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A disdainful snort escapes me. “Presentable, as if I’m some caged pet to parade?” I tilt my head, studying her. Beneath my glare, she shrinks, pressing her palms together anxiously.

“N-no,” she stammers. “I—I only do as I’m instructed.”

Her fear is palpable, flooding the room with a faint tang that flickers over my senses. I could tear her apart if I wished, but that would serve no purpose. She’s just another pawn in the King’s game. My anger demands an outlet, though, so I let out a slow breath to keep it in check.

“I need nothing,” I say coldly. “Go.”

She bows again, stammering apologies, then hurries out the door as though devils are on her heels. I slam the door shut behind her. The slight tremor that runs through my frame betrays the depth of my irritation.Presentable, indeed. I’m a demon, not a pampered courtesan. The King can wrap me in fancy clothes, but it won’t change the fact that I despise him.

Grumbling under my breath, I stalk back across the room. Memories swirl, dancing at the depths of my consciousness. The day I was first summoned, the ceremony drenched in blood, the scalding magic that forced submission. If only I’d never answered that summons. But I was wounded, desperate from a losing battle in my home realm. The dark elves offered a bargain they never intended to keep. Their perfidy sealed my fate.

I sink onto the edge of my basalt bed. The stone is cool against my thighs, providing a modicum of relief to my heated skin. Outside, the night stretches on, a canvas of darkness. My tail coils around my calf. There’s no comfort in these chambers, only restless isolation.

Tomorrow, I’ll face King Grymlock’s demands once more, likely forced to watch or even assist in another sacrifice. The thought of being complicit twists my stomach. Slavery. That’s what it is, no matter the illusions of grandeur. My fury simmers again, a slow burn behind my ribs.

Drawing on a corner of my chaos magic, I let flickers of black flame dance across my claws. The darkness slithers between my fingers, an extension of my Soz’garoth heritage. Under different circumstances, I might have grown in mastery, become a formidable sorcerer-lord in my own right. Instead, I’ve been stunted, forced to use this gift to do the elves’ bidding.

The black flame reflects in my eyes, and I see the beast I’ve become. A subdued snarl vibrates in my throat. My reflection warps in the shimmer of dark energy, horns elongated, fangs bared. I let the magic dissipate, unwilling to attract warding spells that might punish me for summoning power without permission.

I can’t break these chains alone. There’s no ally among the elves to help me. Perhaps I could force another demon to unite with me, though they’re scattered or likewise bound. Some fled to other corners of Protheka rather than let themselves be trapped by the dark elves. Others remain hidden in the swirling maelstrom of the floating continent of Galmoleth, rumored to be under the Demon King Asmodeus’s dominion. But Asmodeus has his own goals, and forging an alliance with him might mean trading one master for another.

A wave of exhaustion washes over me, though I rarely need true rest. My body might endure, but my mind bears the weight of centuries. It’s enough to tax even a demon’s resilience. At last, I lie back on the slab, letting my wings shift to accommodate the hard surface. Staring at the vaulted ceiling, I notice the runic inscriptions etched overhead. They flicker with faint luminescence, shaped like coiling serpents. These wardsform part of the fortress’s binding. They keep me here, tethered, inescapably locked in the King’s domain.

For a moment, I recall that fleeting glimpse of the human girl from earlier. Her eyes had sparked with defiance, even from a distance. It was…unusual. Most humans cower in Lowtown. If she stands out, she’ll likely perish or be singled out for the arena. The notion stirs conflicting impulses—why do I even think about her?

I banish the thought. She’s nothing. A mortal who’ll vanish soon enough in the endless churn of this city’s cruelty. Turning onto my side, I let my tail curl near my leg. The basalt’s chill seeps into my skin.

The fortress hushes around me, except for the faint hum of warding spells. Sleep eludes me, but I rest with my eyes closed, drifting in a half-lucid state. My mind wanders to the concept offreedom.Despite my immense strength, I am powerless where it truly counts. And so I bide my time.

In the silence, I chart out a mental map of every crack in these walls, every weakness in the wards, searching for an angle I might exploit. The day will come when I put my claws through King Grymlock’s chest and relish the sound of his dying breath. But until then, I wait like a beast in a gilded cage, bound by treacherous spells to serve a cause I loathe.

I don’t realize how far my mind has wandered until a predawn glow filters through the narrow window. A muted haze of light signals that the city stirs again. My rage remains, burning beneath the surface. Another day, another test of endurance.

I stand and roll my shoulders. The scars across them pull tight, reminding me of countless battles. Striding to the small washbasin, I splash tepid water over my face. My reflection stares back—eyes red as hot coals, hair a wild shade of midnight blue that tangles around my horns. My jawline is sharp, marredby a faint silvered scar crossing from chin to cheek. Spidery lines of glowing crimson flicker across my bare arms, synchronized with my heartbeat. The presence of so many wards annoys my senses, but I’ve grown accustomed to the constant pressure.

In the corridor outside, footsteps approach. The door creaks. Garevir, once again, or perhaps another messenger. My lips peel back with a silent growl. I brace myself for whatever commands the day brings.

I vow silently.One day, I will break this contract and watch these walls crumble. Until then, I’ll let them believe they own me. They have no idea what monsters they’ve invited into their midst.

I bare my fangs in a grin that’s more threat than smile. One day, the chain will snap. And on that day, Vhoig will tremble beneath my wrath.

3

VALENTINA

Iwake to the shriek of metal grating on metal. In the groggy haze of morning, I can’t immediately place the sound—only that it sets every nerve on edge. My eyes snap open to find that I’m still in the cramped Lowtown barracks I share with a dozen others. The makeshift door stands ajar, crooked on its hinges, letting in a band of pale light. But the shape lurking in the threshold isn’t a fellow human or a friendly face.

Dark elf soldiers block the exit.

The one in front surveys the interior like he’s checking a stable full of livestock. Plate armor clings to his lithe frame, polished to a mirror sheen that contrasts with the filth of our hovel. An emblem is etched over his heart—a stylized serpent twisted around a spiked crown, signifying allegiance to the Vhoig monarchy. Behind him waits another guard, just as imposing. Neither moves, yet menace radiates from their stance.

A sinking feeling clutches my stomach. It’s too early for roll call, and the patrols typically don’t come here unless someone has broken a rule. No one in this shack would risk that. We’ve all witnessed the consequences.

I sit up slowly from my threadbare blanket, heart pounding. I’m aware of the other slaves around me doing the same, their tired eyes filling with panic. It’s impossible to ignore the tension rippling through the room. At the far corner, a woman tugs a coughing child close. Next to me, a man tries to hide behind a rotted trunk, though there’s nowhere to truly conceal himself.

The lead soldier’s gaze rakes across the gloom until it settles on me. He raises a gauntleted hand, pointing wordlessly. My pulse spikes. I swallow hard, refusing to show fear. “Stand,” he orders, voice echoing in the cramped quarters.

I push to my feet, pain lancing through bruised muscles from yesterday’s labors. My back still aches from the savage whip scars I earned days ago, but I square my shoulders. Defiance is the only thing I have left. “What do you want?” I ask, though my throat constricts around the words.