Page 107 of Devil's Doom

As I try to think up an excuse so I can slip away, a shadow falls on the floor, and the crowd erupts in cheers while bowing at the waist, even the most tipsy of them reacting with admirable speed. I am the only one left standing, a lone tree in a felled forest.

“Rise,” Woland says with a wide grin, making way to my side. “I must congratulate my consort.”

He walks to me with confidence, tall and robust, his antlers making him taller than even the biggest of his subjects. People part for him with murmurs and giggles, and I hear it again, whispered in the corners, “Did you hear he loves her? He said so! Have you seen the ring?”.

“Is that what you’re wearing to a party in your honor?” Woland asks, quirking a handsome eyebrow as he stands in front of me. His voice carries, unabashed and strong in the respectful silence. “Love, this is unacceptable.”

“Love! He said ‘love’!”

I turn, distracted by the frantic whisper, and only look back at the devil when currents of magic run down my arms and tingle on my scalp. When I look down, I realize I’m wearing the same dress I wore to that fateful Kupala Night, except more beautiful, the embroidered poppies more vivid. A weight descends on my head, and I touch it gingerly. A poppy chaplet.

“Dance with me.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, taking my limp hand in his as the music starts again. I blink in confusion at the smiles whirling around me in a dizzying maelstrom. He turns me, my skirts brushing his bare legs. No one joins us, his people making a wide circle, laughing and clapping to the rhythm as he turns me again, slow for now. As if he’s showing me off.

His ring glitters on my hand, red and precious, and a red glow spills out of the hollow of my throat. It’s impossible to stop it. I am bursting with something, something I’ve never felt before in my life, and Woland’s eyes glitter, too, like golden ambers in the sun.

“Behold my consort,” he says, loud and clear. “The most beautiful woman in all worlds. My beloved.”

People shout and clap, and the music grows faster. Woland leads me smoothly, and if not for that, I would fall, tangled in a heap of skirts and my confusion.

“What’s happening?” I ask bewildered as he presses me close, his hold for once respectful, not lewd as it usually is in public.

“What do you mean?” he asks, turning me slowly until our linked arms stretch before he pulls me back, his hoof sliding smoothly between my feet, heavy hand pressing my cheek to his chest.

“This!” I hiss. “This is all wrong! Why is everyone so excited?”

“Oh, love. That’s because the master they’ve served for centuries is finally settling down. They are happy for me.”

Settling down.I stumble, and only his quick reflexes save my foot from being trampled by his hoof.

“I don’t understand.”

He laughs under his breath, turning me, and I am limp and obedient under his lead, all my faculties engaged in trying to make sense of this strange, unwelcome,exhilaratingdevelopment.

“Don’t you? I even gave you a ring, my beloved. Surely you know what that means.”

“I’ve worn that ring for days and no one’s made a fuss,” I grit out, wrestling with my heart so it doesn’t explode out of my chest in a flurry of joy and delight.

“Well, a ring alone means little without certain words to accompany it,” Woland says. “But it did tell you and everyone else my intent. I just confirmed it. You are my beloved, the woman I intend to make mine in every way conceivable. My people are happy for us both. Look at them, Jaga. They haven’t celebrated like this in a very long time.”

“I don’t remember you asking my permission,” I point out, but it’s a losing battle. That fragile, wounded, abandoned place inside me, the one where I’ve stored all my broken hopes and hurting moments, is suddenly full to bursting with joy.

All I can think is,finally.I’m finally accepted. Finally wanted. I finally have a community.

“That’s because I didn’t,” he says with a laugh. “You know me, love. I don’t ask. I take.”

I want to say that he can’t have me, then. That I am not his to be taken. But the words get stuck in my throat as I see yet another smile, another jealous look, another pleased expression directed my way. I can’t deny him while I watch the multitude of people whirling around me with laughter in their bellies, wine in their hands.

The circle of spectators around us breaks up into couples and groups, people dancing wildly. I haven’t been here long, but even I can tell Woland’s right. These people haven’t had a reason to rejoice in a long time.

“So what happens now?” I ask, breathless and giddy. I don’t have it in me to fight this anymore, not when I feel like a queen, beautiful and envied. Chosen. A god’s favorite.

“That’s up to you,” he purrs. “You can let me claim you and make our next battle the winning one. Or don’t. I don’t care, as long as everyone knows you belong to me.”

I shoot him a sharp, surprised look, but his smile is content and bright, his eyes brimming with affection. I look for the lie, because it must be, but Woland’s eyes soften under my scrutiny, and he presses me close until I’m folded into his embrace, his musky, clean smell enveloping me whole.

“I just want you,” he says, so quietly, I suspect I imagine it. “Truly, love. Having you is the only thing that matters to me now. We’ll have a wedding.”

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