Page 16 of Taken By the Shadow Prince

There’s always a price.

Chapter 10

Armin

the girl

It’s been a long while since I last answered a summoning.

The girl watches me with a wariness in her eyes, despite the fact that she is the one who brought me here. I suppose it has more to do with whatever spell it is she’s done to keep me locked in place, to keep my magic tied up inside my body. Which, if I had to guess, is the effect of whatever it is she’s used to draw the circle. Most people go with blood, which feels overly dramatic. But whatever she used is certainly effective. And annoying. I find it hard not to glare at her and force myself to keep a relatively calm composure, even if I can’t entirely let go of the stiffness in my body.

This, though, is not blood. It doesn’t smell the same, nor does it look like blood. Also, blood doesn’t have the correct properties to hold someone like me in place like this, as it’s a rather weak liquid with very limited powers.

And she knows that, if she could make something like this. She’s a wise girl, I’ll give her that much. And quite lovely to look at, especially for a mortal. That umber skin, the firm, full lips and the wariness in those deep brown eyes, eyes so brown they’re very nearly black. Her hair is pinned back but made of small, tight curls that look healthy, well maintained, despite how clear it is that she’s been out here for a while. If the tent behind her wasn’t an indication, then the dirt under her nails is, as well as the sheen of sweat that has her skin glistening.

All this I have deduced, and she has yet to speak again.

“Aren’t you going to answer me?” I finally ask her.

She simply shrugs her shoulder. “I’m waiting for you to name your price.”

“I see. Not in the mood for a friendly chit chat first, are you? Don’t you want to talk about the weather first?”

“The weather is irrelevant.”

Such sharp words, coming from such a small girl. It surprises me, but... it makes sense. No woman who could in any way be considered feeble would have summoned me. The top of her head doesn’t even look like it’d reach much higher than my chin, and her frame is lean. Not skinny, but...almost like a genetic thinness, one that’s she’s honed into muscles, if the soldier’s outfit she wears is any sign, and if those well-worn blades she has strapped all over her body tell me anything.

A woman of many talents. I find myself intrigued.

“I was wondering when I’d be called to your realm again,” I say slowly, relishing in the fall of her lips as she tries to hide her distaste. She must be in a rush, then. If I were any nicer, I’d get to the point. But kindness isn’t something my kind is known for, and I can’t help that I’m feeling a little bitter, a little spiteful, after she rooted me in place. “I knew it was only a matter of time.”

I watch her calculate what her next move is. Will she play along, or will she push me further? In the end, I suppose she decides it’s too much of a risk to do anything more than play the same game as I am, because she says, “Your existence remains questioned by most of the world. Most people don’t know there are bargains to be made at all.”

“I suppose that’s true. Though plenty of my subordinates are called away to make deals each day.”

“Subordinates?”

My brows raise. Does she not know, then? “I am nowhere near the bottom of the totem pole in Atheya.”

“What, then? Are you a Lord? A Duke?” I think she means to make fun of me with her words. I can’t tell if it sets me on edge or sets me on fire.

I chuckle, even if I don’t particularly feel the humor of the moment. “My realm does not believe in such meaningless titles. Much like your country now, I suppose, although we don’t have Kings or Queens, either.”

It’s clear she’s surprised by how much I know of her world. Her eyes flare with shock, perhaps wondering how I know Aligris doesn’t have Lords, Ladies, Dukes, or Duchesses anymore. Not since the uprising that Joula and Kell set into motion long ago.

“What are you, then?” she asks.

“A demon, of course.”

She visibly fights the urge to glare. “You know what I meant.”

“I do.” I crack a grin and say, “I’d shake your hand, if I could move, girl, though I don’t think I’d bother to tell you it’s nice to meet you, after what you’ve done. What’s your name?”

She considers me for a long moment. “Mavey. What’s yours?”

I smile. “I am Armin.”

I watch as her brain makes the connection. We demon princes are quite notorious in this realm—our names whispered as threats to misbehaving children. That sort of fear never really goes away, I suppose, especially when face to face with those childhood nightmares you had long since thought made up.

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