Page 12 of Bargain with the Demon King
"That's what you think." I reach toward a particularly warm golden stone. "But what if—"
"Don't." His hand catches my wrist, claws careful against my skin. "Touch another's soul-stone and you'll feel their memories. Their pain. Their regret."
"Or their joy. Their love. The thing that mattered enough to trade everything for." I look up at him, noting how the soul-light makes his black eyes shimmer. "Is mine here?"
Silence. Then: "Yes."
"Can I see it?"
"No."
"But it's my soul. I'd like to know it's somewhere nice, maybe near others so it's not alone."
"Souls don't get lonely." He releases my wrist, but the heat of his grip lingers.
"Everything gets lonely." I turn in a slow circle, taking in the magnificent, terrible display. "Even demon kings who eat dinner by themselves. Three centuries! That's three centuries of missed conversations about favorite colors!"
Something flickers across his face—caught between annoyance and intrigue. "The vault affects mortals. We should go."
"Wait, I'm fine. Actually, it's beautiful in a tragic way. All these people who loved something enough to sacrifice everything." My hand goes to my chest, where the hollow ache lives. "I wonder if Chad knows what I did for him. If he understands the weight of it."
"I'm certain he's given it extensive thought." The sarcasm is thick enough to cut.
"He has a romantic soul. He leaves me notes where I'll find them during the day. Simple things, scribbled on scraps of parchment—'Saw the sunrise and thought of your hair.' 'Your laugh is a better sound than any bird's.' It's not poetry, but it's... real." I smile at the memory. "He'll probably write epic poems about my sacrifice."
Azzaron makes a sound that might be choking. "Epic. Poems."
"Don't mock him. Not everyone expresses feelings through intimidation and strategic executions."
"Indeed. Some express them through mediocre verse and wildflowers."
"Those wildflowers mean everything." I touch another stone—not quite, just letting my fingers hover near its warmth. "He picks them himself, you know. Takes time from his day just to make me smile."
"How extraordinary. He performs the bare minimum of romantic gesture."
"See, that's your problem." I turn to face him fully, hands on my hips. "You've forgotten what it's like to appreciate simple things. When was the last time something just made you happy? Not powerful or satisfied, but genuinely happy?"
He stares at me for a long moment. The soul-stones pulse around us, painting his face in shifting colors. "Happiness is a mortal luxury."
"That's the saddest thing I've ever heard." The vault's humming intensifies, pressing against my skull, but I push through it. "Everyone deserves happiness. Even grumpy demon kings who pretend they're made of stone."
"We should go." He places his hand on my lower back, guiding me toward the door. His thumb presses against myspine through the fabric, deliberate pressure that sends heat pooling low. "Before you assign feelings to more inanimate objects."
"They're not inanimate. They're souls." But I let him lead me out, hyperaware of how his palm burns through my dress. The door seals behind us with finality. The absence of humming makes my ears ring. "Thank you for showing me."
"You're thanking me for showing you a collection of stolen souls?"
"I'm thanking you for sharing something important to you." I beam up at him, noting how he seems genuinely confused by my reaction. "The vault is part of who you are. You didn't have to let me see it."
"Your dinner will be ready soon." He's already moving away, clearly done with my observations. "I assume you can find your chambers without escort."
"Where will you be?"
"My chambers. Where I always take my meals."
"Alone? That's depressing."
"I am the Demon King. I don't require—"
