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Before she can reply, I stalk from the training hall, my wings scraping a brazier and sending sparks skittering across the floor. My footsteps echo in a drumbeat of frustration. Why does she unsettle me so much? Why does the contract’s pain intensify when we’re close, only to recede in her presence at other times?

I can’t risk letting that tension build. I can’t risk letting her see my vulnerabilities. The vow binding me to King Grymlock is a chain that might snap or devour me. She’s the only one who might unravel it, yet her very nearness shreds my composure.

Distantly, I hear the clang of her sword as she retrieves it from the floor, maybe cursing my name. Good. Let her stew. The fortress corridor envelops me in cold gloom, and I exhale a hiss of breath.Tonight, I remind myself. We’ll venture out under illusions, find the archivist, and finally see if her blood can truly set me free.

If I survive that test, perhaps then I’ll confront the dangerous pull between us. Until then, I’ll bury it beneath the single-minded hunger for liberty. That is all that matters. I vow it, letting the wards swirl in uncertain agreement.

But the memory of her closeness lingers, taunting me with a possibility that I refuse to name.

9

VALENTINA

Iprowl through a narrow corridor carved into the basalt, my pulse still thrumming from the brutal sparring session with Malphas. He vanished in a swirl of black fire after our last clash, leaving me standing breathless on the training floor. I told myself I was glad to see him go, yet my body betrays me. Every nerve remains on edge, torn between anger and a feverish yearning I can’t explain.

A pair of Zonaks lurk near an archway, their squat forms blending with the uneven shadows. At my approach, they scuttle off, probably more wary of Malphas’s claim over me than of me personally. Good. I’ve had enough unwanted company for one day.

My hand drifts to the short sword strapped at my belt. After that near-brawl in the courtyard, he insisted I keep a better blade. I told him I could handle myself just fine with a dagger, but Malphas only scoffed, pressing the hilt into my grip with that infuriating mix of arrogance and concern. If only I could untangle which motive guides him at any given moment.

I can’t shake the memory of how close he pinned me, chest to chest, the furnace of his breath brushing my cheek.The recollection sends a tremor through my limbs—equal parts dread and reckless heat.Why do I crave more from the demon who nearly murdered me?

I arrive at the chamber Malphas designated as “mine,” the place that might as well be a cell in all but name. The weight of his fortress wards presses in, reminding me that I stand in a realm shaped by chaos magic. Its corridors coil like serpents, illusions thick in my vision. I push open the door, stepping inside with a rough exhale.

The violet brazier in the corner gutters low, casting warped shadows on the basalt walls. The battered fur he gave me still lies across the slab I’ve been using as a bed. My reflection glints in a shard of obsidian jutting from the wall—hair disheveled, cheeks smudged with soot from the training grounds, silver eyes shadowed with exhaustion. The illusions test rattled me, but not half as much as Malphas’s presence did afterward.

I shed the patched coat, letting it drop onto a ledge. My bruises protest every movement, especially where the demon’s claws gripped me. I wonder if he left marks. My fingertips linger on the faint soreness at my waist, recalling the pressure of his arm pinning me in place. My heart thumps an unsteady rhythm. No matter how hard I try to banish it, the memory sizzles in my veins.

A knock rattles the door behind me, making me jump. It’s not a timid tap and more like a command. I freeze, pulse leaping. Only one being in this fortress knocks like that. Swallowing, I turn and open the door. Malphas fills the threshold, towering horns carving jagged shapes against the corridor’s faint torchlight.

He says nothing at first, gaze raking over my disheveled appearance. There are molten lines across his ebony skin, pulsing faintly as though echoing a heartbeat. Those lines trace up his neck, disappearing beneath the collar-like plating nearhis throat. His wings shift behind him, tattered membranes reflecting ghostly arcs of color from the brazier’s glow.

“Did I disturb you?” he asks at last, though his tone suggests he knows full well the effect he has.

“I—no,” I manage. My throat feels painfully dry. “I was just?—”

He steps inside without waiting for an invitation, forcing me to retreat a few steps or be trampled. The door slams behind him, sealing us in. My scalp prickles as I realize we’re alone in a confined space. And the fortress wards hum, almost like they sense tension between us.

He looms closer, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement pulls the plating across his shoulders, highlighting the ridges of muscle. His horns catch the brazier’s glow, one half-broken near the tip, a permanent symbol of a battle lost. I recall how that break draws my eye every time—some vulnerability in an otherwise invincible form.

“You left the training hall quickly,” I say, forcing my voice steady.

He tilts his head, a stray lock of midnight-blue hair shifting across his temple. “I had things to attend to,” he replies curtly. “But there’s more we need to discuss.”

I bristle, hugging my arms around my sore ribs. “Now? Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?”

His gaze flickers with a heated intensity. “No.” Then, softer, “I’ve been thinking about our arrangement… about you.”

My stomach flips. I recall how he tested me with illusions, how we’ve danced around each other with simmering conflict ever since. He’s a demon who thrives on power games. And yet, under that veneer of violence, there’s something else—an unspoken spark that flared in every near-touch, every glare.

He exhales, stepping nearer until the heat of him washes over me, overwhelming my senses. My entire body tenses, fight-or-flight warring with an unwanted surge of longing. My fists clench, nails digging into my palms. I force out a breath, refusing to surrender to fear.

“That arrangement includes you obeying me,” he murmurs. “But you’ve resisted at every turn.”

I lift my chin, heart pounding. “Is that why you came? To lecture me on obedience again?”

A flicker of dark amusement lights his crimson eyes. “Partly. But there’s more.”

He moves with disconcerting speed, bracing a clawed hand above my head against the basalt wall, effectively boxing me in. My pulse skitters. His other hand hovers near my hip, not quite touching. The tension radiating off him is palpable, igniting the memory of how effortlessly he could crush me. Yet a whisper of desire whispers through my bloodstream, thick and heavy.