory felt hollow. A vow made under duress lacks a certain sweetness.

I descend once more, returning to her chamber. She rises from the slab when I enter, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the hide. “That’s…unexpected.”

I shrug, tossing it onto the basalt bed. “Cover yourself with it if you grow cold. Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

She touches the hide, fingers sinking into the coarse fur. “Thank you,” she says, quiet enough that I almost miss it. The sincerity there pricks at my composure. I mask it by turning away and dismissing the orb of chaos flame swirling near the brazier.

“I’ll be outside,” I say. “If you sense something creeping in, call out.”

Her voice stops me at the threshold. “Wait. You’re not staying here?”

My jaw tightens. “I have a fortress to run, wards to maintain. I’ll check on you later.”

She nods, exhaling through pursed lips. “Right.”

Without another word, I step into the corridor, letting the door grind shut behind me. My chest feels tight, an unfamiliar pressure I can’t name. It’s absurd to consider how quickly one mortal has upset the precarious balance of my existence. Usually, I roam these halls alone, haunted only by my contract. Now, I find myself ensuring another’s comfort, albeit grudgingly.

I descend to the throne room, where I plant myself on that carved seat of black stone and bleached bones. From here, I can sense the fortress’s pulse, each ward humming in my mind. I close my eyes, focusing on the flickers of energy that swirl around each corridor. My lesser demons lurk at the peripheries, restless and curious about the mortal guest. I project a silent warning through the wards:Harm her, and face my wrath.

An uneasy hush follows, as if they heard the command directly in their bones. Good. I won’t have them testing my authority at this juncture. Already, the fortress hums with a new tension—my minions likely gossip among themselves, if they can be said to do such a thing, about the mortal woman in my domain.

My claws grip the throne’s armrests, the texture of fused vertebrae forming a macabre pattern under my palms. I think of Valentina lying in that chamber, clutching the coarse hide for warmth, bruised ribs throbbing from the day’s ordeal. The memory sends an odd coil of heat through my veins. Perhaps it’s the lingering echo of her defiance, or the faint tang of her unique blood. I can’t decide if I’m intrigued or disgusted with myself.

I let a growl rumble in my throat, alone in the vast hall. My reflection glints in a fractured mirror—crimson eyes, broad shoulders, horns that curve upward and one ragged stump that was snapped off in a humiliating defeat. I loathe that imperfection, a permanent scar that never regrew. In it, I see an unspoken reminder—the elves once forced me to kneel, too.

She kneels for me now. The irony isn’t lost on me. Two chained souls, forging a precarious alliance.

I let my eyes drift shut, focusing on the wards that circle our fortress. Each runic barrier stands strong, reflecting my determination to keep the outside world at bay. The King’s contract weighs less heavily here, though it lurks at the deepest recesses of my mind like a coiled serpent. If I remain too long, he may attempt a direct summon. But for now, we’re safe.

Valentina’s presence complicates everything. Yet I can’t deny the new sense of purpose stirring in me: If she truly holds the key to shattering my bonds, I must unearth it—even if that means enduring her stubborn defiance and the curious ache that arises whenever she’s near. I open my eyes, pinning them on the gloom of the throne room. For centuries, I existed only to followmy forced oath. At last, I see a sliver of possibility that I might taste true freedom.

If it comes at a cost, then so be it.

A small, twisted smile curves my lips. Tomorrow, we’ll strategize how to approach the archivist, Enith, in Vhoig’s Temple District. Tonight, I’ll remain vigilant, ensuring my fortress doesn’t devour my mortal asset. Tension thrums under my skin, a heady mixture of power and uncertainty that stokes every feral instinct inside me.