Page 31 of Bargain with the Demon King
"That's the saddest and most romantic thing I've ever heard. Chad would hate these—he doesn't like music that makes him feel things. Says it's manipulative." I set them down carefully. "Though personally, I think feeling things is the point of music."
Azzaron appears at my shoulder. "The trade. Now."
Right. His actual business. I follow him to a quieter section where three demons wait around a table covered in black cloth. Soul-stones rest on velvet—a fortune in captured essence. The gems pulse with different rhythms, some bright as stars, others dim as dying embers.
The negotiation happens in the demon tongue, all grinding consonants and implied threats. I try to look professionally silent, but my attention keeps wandering. A stall sells what appears to be emotions in bottles—rage swirls red,joy sparkles gold, and something dark purple labeled only with symbols makes the back of my throat itch, like I've inhaled poison.
"Do not touch that." Azzaron's voice comes from directly behind me. When did he move?
"I wasn't going to touch it. I was going to poke it with a stick." I beam up at him. "Completely different thing."
"The trade is complete." He sounds resigned, like he's given up on controlling my market enthusiasm. "We can go."
"Already? But I haven't seen the weapons that definitely aren't compensating for something, or the books that probably bite, or—is that demon selling tiny dragons?"
"Decorative lizards. They breathe sparkles."
"Even better!" I'm already moving toward them when his hand catches my waist.
"Five more minutes."
"Really?" I turn to face him fully, delighted. "You're indulging my market tourism?"
"I'm preventing you from causing a diplomatic incident with your aggressive enthusiasm."
"My enthusiasm is perfectly normal. You're just used to demons who treat wonder like weakness." I grab his hand—his claws flex but don't scratch—and pull him toward the lizard stall. "Come on, Your Majesty. Let's see some sparkle-breathing reptiles."
We spend not five but twenty minutes wandering. I provide running commentary on everything. The jewelry that's definitely cursed but pretty enough to risk it. The meat that's still moving but smells delicious. The weapons displayed with casual deadliness next to children's toys that also appear deadly.
"In my world, we have very clear sections for 'things that kill' and 'things for kids,'" I inform him, holding up what mightbe a doll or might be an assassination tool. "Here it's just chaos. Beautiful, terrifying chaos."
"You find beauty in everything." He watches me examine a music box that plays backwards. "Even things that should frighten you."
"Fear and beauty aren't mutually exclusive. Some of the most beautiful things are terrifying. Storms. Ocean depths. The way you look when someone threatens something you consider yours." The last one slips out before I can stop it. "I mean—"
"This." He picks up the shimmering fabric I'd been touching earlier. "You want this."
"I didn't say—"
He's already negotiating with the vendor. The fabric changes hands, along with a sweet fruit that glows softly and a piece of jewelry I'd tried on as a joke—a delicate chain with a stone that matches the eternal twilight of his realm.
"You don't have to buy me things." But I'm clutching the fabric like it might disappear. "Chad always said wanting things was materialistic—"
"Chad sounds like he's made poverty into a personality trait."
"He's practical. Romantic gestures don't have to cost money."
"No, but they should cost effort." He fastens the chain around my neck, claws careful against my skin. "And your Chad seems allergic to both."
"That's not—" But actually, it's a little bit true. "He tries. Last month he forgot my birthday but then made up for it by letting me pick what we had for dinner."
Azzaron stops walking. He doesn't just stare; his entire body goes still, as if he's processing an alien concept. "He let you choose dinner," he repeats, the words slow and toneless. "As an apology. For forgetting your birth celebration."
"When you say it like that, it sounds bad." I fidget with the necklace, which sits warm against my collarbone. "But intentions matter more than actions, right?"
"Wrong. Actions are all that matter. Intentions are just pretty lies we tell ourselves."
We walk back through the market, his hand on my back guiding me through the crowd. I clutch my treasures—silly, beautiful things that serve no purpose except making me smile. When was the last time someone bought me something just because I wanted it? Chad brings wildflowers, yes, but they're free. When I mentioned wanting a particular book once, he said I should save up for it myself. Build character.
