Page 35 of Bargain with the Demon King

I close my eyes, but the sounds follow me. Wet flesh. Desperate grunts. "She's never coming back." The soundtrack to my stupidity, playing on endless repeat.

The glass isn't half full anymore. It's shattered on the floor, and I'm too tired to pretend the pieces are pretty.

Chapter 13

Adraya

The servant girl bleeds black where my breakfast tray caught her temple.

"Forgive me, miss." She scrambles for scattered fruit that rolls across stone, glowing softly in the eternal twilight. "I shouldn't have startled you."

I watch her hands shake as she gathers the mess. Demon servants don't usually shake. But then, I don't usually throw things. The old Adraya would be helping, apologizing, making jokes about my terrible aim. The old Adraya is dead in a cottage with Chad's grunts still echoing in her ears.

"Leave it."

"But the King insists you eat—"

"The King insists on many things." I turn back to the window that shows nothing but canyon and shadow. "Tell him I'm not hungry."

She flees. The fruit continues glowing on my floor, little fallen stars I can't be bothered to pick up. Time passes. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Time moves differently when you're hollow.

The door opens without knock or permission. Only one person in this fortress has that audacity.

"You're terrorizing my staff." Azzaron fills the doorway, today's black coat making his ash-pale skin look carved from marble.

"She startled me."

"She brought you food."

"I didn't ask for it."

He enters fully, and I track his movement in the window's reflection. Three days since Chad. Three days since anything mattered. He looks wrong—every line of his body is held unnaturally still, the muscles in his jaw locked tight. There is a violence in his stillness that is more threatening than any movement.

"You haven't eaten in three days."

"Your counting skills remain impressive."

"Get dressed. Court convenes in an hour."

"Pass."

The silence stretches until it snaps. He crosses the room in two strides, spins my chair to face him. His hands grip the armrests, caging me, and this close I can see the gold threads in his black eyes burning brighter than usual.

"This stops now."

"What stops? Existing? Too late. I already don't."

"Self-pity doesn't suit you."

"Nothing suits me. Ask Chad. Oh wait—you can't. He's too busy fucking someone who actually fits in his hands."

Something flickers across his face. Not pity. Something sharper. "Get. Dressed."

"Make me."

The words hang between us, challenge and invitation and threat all tangled together. His jaw works, and I count the muscle twitches because counting keeps me from thinking. Four. Five. Six.

"Don't test me today, Adraya."