Page 10 of Chained to the Devil's Daughter

“Something we agree on! Ha!” I chirp before Ash’ren can say anything else.

“Which is why you’ve let your pet out of its cage,” Lavar snarled. “How many risked their lives to set him free?”

“Do not.” I slammed a palm on the table, finally breaking their dick-measuring contest. “Do you truly wish to rehash that night, warlord? Your rogue behavior nearly cost your seat in this room.”

I almost didn’t recognize myself. This overbearing tone was my least favorite development taking charge of Hell. I dared not glance at Ash’ren, though I’d heard his chair settle onto the floor.

“Right now, you answer to me. Unless you’d like to admit your treason to my father and pray for his mercy.” Lavar snarled but held his tongue. Pleased, I lightened my tone. “Have you anything more useful to say?”

The gray strands of his beard crackled with embers, his empty eye socket a flaming candle. Shockingly, he didn’t sound as angry as he looked. “Indeed, Your Highness. Fuegis and that Hydran witch have developed a prototype.”

At the mention of my first suitor, Ash’ren metamorphosed into a literal ice cap. Bad as I wanted to grovel, I refrained. “What prototype?”

“What do you think?” Lavar intoned. “Some wacky bullshit, like always! They’re claiming it would mitigate casualties.”

“This is wonderful news!”

“This is suicide. That thing will never work. You’ll get us all killed.”

“I’m fully aware of your opinions, sir, and yet, you’re still here. In my war room.”

A torch flame burst from the end of Lavar’s beard, traveling up to puff menacingly out of his eye socket before settling. He downed the last few gulps of volcanic panic and set the glass down with impressive gentleness for a man so full of rage. “Your father has no perception of mercy, so I am at yours. Yet you insist on trusting the lives of our people to a Hydran witch.” His voice climbed octaves. “Do you comprehend how many lives would be lost with a stampede this great? And yet, you make me out to be some reckless extremist!”

“Geysis isn’t only a Hydran witch,” I snapped, all my queenly responses fleeing at the rude mention of my friend, as though being a witch was something negative. “She’s a Hydran spy.”

Whatever was keeping Lavar in check imploded. “You’ve allowed a spy to infiltrate our circle?”

“I vetted her myself.” A dramatic scoff expressed the older man’s faith in my judgment. Bringing the glass to my lips, one sniff had my nose scrunched up. “When are they testing this prototype?”

“Two hours. Ring Ten.”

“I’ll be there.”

I flicked my wrist in dismissal. The grouchy warlord snarled and stood abruptly enough to send the chair teetering.

Ash’ren remained still in his seat. Judging by the quirk of his brow, he was thawed from earlier. We had plenty to discuss. Absentmindedly, I pet my velvet choker and hiked back onto the table.

6

Searra

Taking a moment to ground and decompress after queening was key to maintaining my sanity. That typically looked like humming a song, naming all the shades of red in sight, scrubbing whatever fabric was in reach, or swallowing a handful of razors, basic stuff like that. It certainly did not include having a colossal demon wedged between my thighs tugging on my braids.

With a surprised hiccup, I loosened my posture to let him closer. “This will take some getting used to,” I admitted, skating my fingertips over every bump and ridge of his chest, noting the rough texture. “I don’t hug or even touch people often.” No need to elaborate. Ash’ren knew the rules. No touchy-touchy, only suitor hands allowed. “Everything I do is scrutinized.”

“I vow to touch youandscrutinize you as often as you please.”

I snorted, earning me a smirk and a prompt chomp on the tip of my nose. “Ow!”

My hand flew to my nose, and he laughed, the strained sound tugging my heartstrings the same way he tugged the tiny braids framing either side of my face.

The ease of the moment rendered me silent. Black swirled around his pupils. My lungs heaved for breath, and the next inhale tasted of clove, ash, and years lost.

I broke the silence first, my voice a rasp. “I’ll show you to your room.”

Two guards fell in line behind us in the hallway. Between smiling at the servants, who glanced warily between their familiar princess and the dirty escapee, I tried not to notice Ash’ren’s clenched fists. His stare was trained ahead, and his jaw set tight. I imagined how easy it would be to reach out and take his hand in mine, to walk the way we used to under the watchful night sky.

Hallways later, we crossed the threshold into the living quarters. I dismissed the sentinels. A young guard whose name I made a mental note to learn looked eager to tell me why sending them away was a bad idea, but Smok’in bowed and grabbed his cohort by the wrist.

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