Page 28 of Bargain with the Demon King
Never again.
My authority alone will protect her. I don't need to parade her, to display her submission. The beast emerged—that's statement enough. Anyone who tests those boundaries will discover exactly how creative I can be with punishment. The dungeons haven't seen proper use in decades. Perhaps it's time to remind my court why they fear me.
Through the wall, I feel her emotions—humiliation burns hottest, but beneath it confusion, and beneath that something worse. Longing. She's lying there aching, not just from shame but from want. The bond between us pulses with her conflicted desire.
She wanted it. Wanted me. Wanted them to see.
The admission she'll never make aloud thrums through our connection. Her body betrayed more than just physical response—it revealed a need she doesn't understand. To be claimed. To be protected so thoroughly that violence becomes devotion.
I could go to her. Open that adjoining door, finish what I started. She wouldn't resist. Might even welcome it, desperate to transform humiliation into something else. But that would be too easy. Too real. Too much like admitting I've lost control completely.
Dreams are safer.
The justification tastes like lies even as I think it. Nothing about entering her dreams is safe. It's invasion, manipulation, a violation of boundaries I've maintained for centuries. But the pull of her consciousness, soft and unguarded in sleep, calls to something primal in me.
I stretch out on my bed, closing my eyes, following the thread of our connection into her sleeping mind. The transitionfeels like sinking through honey—sweet, thick, dangerous. Her dreams taste of moonlight and regret, tinged with arousal she's trying to suppress.
The dreamscape forms around us—not my construction but hers. Her childhood bedroom, before the world taught her disappointment. Flowers in a vase by the window. Books stacked everywhere. Soft light that doesn't exist in either of our realms.
She sits on the bed, wearing something soft and white that covers everything the dinner dress exposed. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, and she looks younger. Unmarked by my world's cruelty.
"This isn't real." She doesn't seem surprised to see me, just resigned. "You're in my head again."
"You're dreaming." I sit beside her, maintaining distance that doesn't exist in her actual bed. In dreams, I can drop the armor of arrogance, speak without weighing every word for its tactical advantage. "Just a dream."
"Dreams don't feel like this." She pulls her knees to her chest, defensive. "What do you want?"
"To talk."
"The Demon King wants to talk. In my dream. About what—the weather? Proper soul-stone storage techniques?"
Even in dreams, her sarcasm surfaces. But it lacks the bright edge from before. The performance, the weight of everything has dulled her natural light.
"About bargains." I lean back against her headboard, noting how the dream adjusts to accommodate me. "Every soul I've taken, every deal I've made—they all thought they were different. Special. That their love, their sacrifice, meant more than economics."
"Including me."
"Especially you." The honesty comes easier here, where she'll dismiss it as subconscious projection. "You genuinely believed Chad would tear apart worlds to find you. That your sacrifice would rewrite his DNA, transform him into someone worthy of what you paid."
"He is worthy." But the protest sounds hollow even in dreams.
"He's ordinary. Mediocre. The kind of man who brings wildflowers because they're free, not because they're meaningful." I study her profile, the way her jaw tightens. "You know this. Deep down, beneath your relentless optimism, you know he's not coming for you."
"Stop."
"He's probably relieved. Now he can tell everyone about his tragic lost love without having to actually love you. He gets the story without the work."
She turns to face me fully, eyes bright with tears that won't fall because dream-tears mean nothing. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because you need to hear it. Because tomorrow you'll wake up and paint silver linings on everything again, and someone needs to tell you the truth before you dissolve completely into beautiful lies."
"You're cruel."
"I'm honest. There's a difference."
She watches me for a long moment, then something shifts in her expression. The guard drops. Here, in what she thinks is just her subconscious, she can admit things.
"I think about what you did tonight." The words fall out in a rush. "In the dining hall. How you touched me. How everyone watched. I should be horrified, but instead I'm—" She stops, pressing her palms against her eyes. "I can't stop thinking about it."
