Page 1 of Severe Husband Warning

1

CALLA

The final chord fades beneath my fingertips, its quiet note swallowed by the cavernous hall before it can linger. Conversation rises almost immediately to fill the space I’d borrowed, the nobles returning to their own voices without so much as a glance in my direction.

I lower my hands from the strings and draw a slow breath.

Lord Malakor’s hall is carved from black obsidian that catches the storm-light beyond the towering windows, every polished surface reflecting silver flashes from the sky outside. Lightning coils endlessly through the clouds surrounding Galmoleth, bright enough to cast pale veins across the stone before darkness settles over it once more.

The demons scarcely notice it.

They don’t notice me, either.

Most are already speaking over one another, trading favors behind courteous smiles and measured laughter. Their robes shimmer with woven storm-silk, rings flashing as goblets are lifted in lazy toasts. I have played here often enough to know exactly what I am to them.

Another furnishing in the hall that happens to produce music.

Careful not to jostle the instrument, I rise from my stool. Father taught me long ago that an instrument repays the care it’s given, and after everything this one has carried us through, it deserves better than to be handled in haste.

As I bend to open the case, a pair of polished black boots comes to a stop before me.

I lift my head.

Lord Malakor’s steward stares down at me with the same expression he always wears whenever I perform here—one of thinly veiled distaste, as though my presence is an inconvenience he’s forced to tolerate. I don’t know his name. We’ve never exchanged more than a handful of words over the years, but I know the sharp angle of his horns, the silver clasp fastening his dark cloak, and the look that says a human has no place standing in the same hall as him.

“My lord was...” He hesitates, the pause barely perceptible. “...pleased.”

He drops a handful of copper dalers into my waiting palm. They strike one another with a soft clink that tells me everything I need to know before I even curl my fingers around them.

It isn’t enough to cover even a week’s worth of Father’s medicine.

I close my hand before disappointment has the chance to show on my face. It’s never enough. I don’t know why I expected otherwise.

The steward lingers, watching me with open expectation. Perhaps he thinks I’ll argue or beg for more.

When I say nothing, his mouth twists into a sneer.

“A generous payment for a human musician.”

Heat prickles beneath my skin, but anger has never put food on our table.

Keeping my expression carefully neutral, I bow. “Please thank Lord Malakor for his generosity.”

His attention has already shifted elsewhere before I’ve straightened. With a curt nod, he turns toward another servant waiting at the foot of the dais, dismissing me completely as if I’d never spoken.

I kneel beside my lute case instead of watching him leave.

The familiar routine steadies me. I wrap the polished wood in its linen cloth before settling it carefully into the case, checking the strings with a light brush of my fingertips before fastening each leather strap. Every movement is deliberate, an act of care no one here would think the instrument—or its musician—deserves.

The copper dalers disappear into the hidden pocket sewn inside my skirt.

There has to be another way to earn the rest of Father’s medicine.

My hand drifts to the iron ring resting against my collarbone before I lift the lute onto my shoulder. Since the final note faded, I’d carried the odd certainty that someone’s attention had followed me across the hall, but I brush it off.

Around me, nobles drift between one another in shifting circles, whispered bargains changing hands as easily as the crystal goblets balanced between elegant fingers. Servants weave through the crowd with silver trays laden with untouched delicacies, never interrupting the quiet negotiations unfolding around them.

One figure stands apart from it all.