Page 27 of The Demon’s Collar (The Bard’s Demon #1)

Ero: Not a Princess

“There’s nothing so easy—nor so necessary to defeat—as a hot-headed man.” - a fragment of correspondence from a Temple Mother, preserved in the journal of Eroithiel von Dua

A fter they secured my chains to a tree and stripped me of my things, they butchered B?k like wild game while I watched. His body cleaved in five, limbs that had chased and ravaged me all day turned to strips of meat. The thirsty ground drank his blood.

None of the factionites appeared to be disturbed by what they were doing. They clearly didn’t register any part of B?k as human. Just a beast wearing human skin. Maybe that was fair?

Even the youngest of the five absentmindedly kicked B?k’s hand out of the way when it broke her pacing route. Her nervous energy permeated the air.

“When can we go?” she asked after rocking back on her heels, twisting her cloak in her hands, and chewing her lip until it swelled all failed to soothe her. If I had to estimate, I’d say she was still an adolescent. On the brink of adulthood, but not there yet. What was she even doing here?

“It’s late,” the leader said. “We’ll set up camp. The others should be back soon.”

The young one’s eyes bulged. “Miri, what if he—” She cut herself off, looking down at B?k’s head in horror. Her pupils pulsed. A few errant golden sparks dripped from her fingertips. “What if he comes back? I…I can’t do it again. I can’t even conjure a shield right now.”

Miri shrugged one shoulder. “He won’t, Sade. And even if he does, he won’t touch you. I’ll kill him myself first.”

Although my Fated tattoo made these women my enemies, Miri’s na?ve words sparked a prickle of dread in my gut for Sade. If B?k came back, they were all dead. I suspected that went double for the one whose conjured holy weapon had slain him, even if she was practically a child.

Sade sucked in a breath like she meant to argue, but then she let it slip out and returned to her pacing instead. When she caught me watching, her expression hardened. “What are you looking at, demon-fucker?”

Ouch.

Unlike Sade, whose body betrayed every emotion, I forced a smirk to cover the fact that her insult hit home. I shrugged one shoulder, mimicking Miri, and feigned nonchalance. “Just watching some dead women play with their kill.”

The girl’s hazel eyes shot straight to Miri, tears welling. Shit. I hadn’t meant to make her cry.

Miri wiped B?k’s blood from her hands and took her time coming over. She gave me a withering glare, then said to Sade. “Build a fire, yeah?”

The girl stalked off without answering .

Miri looked down at me, her disgust plain. She crouched, coming eye level. I watched warily, waiting for the telling off—or the blow.

Instead, she said, “Not very becoming behavior for a princess.”

A chill ran down my spine. I’d known from the moment she’d called me Eroithiel that she had an unexpected wealth of knowledge about me. This confirmed it, though. And despite my best efforts, irritation wormed its way into my tone.

“Not a princess,” I snapped.

“No?” She arched a brow. “Not Eroithiel Finch, the youngest daughter of Queen Rashada Finch?”

“Not my name.”

Technically, that was true. I’d written it once—and only once.

When I was five and had just learned my letters.

I wrote it inside my schoolbook and watched my tutor’s face flicker with a self-preserving concern before she crossed out the “Finch” and wrote “von Dua” instead.

The queen (my mother) heard about it anyway.

And that day I got my first lesson regarding who I was and—more to the point— who I wasn’t.

I bore the surname of a beloved human merchant from town, known for his collection of bastards.

He wasn’t my father. But it was believable enough.

Even I believed it until I was ten, when I found him drunk at a festival and slipped into his booth to say hello, and he told me that there was no need to uphold the charade in private, then ushered me out.

“Okay, Princess,” Miri said, smirking with self-satisfaction as she left me to wonder how she knew what she did—even the flawed version—and why it mattered. I did not give her the satisfaction of asking.

They built camp then. I watched. Miri was the de facto leader.

If Sade wasn’t her sister by blood, she’d certainly assumed the role.

They were aware of one another in a deeply caring way.

Even when Miri seemed to ignore the younger girl, she shot regular looks her way.

Likewise, Sade gravitated to Miri’s side any time her nerves grew especially strained.

The other three were as different as one could imagine—but they fit together beautifully.

The hulking, barbaric woman had a laugh that boomed through the trees.

The slight one, smaller even than Sade—though definitely older—danced around energetically, amusing everyone.

Her eyes darted frequently to the fifth woman—a solemn gray-haired caster—to check for a hard-won grin after each joke. She got one about half the time.

They all loved each other. That much was plain.

It stirred a sickening jealousy in my gut.

This was everything I’d imagined finding for myself.

Aside from the minor detail that they loathed me, and I kind of hated them for killing B?k and spatchcocking him like a giant chicken.

Feelings I chose not to examine further for a multitude of reasons.

Things changed when the others arrived. At the sound of a signaling whistle, the women exchanged looks. By unspoken directive, their personalities receded.

Seven more Huntress factionites entered the clearing, led by a man who dripped lethality. Tattoos covered his bare, sculpted chest. He wore dozens of heavy silver rings encrusted with blood. But it was the way my original band of captors leaned subconsciously away from him that put me on alert.

He assessed the situation, face impassive as he noted my presence and B?k’s rotting corpse. He betrayed nothing of his opinion until his eyes landed on Sade, and a few nervous sparks sizzled at her fingertips. Then he frowned at Miri.

“I told you not to let her conjure while we were gone,” he said.

Miri held a soldier’s pose—not obviously afraid, but certainly uncomfortable. I didn’t miss the way she positioned herself subtly between him and Sade. And then Miri lied through her teeth. “The demon sensed us. It was then or never, Captain.”

He dismissed her with a grunt and issued orders to the others, effectively reorganizing everything Miri’s little team had already done.

He ignored me almost too pointedly until everyone had settled and food was cooking over the fire.

The mouthwatering aroma of simmering stew was tarnished by the stench of B?k’s decay.

The captain tipped that balance for the good by collecting a bowl and bringing it to stand over me. I was instantly famished.

“Where is the Fated’s next muster point?

” he asked, not bothering with niceties.

He dipped a spoon into the stew and slurped a huge bite, chuffing around it to cool his mouth.

When I said nothing, he arched his brow expectantly.

“I’d rather not unpack my tools, but I can make this less pleasant if you’d like. ”

I considered that. I didn’t know where the next muster point was, of course. I wasn’t faction leadership. Hell, I didn’t even know where the rest of my scouting party went after they left B?k and me. But why would he believe that?

Miri pretended not to listen as she moved packs from the perfectly reasonable location she’d selected to the arbitrary place he’d ordered them moved.

What would a clever person do here? Clearly, there was a way to play them against one another. No love lost and all that. If I?—

Slurp.

My teeth gritted together. Haz’s steaming piss. Listening to him eat had to be worse than whatever torture he could conjure with those tools he’d mentioned.

“No?” he asked, mouth still half full. “Fine. Get up.”

I did not get up. I didn’t do anything brash, like taunt him or make a face, either. I just didn’t move.

As I’d suspected it would, blood rose up the back of his neck, flushing his skin red. Easy to anger, easy to fuck with. So long as I didn’t value my comfort—which I kind of did, but I’d make an exception in this case—this could be a certain kind of fun.

The captain held his stew out to the side and dropped it, like an actual psychopath. The bowl broke, and the hot sludge splashed me.

I took a moment to appreciate his beauty then.

I know! Timing. But his abdomen was all bronzed and tight and inked with alluring swirls that accentuated the ripple of muscles.

I hoped, for their sake, that at least one of my original captors had gotten a chance to lick him or something before today—because I was pretty confident it wouldn’t be long before B?k returned and made him utterly unappetizing.

Miri surprised me by stepping forward. “Captain, the truth serum is?—”

“Put the demon’s head in a tank of saltwater,” he ordered her, eyes never leaving mine. “Unless you’d like him to rejoin us.”

Miri motioned to the barbarian and her funny companion, who jumped to follow the orders. A mild alarm bell set my nerves on edge. Would that really stop B?k? Aelith hadn’t mentioned it. The man seemed confident, but men like him often did. I couldn’t be sure.

To my continued surprise, Miri remained where she stood— and spoke again. “Sir, the Huntress wants the princess unharmed.”

His eyes flashed. He finally looked up, glowering at his subordinate. His voice carried an edge of warning. “Little Sadie spent herself under your command. Did you squander Greta’s energy as well—or might she be available to heal a few minor wounds?”

“I’ve not tapped Greta today, Captain,” she said calmly.

“Good to hear you can half- follow orders, soldier.” He waved her away. “Elhamine, bring my kit.”