CHAPTER TEN
Reyna retired to her room long after the torches in the lower halls had begun to dim.
Her body ached,
The day had been endless—lessons layered upon lessons, commands stacked atop rules until her mind felt heavy with them.
She had been taught Prince Damiel's laws as though his existence were a sacred rite: how she must rise before dawn to prepare his bath, how the water must never boil but only steam—heated with specific stones, cooled with others. Which herbs soothed his skin. Which oils were forbidden. How his meals were arranged. How his armor was prepared hours before it would ever touch his body. Whenever Damiel summoned her, she must be present.
Earlier than any human should wake.
Longer than any human should endure.
And yet—she was human.
She exhaled slowly as she lay back upon the narrow bed: woven furs stretched over a carved wooden frame, ancient and smoothed by time. Stone walls pressed close around her, the faint glow of a single candle casting restless shadows across the ceiling.
One moment she had been in Asheville.
The next—Avalon.
The thought still felt unreal.
Her mind drifted, to Kayla.
Where was she now? Who had bought her? Was she safe—or suffering beneath another's hand? The uncertainty twisted painfully in Reyna's chest. She stared at the ceiling, tracing invisible cracks in the stone, her throat tightening.
She wanted sleep.
But her thoughts betrayed her.
They turned to Damiel.
His face—sharp and controlled, carved as though by something far older than time itself. His eyes—silver, unyielding. Each time they met hers, her breath faltered. They pulled her in, held her still, as though her body recognized something her mind could not understand.
She did not know why.
She did not know how.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, with the thoughts of Damiel still on her mind.
"Damiel…" she murmured in her sleep.
PRINCE DAMIEL
Prince Damiel sat in his chamber, motionless.
The high-backed chair beneath him was carved from black stone, cold and unyielding. His fingers were steepled, his gaze fixed on nothing at all. Beneath his skin, his demon stirred—restless, coiling, scraping against his nerves like a blade dragged slowly across bone.
It would not settle.
That alone was wrong.
Demons did not lose control without cause.
He did not understand how a human—a slave—had disrupted his thoughts so thoroughly without effort. Without intent.
Then he heard it.
"Damiel."
Soft. Barely a whisper.
His demon snapped awake.
The world folded.
He was standing in her room.
Damiel took in the chamber as he looked around, confused, how did he get here,—small, bare, human. Stone walls. A single candle. Furs laid thinly atop a raised stone platform. Ancient. Humble.
His gaze found a small figure laying at the edge of the room.
The human
She slept.
Calmly.
Too calmly.
Her chest rose and fell evenly, lashes shadowing her cheeks. For something so fragile, she looked untouched by fear in sleep. Vulnerable in a way that unsettled him.
He moved closer and lowered himself to her level.
"Who are you, really?" he whispered.
His hand lifted toward her face—
And stopped.
What was he doing?
Damiel straightened sharply, irritation burning through him. In the next breath, he vanished—back into his own chamber.
He paced.
Once.
Twice.
His demon had never behaved this way before. It was usually cold. Controlled.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the stone floor.
He wanted to be close to her.
And that was more dangerous than any war he had ever fought.
Morning came without mercy.
Reyna rose before dawn and made her way to the bathhouse, hoping—praying—not to be noticed.
Steam curled thickly through the stone chamber. Demons bathed openly—some with wings folded slick against their backs, others with carved horns etched in runes and metal. Their laughter echoed sharp and cruel against the stone.
Reyna kept her head bowed.
It did not matter.
Vaelith stepped forward.
The demoness was tall, her presence heavy with malice. A wooden bucket hung loosely in her grip. Without effort, she tipped it forward.
Cold water crashed over Reyna.
She gasped, soaked instantly.
"Oops," Vaelith smirked. "It slipped."
Laughter erupted.
Reyna tried to move away—after all, she was no match for them.
Vaelith blocked her path.
"Did I ask you to leave?" she purred. "You came to bathe, didn't you?"
Serapha's voice joined in, sweet and cruel. "Let's help her."
Hands seized Reyna's arms, then moved to her wrist.
"Stop!" Reyna cried, struggling—but she was weak. Too weak.
They shoved her into the stone bath.
Water closed over her head.
Her lungs burned.
Just before darkness claimed her, they dragged her out.
"Fragile little thing," someone laughed as they walked away, their voices echoing with amusement.
They left her coughing, shaking, cold, almost breathless.
When Reyna finally got up, she walked to the bath,as she bathed, tears mingled with the water. She dressed quickly and fled the bathhouse, heart pounding.
The kitchen buzzed with life when she arrived—laughter, murmurs, cruelty hidden behind smiles. The same demons who had nearly drowned her laughed openly as she passed.
She said nothing.
She bowed before Inez.
Inez's gaze lingered on her longer than usual—sharp, measuring.
"He sends for you," she said quietly.
Reyna climbed the stairs alone.
PRINCE DAMIEL
Damiel stood before a stone table etched with outlines of the castle. Polished stones marked territory and memory.
"You're late," he said.
He turned slowly.
"I told you there would be consequences."
Reyna bowed deeply.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness."
That was all she said.
Damiel studied her.
Too quiet. Too small. Water still darkened the hem of her dress. Her hands trembled despite her effort to still them.
He wanted to ask.
He did not.
Humans were weak. They made excuses and they lied.
He reached for her thoughts—
And found nothing.
Her thoughts were filtered,he noticed that day at the auction, her thoughts found him, not the other way round, it told him what it wanted, not what he wanted.
Dangerous, Damiel thought.
His jaw tightened.
Rules existed for a reason. Disobedience could not be ignored.
"Ask Inez to show you where the well is," he said coldly. "You will fill the bath yourself."
Reyna's breath hitched.
"Yes, Your Highness."
She bowed and turned to leave.
And Damiel watched her go—unsettled, his demon restless once more.