Page 76 of Bargain with the Demon King
"S-Sarah," the brunette stammers.
"Sarah. Who will leave you within the year when she realizes what you are." I hand the stone to Azzaron. "Fertilizer. Mix it with the soil in the nightmare gardens. Maybe something beautiful will grow from his mediocrity."
"You can't—" Chad starts forward, then freezes when Azzaron moves. Just a shift of weight, but Chad recognizes predator.
"Actually, I can. I'm Queen. I make the rules now." I turn to leave, then pause. "Oh, Chad? Every good thing that happensin your life from now on? That's my mercy. Every bad thing? That's just you being you."
We leave him standing there, mouth opening and closing like a fish drowning in air. Sarah's already backing toward the door.
Back in our realm, in our chambers, I stretch out on our bed while Azzaron crushes Chad's soul-stone to dust.
"Satisfied?" He asks, sprinkling the remains into a potted plant that immediately sprouts black flowers.
"Completely. Did you see his face? The exact moment he realized he created his own replacement?" I pull him down beside me, our marks glowing in sync. "I should send him a thank you note. 'Dear Chad, thanks for being inadequate. Your mediocrity led to my magnificence. Best wishes, Your Former Victim Turned Demon Queen.'"
"You're never letting this go."
"Never. It's the best running joke in the realms." I trace his soul-mark through his shirt. "Besides, someone has to remind you how we got here."
"As if I could forget." Through our bond, I feel his contentment mixing with mine. "You chose me while bleeding out. Declared yourself mine in front of the entire court."
"Best decision I ever made. Well, second best. Selling my soul was technically first, but only because it led to you."
"Tell me about the reforms," he says, pulling me closer. "What are we building?"
"Everything." I feel his curiosity through our bond, his genuine interest in my chaos. "Education systems where humans and demons learn together. Art that isn't all suffering—"
"—though some suffering, for tradition—" he interjects.
"Obviously. Can't abandon our roots entirely. Trade routes based on mutual benefit rather than exploitation. Voluntary soul-sharing programs—"
"—with strict oversight to prevent abuse—"
"Exactly. And festivals. Actual celebrations that don't involve blood sacrifice."
"What would we celebrate?"
"The day I died. The day you crushed my soul. The day we killed the council." I grin against his shoulder. "We'll call it 'Chad's Folly Day.' Make it a realm-wide holiday."
"You're impossible."
"I'm revolutionary. There's a difference." I sit up, straddling his waist. "We're going to change everything. It'll be violent and messy and half the realm will try to kill us, but we're going to build something beautiful."
"Together."
"Together." Our marks pulse in perfect synchronization. "Though I still get to name things. You have no creativity. 'The Lower Throne Room'? Really?"
"It's descriptive."
"It's boring. I'm renaming it 'The Murder Gallery.' Much more accurate."
He laughs, pulling me down for a kiss that tastes of forever and revolution. Through our bond, I feel his thoughts mixing with mine—plans within plans, dreams of what we'll build, the certainty that we'll face it all together.
Tomorrow we'll terrorize the council into brilliance. The demon lords will present their terrible poetry. Vera will present her soul-sharing proposals. The realm will shift another degree toward something unprecedented.
But tonight, I lie in the arms of the Demon King who killed for me, died for me, remade me into something that could match him. The twilight necklace pulses warm against mythroat—no longer the color it was at the market, but something deeper, richer, ours. We're building something impossible—a realm where power comes from choice, where humans and demons create instead of destroy, where optimism has teeth and uses them.
"I love you," I tell him, the words easy as breathing.
