Page 47 of Bargain with the Demon King
Silence stretches between us, filled with soul-lights and distant water sounds.
"You know what I hate most about you?" I say suddenly.
His eyebrows rise. "The list must be extensive."
"You were right. About everything. About Chad being a coward. About the soul trade being stupid. About love being selfish wrapped in pretty paper." I throw bread at the water, watch it sink. "I hate that you saw the truth while I was composing symphonies to delusion."
"I've had seventeen thousand years of practice seeing through mortal lies."
"Still. You could have pretended to be surprised. For my dignity."
"You have dignity?"
"Had. Past tense. Lost it somewhere between the public orgasm and discovering my boyfriend's dick was on a farewell tour of the village."
"Graphic."
"Accurate." I lie back on the blanket, staring at the twilight sky that never changes. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you'd refused my bargain?"
"No."
"Liar."
"Frequently." He admits. "You would have died. Chad would have died. The world would have one less optimistic fool and one less worthless coward."
"And you?"
"I would have collected some other soul. Continued existing. Never known what it was like to have someone bring dinner to my chambers just because they thought I was lonely."
"You are lonely."
"Yes."
The simple agreement sits between us, honest and raw.
"I was lonely too," I admit. "Even with Chad. Maybe especially with Chad. Is it possible to be lonely while someone's inside you? Because I was. Every time."
"That's the worst kind of lonely."
"Voice of experience?"
"Seventeen thousand years of experience." He shifts, and I hear the controlled movement, the way he maintains precise distance even while relaxed. "Though never quite that literally."
"The Demon King doesn't fuck?"
"The Demon King fucks. He just doesn't confuse it with connection."
"Smart. I confused everything with connection. Chad breathing near me felt like love." I sit up, brush crumbs off my ruined dress. "I'm pathetic."
"You were hopeful. There's a difference."
"Is there? Because from here they look identical."
Before he can answer, movement catches my eye—shapes materializing from the canyon's shadow—not flowing so much as pouring into existence, too solid for nightmares. Shadowsteeds. A whole herd approaches the water with a synchronized gait so perfect it feels rehearsed, a wrongness that makes the nerves in my teeth hum.
"Wild ones." My voice comes out smaller than intended. "I didn't know they existed wild."
"Everything exists wild somewhere." He watches me watch them. "Even demons. Even broken mortals."
