Page 45 of The Ballad of the Vampire Prince

He pretends to not know where to place them several times just so she will come to his aid.

“Right here,” she says, directing him patiently.

I lean back against the pillar and watch them through narrowed eyes. Despite the coiling fear in my gut, I don’t interrupt their strange interaction. It’s not that I care much for the demon’s warning, but it amuses me that a monster who was made to annihilate, conquer, and slaughter, has turned into a docile garden helper.

Within a few moments, the dark creature has successfully transferred every pot to Rhianelle’s desired location. He could have completed the task earlier if he wasn’t flirting with her at every opportunity.

“Thank you so much,” she says, awarding him with one of her winning smiles. “I don’t think I could have done this without you. You’re amazing.”

A simple praise from her has my heart soaring.

When did I start craving for her affection so damn bad?

I can feel the swell of pride from Coinneach too. Now each one of the bastard beasts in me wants to show Nel their abilities like some jester desperate for attention. I reel the Night Lord and his shadows to return to me.

“Where did he go?” the girl asks, looking around for him.

“He’s tired,” I tell her.

Liar,the shadow demon writhes from my control.

Now guilt covers her features. “I didn’t mean to trouble him. Tell him to get a good rest.”

“I will,” I say to ease her conscience.

“I’d like to meet him again.”

At that promise, the demon stops thrashing in my head. Not just Coinneach, but all the beasts sacrificed to the Rhunhraefn. The girl’s tolerance to the Night Lord has given them a false sense of hope.

Fools.

It’s ridiculous to think something like her would ever accept the hideous likes of them. But I do appreciate the quiet tranquil in my mind.

The girl places a hand on her waist, studying the patio with a smile. “I think the plants are going to love their new spot. Maybe they’ll even grow flowers.”

The words of a dreamer.

This small gesture amounts to nothing on the scale of this vast universe. The world remains a fractured and ugly place. These goddamn plants know it. I know it.

Rhianelle sits on one of the benches, poking the ground with a long stick. There’s a melancholic look on her face. I can’t even begin to guess what’s causing it. All I know is that I can’t leave her now.

I settle beside her. She’s so close I can feel the heat radiating from her body. I don’t let my eyes wander to her long slender legs or the curve of her waist.

“I thought you were leaving,” she muses.

“I guess I’m not,” I mutter.

The silent stretches between us.

Rhianelle tilts up her head to look at me. “Where did you fly to yesterday?”

“Ironwick,” I say curtly. “You can hear the shrieking of the Fae King’s fell beasts all the way from the town.”

“The wyverns.” Her eyes grow wide like a curious kitten.

“Tell me about them,” she asks with an earnest curiosity. The girl flips out a notepad to write.

It’s natural for the Elven Queen to want to know about her enemies, the ancient, primeval beast that is descendants of the dragons.