Page 24 of The Demon's Queen

No matter how much I crave the feeling of his strong arms around me. That craving is a lie, a weakness. Giving in to it will only pave the way for him to get what he wants. He ruined my life.

He saved my life.

Only because he’s the one who endangered it!

Fuck, now I’m arguing with myself. This is bad.

I turn two corners and nearly weep at the sight of a staircase opening up in front of me. “Thank you.” I rush forward, moving too quickly, but I can’t seem to slow down. The voices in my head are drowned out by two words, repeated over and over again until they bleed into each other.

Get out. Get out. Get out. Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout.

I’m moving so fast, I trip over my feet. For a moment, I’m perfectly weightless, and then I crash into a body. It catches me around the waist and keeps me from landing on my face. “Eve? What’s wrong?”

Ramanu.

Iknowthat the sensation of my ribs cracking, of my sternum splitting, of my heart emerging, bloody and frantic, is panic. It’s not real. It can’t possibly be real. But though my brain knows that, my body hasn’t gotten the memo. “Can’t. Breathe.”

To their credit, Ramanu doesn’t hesitate. They loop an arm around my waist and turn smoothly to keep walking in the direction I was headed. “You’re safe.”

“No.”

“You are,” they insist. Calm and steady. Their tone isn’t patronizing or pitying. Just matter-of-fact. “You’re having a panic attack.” We round another corner. “I’m taking you to the gardens. We’re almost there.”

They half carry me the rest of the way. My legs aren’t quite working the way I need them to be.Nothingis working the way I need it to. Can someone die from panic? Surely that’s possible. Rabbits die from fear, right? Why wouldn’t it be possible for humans too?

Ramanu hauls me through a wide doorway, and then the sun is on my face, warm and buttery and as gentle as the caress of a mother I’ve never met. They bring me to a low bench and urge me down. “Here, darling.” They guide my arms up to cross over my chest, my hands to the front of each shoulder. Then they tap their fingers over mine, back and forth, back and forth. “Breathe. Focus on the sensation.” Back and forth. “Again. There you go.”

My eyes burn. “I can’t?—”

“You can.” They speak firmly and softly, still tapping in that regular rhythm. “Give it time.”

I don’t know how long it goes on for. It feels like a small eternity. I can’t even say when I finally manage to draw a full breath or when the horrible tightness in my chest eases, just a little. Only that it happens. Eventually.

Through it all, Ramanu crouches before me, as patient as a saint, talking to me softly as they continue tapping. Them having horns where most humans have eyes turns out to be comforting. They squeeze my shoulders. “Better?”

“A little.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it.”

“You’ve been through a lot.” They rise and sit on the bench next to me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

And have whatever I say go directly back to Azazel? I think not. I clear my throat and drop my arms. “I’d like to go into the city. The walls are feeling too close in the castle.”

“That’s not an option after yesterday.” To their credit, they say it regretfully. “Azazel has ordered a lockdown until he can investigate further.” They motion to the garden. “There are plenty of open-air places within the castle. This garden is midsized, but there are others.”

For the first time, I look around the space, taking in the splashes of greenery and bright blooms. I’m no horticulturist, but even if I were, I suspect I wouldn’t be able to identify these strange plants and flowers. They’re beautiful, though. Now that I’m able to focus on something beyond breathing, I can practicallytastethe life in the air.

That doesn’t make this less of a cage.

“Ramanu—”

Their head jerks up, their attention focused on something far away as tension bleeds into their lean body. “I’m sorry, Eve, but I have to go.” They stand abruptly. “Azazel would like you to attend dinner with him tonight.”

Before I can dredge up a rejection ofthatidea, they’re rushing across the garden and through the doorway. I squint. For a moment, it looked like they’d actually disappeared, rather than just left. I want to say that’s impossible, but that’s what I thought about demons and magic and a host of other things I’ve encountered in the last week.

I slump back onto the bench. I can’t remember the last time I had a panic attack. I must have been a teenager. They were something I dealt with in junior high and high school. They started after the foster family—the one I thought I’d be with forever—adopted a baby and suddenly had no room or space formy troubled preteen self. The next home wasn’t bad, but there were four kids there and never enough attention to go around. Getting lost in the shuffle made me feel unmoored, and that sensation gave way to panic. It’s been years—decades—since the last attack. Long enough for time to dull the memory, to remove some of its teeth.

My heart is still beating too fast, my muscles as shaky as if I’d just completed an intense workout. I’m exhausted, but the thought of going back to my room is too much to bear. Instead, I make myself stand and walk through the garden.

As Ramanu said, it’s not particularly large—roughly the size of my penthouse back home—but whoever designed it was clever. The greenery is explosive. The paths are narrow and winding. I take several circuitous routes before the buzzing in my brain finally retreats enough for me to think. Mostly.

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