Page 23 of The Princess and the Demon

Swallowing thickly, I sit in the offered chair, rubbing my palms against my skirts nervously.

Amon summons a pen out of thin air, and reaches out a hand, requesting mine.

I offer him my unwounded hand, and he shoots me a glare.

“The other one.” He growls.

I place my wounded hand in his, watching with wide eyes as he turns it palm-side up.

He dips the pen into the wound on my hand, and I jerk, hissing.

Tightening his grip, he dips the pen into the wound again. This time, fresh blood wells and he dips the pen again.

I watch with wide eyes as he places the pen to the parchment, gasping as words begin to appear.

They glisten like water on the page, and I watch, mesmerized.

“Sign.”

Amon’s voice breaks my gaze and I look up at him.

I take the pen, looking back down at the scroll. The words might as well be Greek to me. I attempt to speak, but the words come out as a whisper.

“W-what does it say?” I ask.

Amon walks to a small dresser on the other side of the room, pulling small items from a drawer.

“It states that you are now mine, bonded to me by blood, and that I relinquish my claim on the child.”

He stands, his gaze fixed on the wall before him as he continues.

“You will remain here with me for one-thousand years, or your death, whichever comes sooner.”

The finality of his statement sends a shiver through me, and I let out a shaky breath.

This was it. This right here is what I signed up for. Figuratively, and…

Literally.

I touch the pen to the parchment, scrolling my name with my own blood.

It glistens, and I look up to see Amon raise his hand dismissively towards the table.

His name scrolls underneath mine, and I gasp, backing away slightly.

He raises a hand as he walks towards me, pulling it into a closed fist. The scroll rolls shut, rolling slightly on the table.

It’s done.

The contract was signed.

I was now his prisoner.

Amon reaches out, pulling another chair over to sit it by mine. He walks behind me, grasping the back of my chair and scooting it out and closer to the empty chair.

Sitting, he reaches out, taking my wounded hand in his. I frown when he pulls out a bandage, wrapping it around my palm gingerly.

Silence impregnates the space between us, and I glance up at him a couple of times. His brow is etched with a deep frown, his jaw ticking.

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