Page 9 of Chained to the Devil's Daughter

“It’s not fire you need?” His voice was tired, exhaustion bleeding through his cracks. “I’ve got fire.”

“It’s not, but I’ll take yours anyway.” Another abrupt knock. “Patience!”

With one last chaste kiss, I awkwardly scampered to the simple washroom, a necessity for long war talks, and, apparently, quickies.

The splotches of white washed from my thighs in time for the knocking to take up a greater pace. I lowered my skirts, patted down my braids, and exited the washroom to straighten up the table.

A fist collided with the door again and warlord Lavar roared an annoyed, “Open up, princess!”

“Another flipping moment, kindly!” I shouted back.

“Who’s that?”

“A well-respected warlord.” An unreliable tank of a man whose motives I had yet to understand. “An ally. The kind of demon not afraid to sacrifice his own.”

“Hence his high rank.”

“Yup,” I said with an exaggeratedp.

“Then why do you keep him around?”

“I have a hunch.”

“Of fucking course you do,” Ash’ren mumbled, and despite the fatigue written in his lowered brows, the look he gave me made heat climb my spine.

“My attendant can show you to your room. You’ll have privacy, a warm bath, and new clothes. I wasn’t aware of your, erm, new size, but whatever doesn’t fit can be tailored. Or…” My gaze slipped from his masculine bulk to where I fidgeted with my gown. “Or, of course, you can sit in for this meeting and I’ll escort you myself. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

“I’ll stay.” He’d pulled out a chair, plopped down, and commandeered the dragoncherry bowl before finishing his reply. “I’ve had enough privacy for a little while.”

With a cough, I rolled my neck, smoothing my skirts and my dour expression in time for the door to slam open.

“Warlord Lavar, how good to see you!”

Lavar stomped in like it was his war room, and we were the intruders. My foot drifted backward, and I hoped my smile was sturdy, but it didn’t matter. The warlord’s good eye immediately landed on Ash’ren’s broken horn and bare wing bone.

Lacking all subtlety, I positioned myself between the two. “You have an update, I presume?”

The demon grunted. The severity in his gaze was redirected to the table and I quietly exhaled.

“We already have the solution, my lady,” Lavar said gruffly, watching me pour three glasses of thick orange liquid over ever-ice with a critical eye.

“A nonviolent solution.” I offered the tray, and Lavar snatched a glass without a nod of gratitude. “As discussed.”

“There are no viable nonviolent options!”

“I’m not so sure,” I chuckled nervously and offered Ash the drink tray, our gazes lingering. “Your view isn’t shared by our engineers.”

“A fool and a quack. I’m sure they can handle this.”

“Me too!” I exclaimed before catching his sarcasm. Rolling my eyes, I dared to sip the imported volcanic panic and rasped, “I believe in them.”

A low whistle drew all attention to Ash’ren, who’d tipped the chair on its back feet. “Are you calling your queen a fool as well?”

“She isn’t a queen yet,” the warlord ground out. “She’s a symbol.”

“You risk the rebellion to deny her title?” Ash’ren dropped a fat dragoncherry in his mouth. Red juice ran down his chin like blood.

“Risks must be taken.”

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