Page 66 of Bargain with the Demon King
A sound cuts through the throne room. Not a roar. Not a scream. Something that harmonizes with itself in frequencies that rattle my teeth and vibrate through bone. The soul-stones in the walls crack, spider-webbing from the pressure of whatever approaches.
"Still think I'm insignificant?" I ask through my swollen mouth, tasting copper and victory. "That sound? That's what happens when you touch what's his. When you make his property bleed on his throne room floor."
Kaine's ice spreads faster now, panic manifesting as frost that climbs the walls. The two unnamed demons exchange glances, already calculating escape routes that don't exist. Because there's only one way in or out of this throne room, and something that tastes of ending is about to come through it.
"Maybe you should run," I suggest conversationally, though talking hurts. "Though fair warning—he seems upset.The door's about to have a very bad night. You probably will too."
The darkness beyond the doors shifts, coalesces, becomes something with intent. The hinges scream—metal protesting forces it was never meant to withstand. The ancient wood begins to splinter, cracks spreading from the center outward as something on the other side tests its strength.
"Last chance," I tell them, lifting my head despite how it makes the room spin. "You could kneel now. Beg. Maybe he'll make it quick. Or maybe not. I'm not really his spokesperson for mercy."
Another impact. The doors bow inward. Stone dust rains from the frame as the entire archway struggles to contain what wants in. The sound that follows isn't quite a growl, isn't quite a word, exists somewhere between promise and threat.
He's here.
And I'm still chained at his throne, bleeding his favorite color all over his pristine floors, wearing the ruins of the dress he said brought out my eyes.
"For the record," I tell the demons who are about to die, "this is still somehow Chad's fault. If he'd just been faithful, I'd be in a cottage making terrible soup right now. Instead, I'm front row for what happens when you piss off the Demon King. So really, we should all thank Chad for this educational experience."
The doors begin to glow—metal heating from the inside out, stone frame cracking under pressure that shouldn't exist. Whatever Azzaron has become, whatever his beast form looks like when five high demons have dared to chain his mortal at his throne, it's about to educate everyone in this room about the price of that mistake.
"Showtime," I whisper, and taste blood and anticipation on my tongue.
Chapter 22
Adraya
Consciousness returns in stages—first pain, then cold metal, then the copper taste that means I've been bleeding for a while. My left eye won't open, the socket throbbing with each heartbeat. My ribs grind when I breathe—sharp edges where bone cracked. The chains holding me to Azzaron's throne have cut through skin at my wrists, red dried in rust-brown rings around the metal.
"She's awake." Kaine's voice, closer than comfortable. "The King's pet returns to us."
I force my good eye open, catalog the damage through blurred vision. Five demons still here, waiting. Watching. Crimson—mine—has dried in patterns across the throne room floor. The soul-stones in the walls pulse irregularly, agitated by violence in their presence. The copper taste in my mouth is so thick I have to swallow it down just to speak.
"Fourteen hours." Sithara circles me, her silver horns catching light from stones that shouldn't care about mortal blood but seem fascinated anyway. Her marks pulse violet with anticipation. "You've been unconscious for fourteen hours. We were starting to worry you'd die before making your point."
"Sorry to disappoint." My voice scrapes raw, each word tearing at my throat. "But dying would be terribly inconvenient. I have dinner plans. Well, had. Azzaron's probably eatingalone again, which is just sad. Three hundred years of solitary meals, then I show up and ruin his hermit streak, now back to loneliness. Really, this whole thing is just cruel to his social development."
Vex's shadow splits into four pieces—more than before, which means increased agitation. Perfect. "You still think he cares? After fourteen hours?"
"I think you're still here, which means you're not sure he doesn't." I shift, chains clanking, and immediately regret it. Something in my chest grinds wrong—definitely broken ribs, maybe three. "If you were confident I meant nothing, you'd have killed me already. Instead you're what—having a slumber party? Braiding each other's hair? Gossiping about who has the best horn care routine?"
The unnamed demon with purple marks backhands me. My head snaps sideways, fresh copper joining the old. The impact makes my vision white out for a second, but I laugh—wet, painful, genuine.
"That's number thirty-seven. I've been counting. Thirty-seven hits in fourteen hours. That averages to... actually, math is hard with a concussion. Let's call it 'a lot' and move on."
"Your mouth will get you killed," Kaine observes, frost spreading from where he stands.
"My mouth has gotten me a lot of things. Killed hasn't made the list yet." I meet his ice-white eyes through my one functioning eye. "Though it did get me a taste of demon king cock recently, which was educational. Did you know he makes these sounds when he—"
Another blow, this one from Sithara. "Disgusting creature."
"Jealous? I get it. Centuries of wanting what you can't have, then some mortal shows up and gets it by accident. That's got to sting. Like watching Chad fuck his new girlfriend, exceptyou're the one who's inadequate and I'm the one getting the benefits."
"Fucking Chad," I mutter, then louder: "Actually, this is still his fault. If he'd kept his dick in his pants, I wouldn't be here bleeding on demon floors. I'd be making terrible soup and pretending his mediocre existence was enough. Instead, I'm chained to a throne while you all wait to see if I matter enough to kill for."
"He's not coming," Lord Vex insists, but his shadows argue with each other in whispers I can almost understand.
"No? Then why are you still—"
