Page 48 of The Slave in A Princess Disguise

Thump. Thump. Thump.The sound of her own heart pounding was loud to her own ears.

“Your Grace," she whispered.

Grand Lord Zaiper lounged in bed, his body languid from satisfaction, an arm draped carelessly over his eyes.

"Should I dispose of her body, My Lord?" Razarr's voice cut through the silence. "Or would you have need of it later?"

Zaiper gave a go-ahead wave of his hand. No, he did not have the urge to use that body again.

It had been what—twenty years? Fifty?—since he last felt that appetite. Time was meaningless when one lived as long as he did, with no intention of dying anytime soon.

Yet, these past two months had felt like forever to him.

Zaiper wished he could claim he had recovered from the shock of Daemonikai's resurrection, from the anguish of that night. But the truth was a bitter pill.

That night’s event still distressed him. A lot. A festering wound that refused to heal.

A mere glimpse of Daemonikai stirred a cocktail of pain and anger within him. A rage that threatened to boil over.

But he held it in. Kept it bottled up inside like a boiling cauldron beneath a carefully constructed facade. After all, he hadn't been lying when he vowed not to die anytime soon.

Life was too sweet, too precious to waste on a useless attempt to challenge a being as powerful as Daemonikai.

"Send for the cleaners," Zaiper instructed Razarr, who lingered by the door with the dead girl draped over his arm. "These sheets need changing."

Humans were disappointingly fragile. None has been able to handle a little knife play. A mere simple cut from her neck down to her belly, and she was already dead. Making the sex a bit boring and the feeding quite messy.

Rising from the bed, Zaiper submerged himself in the warmth of the waiting tub, allowing the water to envelop him. How had he returned from a feral state?

Urekai had roamed the earth for millions of years, they were too old for new miracles, especially ones so annoyingly inconvenient.

Of all the countless males who had succumbed to the madness over the ages, why didthisone, the very one he had longed to be rid of, have to claw his way back from the brink?

"Fate, you bitch. I thought we were friends," he grunted, over the gentle lapping of water.

A knock at the door announced Razarr's entrance. “Do you require anything further, My Lord?"

"Get in here."

Razarr approached, halting at the edge of the tub.

Zaiper's gaze flicked open. "I mean, in here."

Wordlessly, Razarr shed his clothes, revealing a sculpted physique Zaiper could not help but admire. The head soldier eased himself into the tub, causing the water to ripple and overflow as their bodies pressed against each other.

"Investigate the days preceding Daemonikai's resurrection. Leave no stone unturned, including the night our assassins were slaughtered. There must be some detail we have overlooked."

"As you wish," Razarr affirmed. "And the boy?"

Zaiper’s brows knitted together. “What about him?”

"We may be underestimating him," Razarr divulged. "I believe he may bear a connection to the grand king's return. There is something... different about him. He is not merely a hapless human, luckily favored by a mindless beast due to his scent. He means more."

The second ruler hummed thoughtfully. "You may be onto something."

"It would not hurt to keep a watchful eye upon him. I could assign someone if it pleases you," Razarr offered.

"Do so," Zaiper replied. "However, let it be at a later time." Zaiper's voice turned lowered seductively. "For now, get over here. I need to put those sexy lips of yours to work."

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