Their first bargain was to defeat Calveron. Specifically, the enemy on her shores, and he’d done that. But the kingdom was still under siege by another danger.
Her people’s faces rose in her mind. Pale. Sleeping.Dying.
Alora took a breath. “Break the Sleeping Curse on Argyle.”
Rune blinked.
For the first time, he faltered, his mouth parting as though she had struck him silent.
By speaking her demand aloud, Alora realized she had bound herself to this gambit. If he refused, she had nothing. If he agreed… then she might have forced the hand of a god.
Rune’s sigh came deep and heavy. “I could grant you anything in the world. Endless crowns laden with jewels, a mountain of gold and silk, even a kingdom in your palm. Yet you ask me for this?”
Meaningless trinkets, all of them. The true value of things was not counted in jewels or crowns, but in life. In freedom. In a future worth fighting for.
If he wanted her, she would make sure it cost him.
“You already swore to bestow me with a dowry ofmychoosing.” She folded her arms, smirking. “So until then, I will remain in private chambers of my own.”
Rune opened his mouth, but no objection came. They both knew she had turned his own game upon him, as she had in the cavern.
Alora glanced up at the vaulted ceiling. “Please?” she asked, voice more hopeful than commanding.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then, with a soft hiss, the wall beside her melted into a doorway. A new tunnel. The faint shimmer of distant light shone from within.
Rune’s expression darkened, and he turned a slow glare to the shifting stone. “Traitor,” he muttered.
The mountain did not respond, but Alora thought she heard a smug rumble in the walls. She had half expected him to deny her request.
Rune nodded at the female demon. “Calla, escort Alora to her quarters.”
Calla bowed her head in compliance, looking mildly entertained. “This way, Your Majesty.”
A ball of shock tumbled into Alora’s stomach at the title. “Majesty…?”
Calla’s eyes gleamed with her smile. “As the wife of our king, that makes you our queen.”
Her heart jolted. No longer princess, butqueen.
Of demons and darkness.
Shuddering, she followed after Calla on shaky legs. The she-demon moved with an eerie grace, her steps soundless on the ground. The halls twisted like veins, and every step echoed with strange, soft sounds. Whispers … or shadows.
They stopped before a carved stone door etched with silver markings, flanked by sconces with burning candles. The light … it must be for her, because she had a feeling demons had no trouble seeing in the dark.
Calla placed her hand on the center and the door materialized away.
Alora stepped in, eyes widening.
The chamber inside was hauntingly beautiful.
The walls were the same dark stone as the rest of the castle but coated with ivy, as if the mountain had grown her a garden in secret. Candles floated in shallow alcoves, flickering softly with golden light. Beneath her feet, the floor was carpeted in living moss, releasing a faint earthy scent with every step.
A velvet canopy bed was fashioned from twisted roots and driftwood, draped in soft bedding of sage green and cream, with pillows that smelled faintly of lavender. In the corner was acarved table made from stone. A blackened mirror sat atop an ornate chest of drawers, carved with the design of a forest.
Warm firelight flickered in a hearth, and the air… the air was gentle here. Lighter. Like the forest had followed her underground and curled itself into a lullaby.
