Page 9 of Bargain with the Demon King

Adraya

The summons cuts through breakfast—a violent pull. Azzaron goes rigid, the casual slump of his shoulders snapping straight. The boredom in his eyes vanishes, replaced by the focus of a hawk spotting prey.

"What is it?"

"A summoning. Close. Desperate." He rises, already calculating distance and time. "The mortal is dying."

"Take me with you."

He pauses, gold threads brightening in those black eyes. "Why?"

"I want to understand how this works. How you work." I stand, meeting his gaze. "I've only seen my own bargain. I need to see what normal looks like."

"Normal." He tastes the word, finds it amusing. "Very well. Take my hand."

His grip burns—not unpleasant, just overwhelmingly present. He pulls me against him, one arm locking around my waist with practiced efficiency.

"This will be disorienting. Don't let go."

The world tears apart. My stomach drops into nothing while pressure threatens to crack my ribs. I bury my face against his chest, fingers digging into his shirt, trusting him to navigate whatever space exists between worlds. His arm tightens, anchoring me through the chaos.

Then—solid ground. Forest clearing. Sunlight that feels wrong after the demon realm's eternal twilight.

The soldier destroys any other thought.

Young, maybe twenty-five. Wedding ring glinting through blood. A locket clutched in one fist—children's portraits inside, probably. Three wounds that should have already killed him. The worst spills intestines onto forest floor.

"Please." Wet, desperate. "My children. My wife. The farm—they can't manage alone."

Azzaron approaches as if he's crossing his own throne room to sign a decree. His steps are even, his expression unreadable. His focus isn't on the dying man, but on the glimmer of soul waiting to be collected.

"Your soul for your life. You heal enough to survive. You make it home." No comfort. No negotiation. Just transaction.

"Will I see them grow up? Will I—"

"You'll survive today. The rest depends on you." He extends his hand. "Ten seconds before organ failure. Decide."

"Yes! Please, yes!"

The extraction happens brutally fast. The soul fragment tears free, condensing into dull blue crystal—desperation without passion, survival without glory. Azzaron pockets it before the soldier's wounds even begin closing.

"Go." Already turning away. "Crawl home if you have to."

The soldier staggers into the trees, sobbing gratitude that Azzaron doesn't acknowledge. I watch until he disappears, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. That wasn't a rescue. It was a harvest.

"Ready?" Azzaron extends his hand again.

"You didn't hesitate." I accept his grip, step back into his embrace for the return journey. "Not for a second. Just business."

"That's what this is. Business."

The world tears again. This time I'm ready for it, using his solid presence as my anchor point. When we materialize in his chambers, I immediately step back, needing distance to think.

"You hesitated with me." The words come out soft. "When I sold my soul, you asked if I was sure. Twice."

Something flickers across his face. "Did I?"

"You know you did. In all your centuries, all your bargains—why did you pause for me?"

"Perhaps your summoning was particularly loud." But he won't meet my eyes, and his claws drum against his thigh in that rhythm that means discomfort.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting." He moves toward his dinner table. "Join me?"

I retrieve my plate from my chambers—our routine now. No knocking. Just entering and claiming my seat across from him. The familiarity of it feels dangerous and safe simultaneously.

"Tell me about soul values." I cut into meat that tastes too complex for my mortal palate. "Why do some stones glow brighter?"

"Passion affects luminosity. A soul traded for love burns brighter than one traded for gold. Sacrifice for others creates purer stones than selfish desires."

"So my stone must be brilliant. I traded everything for love."

His expression does something complicated. "Your stone is unique."

"Because I loved that completely?"

"Because you believed that completely." He takes a drink, considering his words. "Most mortals who summon me are lying to themselves. They think they want to save their loved ones, but really they want to be seen as the hero who saved them. You genuinely believed you were doing the right thing."

"I was doing the right thing. Chad would have died."

"Yes. He would have." The way he says it makes my stomach twist.

"You judge mortals harshly for someone who profits from their desperation."

"I don't judge them at all. I simply see them clearly." He leans back, studying me. "You're the one who assigns nobility to their choices. Who insists every soul-stone tells a love story."

"Don't they? Everyone who trades their soul does it for something that matters more than eternity. That's beautiful, even if it's tragic."

"It's economic. Supply and demand. Nothing more."

"You can't really believe that." I lean forward, genuinely curious. "After seventeen thousand years of bargains, you must have seen real love. Real sacrifice."

"I've seen obsession dressed as love. Possession masquerading as devotion. Fear of loneliness called romance." He drums his claws against the table. "But pure sacrifice? The kind that expects nothing in return? Perhaps twice."

"Including mine?"

"Especially not yours." Before I can be insulted, he continues. "You expected everything in return. Chad's life, his gratitude, his eternal devotion. You made that bargain believing you'd be rewarded with a love story worth the price."

The words sting because they're not entirely wrong. "Is that so terrible? Wanting to be loved back?"

"No. It's mortal. Beautifully, tragically mortal." His gaze holds mine. "You want to believe everyone shares your capacity for devotion. That Chad is composing epic poems to your sacrifice. That he's desperate to find you."

"He is. He has to be."

"Why? Because you would be?" He leans forward. "Tell me, little optimist—what would you do if someone traded their soul for you?"

"I'd tear apart worlds to get them back." The answer comes instantly, honestly. "I'd never stop searching. Never stop fighting."

"And there's your answer about soul values." His voice goes soft, almost kind. "Your stone burns bright not because of who you saved, but because of who you are. That relentless hope that everyone loves as fiercely as you do."

"That's not naive. That's faith."

"Sometimes they're the same thing."

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken truths between us. Finally, I ask, "Do you ever regret them? The bargains?"

"No."

"Not even the children? The parents trading everything to save their families?"

"Regret requires believing there was a better option. There never is. By the time they summon me, all good options are gone." He meets my eyes. "I'm not their first choice, Adraya. I'm their last resort."

"You were my first choice."

"No. Death was simply your first refusal." He stands, signaling dinner's end. "You should rest. Tomorrow brings new lessons."

I gather my plate, pause at the adjoining door. "Azzaron?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For showing me the truth of it. Even if it's harsh."

"Truth usually is."

Back in my chambers, I sit on my bed, processing everything. The soldier's desperate love. Azzaron's clinical efficiency. The way he paused only for me.

I'm different to him. Special somehow. Not because of Chad, but because of who I am. The thought warms me in ways it shouldn't.

I think about his question—what would I do if someone traded their soul for me? The answer comes with uncomfortable clarity. I'd do exactly what I said. Tear apart worlds. Never stop fighting.

But Chad hasn't come. Hasn't even tried to summon Azzaron to trade himself for me.

The thought sits like poison in my chest. Maybe Azzaron's wrong about everything, but maybe—just maybe—he sees clearer than I want to admit.

I change for bed, slip between silk sheets that whisper against bare skin. Close my eyes and let myself wonder, just for a moment, what it means that the Demon King paused. That in centuries of bargains struck with the precision of an accountant, I made him hesitate.

Tomorrow I'll return to optimism. Tomorrow I'll insist Chad is grieving, searching, desperate. Tomorrow I'll paint silver linings on everything.

But tonight, in the dark honesty of my own mind, I admit a terrible truth: I'm starting to look forward to these dinners more than the possibility of rescue.

And that betrayal of my own heart might be the worst bargain of all.