Page 13 of Bargain with the Demon King
"Everyone requires company. It's basic nature." I tilt my head, studying him. "When was the last time you shared a meal with someone?"
"That's not your concern."
"Three centuries of eating alone. No wonder you're so cranky." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "That's it. I'm fixing this."
He's already disappeared down the corridor, but I swear I hear him mutter something about optimistic mortals and their delusions.
The dining tray arrives while I'm pacing my chambers. Roasted meat that smells incredible, vegetables in jewel tonesthat shouldn't exist, bread that steams without being warm. A goblet of wine so dark it looks like liquid midnight.
I sit at the small table, then immediately stand again. Through the wall, I hear movement. The scrape of a chair. The soft clink of glass.
He's really going to sit there alone, probably brooding about soul-stones and proper demon behavior. Well, that's just ridiculous. Nobody should eat alone when there's perfectly good company available. Even if that company is technically his prisoner.
Actually, especially then. What's the point of keeping someone in the next room if you're not going to enjoy their presence?
I pick up my plate with determination.
The adjoining door is unlocked. I knock once—firm and cheerful—then enter without waiting for permission.
Azzaron sits at a table identical to mine, a spread of dark delicacies before him. He's removed his formal coat, and his shirt pulls across his chest as he looks up. The casual look suits him, makes him seem less like an untouchable king and more like a man who happens to have horns.
"I didn't invite you."
"Obviously. Someone has to save you from yourself." I set my plate across from him, pull out the chair with purpose. "You'd sit here forever, all alone and dramatic, if someone didn't intervene."
"I've eaten alone for three centuries."
"Which is exactly three centuries too long." I sit, arranging my plate with satisfaction. "Consider this an intervention."
His eyes narrow, gold threads brightening. "I could have you removed."
"You could. But then you'd have to eat alone again, and we've established that's depressing." I take a bite of the meat, eyes widening at the rich flavor. "Oh, this is incredible. Do demons have better taste buds or is your food just magical?"
"Both." He watches me eat with an expression caught between irritation and fascination, tracking the way my throat moves when I swallow. "Most mortals find it overwhelming."
"Most mortals haven't had proper motivation to appreciate new experiences." I reach for the wine, noting how his eyes follow the movement of my hand to the stem. "I'm choosing to see this as an adventure. How many humans can say they've dined with the Demon King?"
"None who lived to tell about it."
"See? I'm making history." I grin at him, delighted when his mouth twitches. "So, in all the stories I'm going to star in, what's the demon's side? Do you fall in love?"
The question catches him mid-drink. "What?"
"Love. Romance. Epic passionate affairs that reshape kingdoms." I lean forward eagerly. "There must be demon love stories. You can't all be emotionless all the time."
"Demons mate. We don't... love."
"You mate. That's just love without the poetry." I tear off a piece of bread, genuinely curious. "What about beauty then? What's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"
He's quiet for a long moment, studying me with those impossible eyes. "Beauty is subjective."
"That's not an answer."
"A mortal woman once danced in my court. She'd bargained for her daughter's life, and part of the payment was a single dance." His voice goes distant. "She danced like grief given form. Every movement was loss and love and desperate hope. She made my entire court weep without shedding a tear herself."
"That's heartbreaking."
"That's beauty. The intersection of pain and grace." He meets my eyes. "Your turn. Most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"
