Page 48 of To Hunt a Demon King

“Is he truly as bad as the witches say?” I asked.

“You’ll have to tell me what the witches say,” he replied darkly. I thought through all the stories that Vera had told me she had heard from her mother.

“My friend Vera told me that he has horns,” I began. “And that he boils his enemies alive. That he’s cruel and wicked to the mortals, and that after the Bloodwood separated the witches from the demons, he tortured and enslaved the mortals who hadn’t escaped.”

“Your friend Vera sounds like a gossip,” Carnon murmured.

“Is she right?” I asked, curious to learn more about this man Mama had insisted I put my faith in.

“Do the mortals look enslaved or tortured to you?” he asked, a little scathingly. “How would your friend know anyway, since the Bloodwood separated our lands?”

I realized I had touched a nerve. “I’m sorry,” I said slowly. Hunt breathed out a deep sigh.

“Like any ruler, he does what he has to do,” Carnon said eventually. “Is your grandmother always benevolent and kind?”

I scoffed. “If she were, I wouldn’t be here,” I replied.

“Exactly,” Carnon replied. “The horns though. That part is true.” I wanted to ask more, but he beat me to the next question.

“What do you know about your father?”

“I told you that already,” I said, frowning. “Were you even listening when we first met?”

“I was distracted,” Carnon said, squeezing the arm around me a little tighter and making me gasp. He chuckled. “Tell me again.”

“Really nothing,” I said when I could draw in a proper breath. “Just that he loved Mama, or at least, she says he did. And he gave her this necklace.” I put my hand to the stone beneath my shirt, which hummed a little. I wondered if this was a common property of shadow stone, but I didn’t want to waste a question on that.

“Do you look like him?” Carnon asked. I frowned.

“Why?” I asked.

“No follow ups,” Carnon said. I could feel him grinning behind me. “Just answer.”

“No,” I said. “I look like Mama. I don’t think there’s anything about me that resembles him. I’m all her.”

“Interesting,” Carnon said. I elbowed him gently in the ribs and he laughed. “You get one more today, Red,” he said, his face close to mine as he leaned forward. “Make it a good one.”

“You said a thousand,” I argued.

Carnon laughed. “I’m tired, Red,” he said. “Ask your question.”

I felt heat creep up my cheeks as I considered what I might ask. Biting my lip, I said a quick prayer for courage.

“Why are you interested in what you said you were interested in on Beltane?” I asked, realizing the question had come out rather confusing and jumbled in my attempt to beat around the bush.

“Come again?” Carnon asked, still grinning behind me.

“I mean,” I tried again, taking a deep breath. “Why did you kiss me? On May Day?”

“I believe you orchestrated that by being woefully ignorant of our culture and crowning me the May King,” he replied dryly.

“Not that kiss,” I said, feeling heat creep up my neck. “The other kiss.”

“Ah,” Carnon said. “That kiss.” He was quiet for a moment, and I thought he maybe wouldn’t answer, when he said, “Because I wanted to.”

“That’s it?” I asked, disappointment filling my chest. “You just go around kissing girls whenever you feel like it?”

“Come on, Red,” Carnon said, sounding annoyed now. “Of course not.”

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