Page 29 of The Demon's Queen

But even as I open my mouth to tell him that this changes nothing, that I still hate him... I can’t quite manage the words. They feel too much like a lie, and as angry as I still am, I can’t meet his honesty this morning with lies meant to hurt him. Idon’t know where that leaves us. I don’t know much of anything at all right now.

I say nothing as I walk to the door and step through it. Directly into my room. I blink, some of my confusion melting away in awe of the castle. “I didn’t know you could do that,” I say softly. “That’s really cool.”

My doorknob rattles, and I raise my brows. It’s never done that before; maybe it’s Azazel chasing me down, but I don’t think so. I cautiously open the door, and my jaw drops at the sight of a garden. It’s not the same as the space I broke down in yesterday. This one is massive, with large trees stretching so high, I can almost believe I’m truly outside. “It’s so beautiful.”

When I walked out of Azazel’s room, I fully intended to head straight for the shower and maybe have a good cry over how conflicted I feel. Instead, I find myself stepping into this garden and breathing deeply.

Only to pause when I catch the scent of coffee.

I feel a little silly following my nose like some kind of cartoon character. The path winds through the trees and flowers and plants, a practical paradise, to a small courtyard with a table and a single chair in it. On the table is a covered plate, still steaming in the cool morning air, and a carafe of what appears to be coffee.

I look around, but no one appears. “Is this for me?” The trees rustle around me as if in affirmation. I smile. “Thank you.”

As I pull out the chair, I almost expect someone to approach and tell me that I’m stealing their breakfast, but the courtyard stays as quiet and soothing as it was the moment I arrived.

The first sip of coffee is divine. I haven’t been hungover like this in a very long time. I like wine and the occasional whisky, but the older I get, the less it’s worth overindulging. The hangovers seem to get longer and longer, while the drunk shenanigans become significantly less cute.

Lifting the plate cover reveals exactly the type of breakfast I’m craving—fried eggs, hashbrowns, and crispy bacon. I stare down at it. “I didn’t think you had food like what I’m used to here.” Which isn’t to say the food I’ve eaten since arriving here is bad. Quite the contrary. It’s been delicious to the point where I resent it. But it’s not familiar in the way this plate is.

I almost ask if it’s a trick, but that seems unbearably rude. “Thank you.”

The rustling of the trees is my only response.

Over the next few days,Azazel keeps a careful distance. I only see him for meals, and even then, he’s distantly polite. Likely, he’s feeling guilty all over again, and while I should find that satisfying, the truth is that I’m damned tired of this one-sided fighting.

I still can’t bring myself to forgive him for trapping me here, though.

Despite my determination to do... something... I find myself returning to the garden the castle showed me, again and again. The castle provides any number of things in an attempt to keep me occupied. Books written in a language I don’t understand, because apparently the spell Azazel placed on me without my permission doesn’t extend to reading. A sketchbook and watercolors that I toy with, more out of boredom than any true artistic desire or ability. And, finally, a basket filled with skeined yarn in a variety of colors and weights, along with needles in a range of sizes.

And so I pick up knitting again. Pope bullied me into learning the skill few years back; he claimed it would be good for my mental health to keep my hands busy. They were right—theyusually are—and it became an activity I gravitated toward again and again over the years. I don’t exactly set out to knit a sweater, but I start a pattern I’ve knit enough times that I mostly have it memorized. I’ve never had use for so many knitted garments, so I always donated the final pieces to a nearby women’s shelter. I don’t know what I’ll do withthissweater, but the familiarity of knitting it is comforting, especially when the castle somehow pipes through soft music to keep me company.

When I’m here, I can almost pretend that I’m free. It’s a bandage, and not even a good one at that, but it’s something. It soothes my anger.

At least until I look up one morning to realize I’m not alone. Azazel stands a respectful distance away, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s wearing his “work” clothing—a long tunic that’s split up the sides nearly to his hips, paired with pants and boots.

I freeze, suddenly feeling vulnerable and defensive. “What are you doing here?”

“I came looking for you.” He glances around as if he’s never seen this place before. “I haven’t been in this garden in years. I forgot it existed.”

“Or maybe the castle didn’t want to remind you.”

He smiles briefly. “There’s that as well.” Azazel clears his throat. “If you’re up for it, I thought we could get out of the castle for a little while?”

“The prisoner gets a furlough. How lovely.”

He opens his mouth, no doubt to tell me that I’m not a prisoner, before seeming to change his mind. “If you don’t want to leave, you’re more than welcome to say no.”

I glare, because he’s got me over a barrel and he knows it. No matter how lovely the garden, how eager the castle is to entertain me, it’s all still a cage. Getting a chance to leave it, even temporarily, isn’t something I’m going to pass on. I set myknitting aside, tucking it carefully back into the basket, and rise. “Where are we going?”

He’s cautious—I’ll give him that. He doesn’t smile or react at all, other than to motion for me to walk next to him. “Ramanu is gone for a time. Some of their responsibilities have been handed off to others, but I need to make an appearance at one of the local villages just outside the city.”

I fall into step next to Azazel, trying not to notice how he shortens his stride to match mine instead of making me chase him. “Where is Ramanu?” I haven’t seen them in a couple of days, but I just assumed they were making the rounds, checking on the humans with the other territory leaders.

“There’s a witch they’ve had their eye on—so to speak—for some time. She’s finally gotten around to summoning them, so they’ve gone to offer her a bargain.”

I swallow down an acid comment about the phrasing of them making a bargain instead of kidnapping their mark. If we start fighting, it will end in me storming off, and I’ll miss my chance to get out of the castle for a bit.

Azazel, of course, divines the direction of my thoughts. “I’m not proud of the way I lied to you, but don’t take that as a sign of how bargains are typically struck. If Ramanu’s witch agrees, it will be on her own terms and because she wants to.”

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