CHAPTER ELEVEN
As Reyna turned to leave, Damiel's demon stirred.
Not in fury—
but in agitation.
Like claws scraping slowly beneath his skin.
"Stop."
The single word cut through the air.
Reyna froze mid-step.
She turned immediately, shoulders instinctively drawing inward, head bowing just enough to show obedience without defiance.
Damiel's gaze lowered—not to her face, but to her wrist.
The skin there was raw.
Scraped red, uneven, the faint trace of dried blood clinging where stone had bitten flesh and been washed too late. It was not the wound itself that unsettled him—but the way she had hidden it.
"When did that happen?" he asked.
The question surprised them both.
Reyna followed his stare and stiffened. She drew her hand closer to her body, as though it had betrayed her.
"It's nothing, Your Highness," she said softly.
She meant it.
They were demons—his kind. She was human. A slave. An outsider. Pain was expected of her.
Damiel knew humans.
Light creatures. Fragile. Their thoughts usually spilled freely, loud and careless.
Hers did not.
Still, something in her voice tightened—restrained, guarded.
His demon pressed again.
He ignored it.
Straightening, his expression hardened, silver eyes cooling into something unreadable.
"See that it remains nothing," he said flatly.
Relief flickered across her face before she hid it.
"You're dismissed, he said coldly.
"Yes, Your Highness."
She bowed and left without another word.
Damiel remained where he was, jaw tightening.
It was discipline, he told himself.
Rules were law. Weakness bred disorder. Disobedience demanded consequence.
And yet—
Restlessness clawed at him.
He turned away sharply.
Inez was already in the kitchen when Reyna entered.
She did not need to ask.
The High Steward's sharp gaze swept over her once—taking in the damp hem of her dress, the stiffness in her walk, the faint tremor in her fingers.
Inez exhaled quietly.
"The well," she said.
Reyna nodded.
For a moment, Inez hesitated. She would have spoken to Damiel—would have argued, even—but his words were decrees, and decrees were not broken.
She handed Reyna the wooden bucket, its handle worn smooth by centuries of use.
As Reyna turned to leave, she caught the smug, satisfied expressions of the demons watching her.
Vaelith's lips curved as she mouthed silently:
You don't belong here, human.
Reyna kept her head lowered and walked on.
"Come," Inez said gently.
They passed through the outer corridors until the well came into view—set far from the bathhouse, farther than comfort, carved deep into the stone earth like a wound that had never healed.
The air here was colder than the rest of the castle—biting, sharp.
Colder even than Asheville.
The walk back and forth felt endless.
The rope burned her palms. The spindle groaned as she drew water again and again, arms shaking, fingers scraping painfully against stone when the bucket swayed too close.
Then—
She felt it.
That presence.
Cold. Familiar.
Watching.
Reyna turned sharply.
Nothing.
By the time she finished, steam rose as she mixed the water precisely as instructed—herbs crushed by hand, oils measured drop by careful drop. The stone tub filled slowly, mist curling upward like breath.
Her limbs were heavy. Her skin chilled.
She returned to Damiel room, as she slowly knocked.
"Enter."
She bowed as she stepped into Damiel's chambers.
"The bath is prepared, Your Highness."
Damiel looked at her.
His gaze flicked—unbidden—to her wrist.
He had seen it.
From afar.
He had watched the stone from the well scrape against her skin.
Displeasure stirred.
He buried it.
"When you are finished here," he said coldly, "have that treated. I dislike seeing weak, breakable things weaker."
Then he walked past her.
Reyna bowed deeply, his words cutting deeper than the wound itself, not realizing the concern it holds, beneath.
Damiel walked ahead, unhurried.
Yet he was far ahead,as she struggled to keep pace.
Her body trembled—from the drowning, from the punishment of endless walking back and forth, from the split skin burned raw by rope and stone.
The bath chamber was carved entirely from dark stone, ancient sigils etched into the walls to trap heat. Steam clung to the air, thick and heavy.
Damiel got there first as he removed his upper garment without ceremony, revealing pale, flawless skin unmarred despite centuries of war. He tested the water with his fingers.
Perfect, he was impressed she learnt quickly yet he said nothing to her.
Reyna entered a moment later.
She lifted her head as she walked in—
And froze.
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she dropped her gaze instantly, mortified.
Damiel noticed.
A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.
"Are you going to stand there," he asked coolly, "or perform your duty?"
"Y—yes, Your Highness."
She stepped forward, as she squat, neat the stone bathe, remembering Inez's instructions, she applied herbs and oil to his hair, her movements careful, reverent.
Damiel rested against the edge of the stone bath.
The moment her fingers touched his hair—
His demon surged, as he felt the wave around his body.
He closed his eyes, as he felt her hand on his hair.
Too warm.
Too human.
When her hands finally withdrew, the absence felt sharp.
She was about to stand up, when, she heard him say,
"Bathe me,"
Her eyes flew to his in shock.
Inez had told her—Damiel hated being touched, in his body, even as a child.
"Should I repeat myself?" he asked evenly.
She reached for the black bathing stone, and a rag with her head bow low.
As he leaned over,
"If you intend to scrub me blind," he remarked coolly, "keep your eyes on the floor. I'm sure that will help."
She stilled.
Slowly—hesitantly—Reyna lifted her head.
She realized then how close he was.
Too close.
Her breath caught.
Damiel watched every flicker of her emotion.
Embarrassment.
Not desire.
Just fragile, human fluster.
Interesting.
His demon purred.
"Begin." He said as he moved back, body resting against the stone bath.
She placed the rag against his chest, confused she didn't know how to bathe him, Inez hadn't taught her this.
His body stiffened instantly, as he hand moved in rythm with the on his body, his demon was crawling at top of his skin, trying to take over.
He caught her wrist.
The contact snapped something tight inside him.
"Leave," he said sharply, as she released her hand. "Now."
She obeyed at once, startled and confused, retreating from the chamber.
Outside the door, Reyna paused.
She did not understand what she had done wrong.
Inside, Damiel stood alone, breath uneven, demon raging.
And for the first time in centuries—
Control felt like a lie.