Page 20 of Bargain with the Demon King
"Not even the children? The parents trading everything to save their families?"
"Regret requires believing there was a better option. There never is. By the time they summon me, all good options are gone." He meets my eyes. "I'm not their first choice, Adraya. I'm their last resort."
"You were my first choice."
"No. Death was simply your first refusal." He stands, signaling dinner's end. "You should rest. Tomorrow brings new lessons."
I gather my plate, pause at the adjoining door. "Azzaron?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For showing me the truth of it. Even if it's harsh."
"Truth usually is."
Back in my chambers, I sit on my bed, processing everything. The soldier's desperate love. Azzaron's clinical efficiency. The way he paused only for me.
I'm different to him. Special somehow. Not because of Chad, but because of who I am. The thought warms me in ways it shouldn't.
I think about his question—what would I do if someone traded their soul for me? The answer comes with uncomfortable clarity. I'd do exactly what I said. Tear apart worlds. Never stop fighting.
But Chad hasn't come. Hasn't even tried to summon Azzaron to trade himself for me.
The thought sits like poison in my chest. Maybe Azzaron's wrong about everything, but maybe—just maybe—he sees clearer than I want to admit.
I change for bed, slip between silk sheets that whisper against bare skin. Close my eyes and let myself wonder, just for a moment, what it means that the Demon King paused. That in centuries of bargains struck with the precision of an accountant, I made him hesitate.
Tomorrow I'll return to optimism. Tomorrow I'll insist Chad is grieving, searching, desperate. Tomorrow I'll paint silver linings on everything.
But tonight, in the dark honesty of my own mind, I admit a terrible truth: I'm starting to look forward to these dinners more than the possibility of rescue.
And that betrayal of my own heart might be the worst bargain of all.
Chapter 8
Azzaron
The gambler kneels in his own filth—piss pooling around his knees, vomit crusted on his collar, the stench of rotting teeth and festering debt rolling off him in waves. His fingernails are black with grime, and when he reaches toward me, I see the telltale shake of someone who'd sell his mother for one more roll of the dice.
"Please, Lord, I need luck. Just enough to win back what I lost." His words slur together, spraying spittle that lands dangerously close to my boots. "My wife, she doesn't know about the debts. If I could just win—"
"Your wife knows." I circle him, noting every pathetic detail—bloodshot eyes that won't focus, nervous tic in his left cheek, sweat that reeks of withdrawal and fear. "She's already fucking your brother. Has been for months. They're planning to run away together once she empties your accounts."
He sobs, ugly and wet, snot mixing with tears. Beside me, Adraya shifts her weight, and I catch the subtle downturn of her mouth. She's learning to recognize the truly worthless bargains, the ones that taste of nothing but selfishness and stupidity.
"I'll give you anything. My soul for luck. For wealth. For women who want me."
The last addition makes Adraya's breath catch—a sharp inhale of disgust that pleases me more than it should. Even she, with her relentless optimism, recognizes garbage when it kneels before us.
"Your soul for all of that?" I extend my hand, already sensing the thin, watery essence of the soul I'm about to claim. It will be worthless. "Done."
The extraction takes seconds. His essence tears free with barely any resistance, condensing into a stone so dim it's essentially worthless coal. The kind lesser demons trade for table scraps. It barely warms my palm before I pocket it.
"Will it work?" He scrambles to his feet, hope ugly on his bloated face. "Will I win?"
"You'll have exactly the luck you deserve." The curse is already taking shape—every bet a loss, every woman repulsed, every coin turning to ash in his fingers. "Goodbye."
The dismissal sends him stumbling back to whatever sewer he crawled from. I turn to Adraya, noting how she watches me with those perpetually hopeful eyes, though something darker swims beneath today. Her dress—pale blue that makes her skin glow—shifts as she breathes, and I track the movement before forcing my attention back to her face.
