Kiss of a Demon King

"Enough, demon."

"What?"

She sat, then drew her knees to her chest. "I'm sun­burned, bruised, hungry. I've been sexually tormented for two days. No metal guarded my hair, neck, or chest during a mine collapse. You took down my braids so my dusty hair continually blows into my eyes. And I can't move it! On top of all this-I was kidnapped by mon­sters to be sold into slavery!"

And I'd feared for the demon's life, at times more than my own. What was happening to her?

"I'm not going any farther, not until you free me."

"Sabine, get this through your head. There's no way I'm letting you go. If for no other reason, you could be carrying my babe!" Had his shoulders straightened? Proudly?

"That's impossible."

"Yes, we were together only once, but it could

happen."

"There is no babe-I'm not pregnant!"

"How can you know?"

"I knew days after," she said. "The Hag can tell that

quickly."

"And you let me think you might be carrying?

Another lie!"

"Why wouldn't I let you think that? I had no idea what your plans for me entailed!"

"Every day you teach me not to trust you."

"You know what? You had better keep me bound, because if I get free I-will-take-you-out! I am done. You're going to have to carry me because I'm not moving."

"You think I won't?" He yanked her up.

"I'm sick of you!" she yelled in his face. "Sick of being treated like this! And to think I'd worried-" She bit her tongue.

"To think you'd done what? Ah, sorceress, were you worried about me?" he asked in a scoffing tone. Then his eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "You were."

"Ha! I was only worried about my own skin," she said, but she'd darted her gaze. Damn him, he knows I'm lying. So she kicked him. "Now let me go!"

He tangled his hands in her hair, grasping the back of her head. They were both still out of breath. She was staring at his lips, licking her own. When she took her gaze off his mouth, she found his eyes were focused on her own lips.

They were about to do that frantic kissing thing again, and she didn't know if she was strong enough to fight it-

"Hello!" a voice called from a distance. "Is someone out there?"

The refugees had found them.

30

Rage demons were everywhere. By sunset, she and Rydstrom had followed a pair of demons-camp guards-until they'd reached a bluff overlooking a sea of tents spread out below.

When the guards had come upon them earlier, the two had wanted to know what they were doing outside the boundaries "when there are beasties about."

Rydstrom had merely demanded to be taken to who­ever was in charge. He'd been shirtless and still had blood on him, but he was outwardly-if not calm- then at least stable.

Now, as she and Rydstrom trailed the guards down into the camp, through a crowd of what must be hun­dreds, Sabine stared around her.

The demons stared back. Whispers sounded, females glaring at her lack of clothing. The women here appar-ently favored excessive clothing-unnecessarily long sleeves and skirts.

A lesser sorceress would have been discomfited by

the fact that she wore a swath of cloth, a micromini, and sand-and had her hands tied. Sabine glanced around, her demeanor bored.

When males leered at her body, Rydstrom's hand fisted on her arm, his horns already straightening.

As she surveyed her surroundings, Sabine had to exhale in exasperation. Medieval castle, and kingdom, and people. Why should she be surprised that this place looked to be straight out of a Renaissance fair?

The "housing" consisted of pavilion tents, each with elaborate valances hanging from the roofs and topped with pennants flying aloft. She recognized several of the noble families' colors. These demons had come from all over the kingdom.

The guards took them to a sizable round pavilion. Inside, well-dressed males milled about, clearly noble­men.

One asked Rydstrom, "What were you doing outside the boundaries? Everyone has been informed of the dangers of this place."

"We aren't part of this group. We came from out­side."

"Well, we've no more room here," the man said. "We can barely feed everyone as it is."

"Make room. I'm Rydstrom, your king."

Instant silence was followed by an uproar.

-"Rydstrom hasn't been back to this plane in centu-riesr

-"But the scar . . . ?"

--"There were rumors he'd been captured by a sorcer­ess."

Sabine said, "Only a sorceress? Try the sorceress-"

"I am your king," Rydstrom spoke over her. "And I grow weary of this."

"It's true," a woman's voice said from the back. "He's Rydstrom." A demoness strode forward. She was beauti­ful, with long chestnut brown hair and petite horns that shone with health. Ah, but she was a pastel-wearer. She was forever dead to Sabine.

Rydstrom narrowed his eyes at the female. "Do I know you?"

She seemed taken aback. "I . . . yes, you do. I'm Durinda. I was a lady-in-waiting to one of your sisters at Tornin." A young demon boy of maybe six years peeked out from behind her roo-long skirts. "And this is Puck." She ruffled his blonde hair. "He was my best friend's son."

Puck was missing a baby fang, and he stared at Sabine with owl eyes. Which seemed to distress this Durinda, because she sent him outside at once.

Sabine had just become the pink elephant in the room. When their gazes fell as one on her, Rydstrom said, "My prisoner, Sabine. From Castle Tornin."

Jaws dropped, and another uproar sounded.

-"Omort's sister?"

-"The Queen of Illusions?"

-"She'll kill us all in our sleep!"

Sabine jerked her chin up at Rydstrom. "So now I'm only your prisoner? Why didn't you introduce me as-"

"Silence." His grip on her arm made her wince and keep her mouth shut, for now.

Rydstrom asked the apparenr lead noble, "Is this where the portals off-plane will open?"

"Yes, my liege," the man answered. "In four days."

Sabine noticed then that Durinda seemed spellbound by Rydstrom's muscular chest. There was something in that demoness's eyes that made Sabine step closer to him, leaning her body into his so much that he frowned down at her.

Sabine might not be keeping her husband, but for now, Rydstrom was hers, and Sabine had never learned how to share.

Durinda said, "I'm sure you're fatigued from your journey, my liege. You can have my tent, and we'll find a place for ... her."

"She stays with me," he commanded.

Durinda's face paled at his fierce tone. "O-of course."

Sabine said, "Durinda, we accept your hospitality." As our due.

Though the demoness's shoulders stiffened, she showed them to a spacious tent. The canvas was col­ored a subdued blue with a steel gray fringe on the valances. Tracery scrolled over the sides. The effect was striking-and denoted wealth.

Inside, the color scheme continued. A pallet in the corner was gray, with lush quilts in blue. Paper lanterns decorated with matching tracery hung from the roof supports.

Sabine's pavilion would be bold crimson and jet with a gold fringe. Real gold. Because I'm worth it.

The demoness removed some bags, then hesitated at the entrance flap.

In' her crispest tone, Sabine said, "That will be all, Durinda."

With an indignant huff, she whirled around.

As soon as the flap closed, Rydstrom said, "Do you have to act like that?"

Sabine rounded on him. "Yes. As a matter of fact." She was ogling my husband!

"She's doing us a kindness by letting us sleep here."

"No, she's not. They believe you're their king, which means that this tent and anything in this camp and in the whole bloody kingdom is yours. Since I'm your queen, that means all is mine as well. Why would I show gratitude to people for giving me what's already mine?"

When he began dousing the lanterns, she said, "And why didn't you tell them I'm wed to you?"

After all she'd put up with, he wouldn't even acknowl­edge her as his queen? She couldn't help recalling Omort's words. How disappointed the demon must be. . . .

Was Rydstrom shamed to claim her as his wife? "People will find out. You might as well admit that we're wed."

"Sabine, we're both injured and exhausted," he said, capturing her hand and dragging her down to the bed' ding. "We'll speak of this tomorrow."

Sabine was out of sorts in every way. They'd been less than four hours from reaching this place; maybe they could have done without her meltdown. No, she should still be furious with him over her treatment and her continued captivity-

Damn it, is he embarrassed of me?

She'd noticed two things when she'd slept with him during the last couple of nights. When he wrapped his arms around her, he clasped her as tightly as he would

his most treasured prize. And whenever he did that, she fell into a deep numb sleep.

Sabine welcomed it now. The heat from his body was so palpable, it seemed to stroke her in the dark. The world soon fell away.. . .

She woke in the night, blinking her eyes to find him watching her, his face so weary.

"No more bad dreams, love."

Had he seen her dream? She didn't remember it-

He pressed his lips to her hair. "You're safe, now." He eased his hand to her face so slowly, touching her cheek with the softest caress she'd ever received. It was almost as if he'd practiced how not to startle her.

Her last thought before sleep claimed her once more: If I'm not careful, I could get used to having a demon hus­band. . . .

31

"Retro-Amish. How . . . charming," she said when Rydstrom brought her changes of clothing the next morning. He was relieved to see that her face and body had healed overnight.

Though she'd just awakened, he'd already bathed in nearby hot springs, dressed in new clothes, and met with the head noblemen, who were all too eager to turn over the governing-and the problems-of the camp to him.

They'd been rife with curiosity about Sabine. Was she the king's concubine or prisoner or both! Rydstrom wouldn't volunteer anything, just commanded that while she was not to be freed, she was to be shown the utmost respect- and that everyone here be apprised of that order.

Sabine gave a nod at the clothes. "Let me guess- from Durinda?"

"Yes, they're courtesy of her." After Rydstrom's meet' ing, the demoness had guided him around camp, with the boy Puck following. He was an orphan that Durinda

hoped to foster in the future. Though the demoness clearly knew Rydstrom, he couldn't seem to place her. But she was friendly enough, and the boy reminded him of Cadeon at that age. The exact age my brother was when I sent him away.

"Durinda-and many others-noted your lack of clothing last night. They favor more conservative gar­ments."

Since last night, word of Sabine and Rydstrom's iden­tity had spread to the entire populace. The people were uneasy about the sorceress within their midst, even as they gazed at him with . . . hope. They thought he was going to make their lives better.

The responsibility weighed on him. Everywhere he looked he saw work that needed to be done. And food was growing scarce here. All the game in the area was depleted, and hunters were having to go farther afield, which put them at risk for other dangers.

He wished he had someone to speak with about this. He wished he had Sabine to speak with. But they'd had only had one real conversation.

"Conservative garments, Rydstrom? Don't you mean stodgy?"

"Call it what you will."

"You don't seem as angry as you'd been last night," she observed. "Not still bristling about the baby-or lack thereof?"

Rydstrom had repeatedly mulled over the night before. At the time, he'd thought she was worried about him, Now he suspected he'd heard and seen things that weren't there, wanting her to be anxious for him, to

give a damn about him. "I wasn't angry about that, but about the deception. And I've since become glad that you aren't."

"Is that so?" she asked, her tone disbelieving.

"I know little of children or of the starting of fami­lies, but I figure there should be no hatred between the parents."

"Rydstrom, I don't hate you."

"You did last night."

"Last night I was furious. Look, whether I deserved the last two days or not, they've still been very difficult for me. And your female is not mild-tempered in the best of circumstances."

Rydstrom frowned, absently saying, "Maybe a hot bath would be welcome." She'd just sounded so reason­able.

And he hated that his first thought was, What's her

game now?

"Ruffles? Your revenge is devilish and hateful, Ryd­strom." Once she'd bathed, he'd dressed her in an ankle-length flowing skirt and a long-sleeved blouse with-she shuddered-fhuncy things.

A plain corset and pantalettes served as underwear. Soft slippers covered her feet. She frowned down at them. "How am I supposed to kick with these?"

"You're not."

"Have you ever seen pictures of cats dressed up by humans? That's how ridiculous I feel right now."

"Good. Maybe this will curb your ego," he said as he led her back to the tent.

"Doubtful. It burns too bright, demon. So do you agree that women should dress like this? Are you old and stodgy?"

"I think women should dress as they please. Within reason."

She was about to grill him on that last bit, but she noticed that people were stopping what they were doing to spit on the ground after she passed. "My popularity here, well, it's just embarrassing how they fawn."

"I can't blame them for how they feel."

"What?"

"They're among the hardest hit by Omort's regime- hence their determination to risk Grave Realm to escape his rule."

"And I'm to be hated for what Omort has done? Have you heard of any specific account where I've gone out of my way to hurt any of the people here?"

"No, just as I've never heard any where you've gone out of your way to help them."

"Of course not. I will never aid someone, not unless there's something in it for me. Because I have a brain in my head. Demon, you want things from me that I sim­ply can't give. And you hope to see things in me that just aren't there. I will always lie, cheat, and steal-"

"And duly kill anyone who defends their gold."

"You saw my dreams."

"I did. I saw your mother. And I saw when you were buried."

She swallowed. Don't you pity me. Don't you dare.

"You're strong, Sabine. If you could temper that strength with-"

"Compassion? Kindness? Mercy?"

"Why not?"

"Rydstrom, I wouldn't even know where to begin. . . ." She trailed off as they passed Durinda. The pretty demoness smiled winningly at Rydstrom. He gave *

her a wave.

Sabine didn't like this little exchange at all. She rec­ognized that she was feeling jealousy. She'd experienced it before Rydstrom, but for things-objects others pos­sessed that she didn't.

Now she felt as if Durinda had just taken a grab at her gold. Wondering how her gold would feel about that, Sabine gazed up at Rydstrom. "Do you think it's possible to desire another after you've found your female?"

"I think it depends on how badly one wants his

female."|

"Then it's a good thing you're obsessed with me."

"Why? Are you concerned that I might desire another?"

She was saved from answering when a tussle broke out among boys nearby.

Durinda hurried over to snare Puck from the fray. He'd been fighting with much bigger kids-which meant that Puck was scrappy and marginally worth a second of Sabine's attention. For a juvenile demon male, she'd seen less cute.

He'd probably been teased about his name. "What kind of parents would name their kid something that rhymes with f-"

"Dead parents," Rydstrom said quickly. "They're both dead, Sabine. And he's having difficulties because he's

an orphan who hasn't yet been fostered by another family."

"What about Durinda? Why isn't she his new mother?"

"Because she is... unwed."

"The demon made his first funny." He was serious! "It is impossible that you just said that."

He only ran his hand over the back of his neck.

When Durinda spoke to Puck in Demonish, Sabine said, "What is she telling him?"

"That fights solve nothing."

"Are you ... are you jesting?." Before Rydstrom could steer her away, Sabine called, "Don't listen to her, kid! Fights solve everything! Just be sure to win them!"

"Enough! The boy doesn't understand English like the others. He was raised in a small farming village and only speaks Demonish."

"You agree with that twit about fighting, don't you? My dark gods, the world's gone mad! Tell me you wouldn't teach our child that, because it would be a deal breaker."

He stepped close to her, gazing down at her. His voice was gravelly when he said, "I didn't know you were still in negotiations."

Sexy demon. She swallowed, again wondering if there would ever come a time when she wasn't affected by him. Inward shake. "Our negotiations fell through before you brought me to this gods forsaken time warp." She turned from him-

The hits came out of nowhere. She gawked down at her ugly blouse, which had just gotten uglier.

Some teens had thrown rotten tomatoes at her, splat-ting them over her chest. She stared in disbelief. If this had happened at any other time in her life, someone would be about to die.

Through gritted teeth, she told Rydstrom, "Untie- me-now!" Her nails were digging into her palms, draw-ing blood.

He swept a menacing glower in the offenders' direc­tion, and the parents came forth to apologize abjectly.

Rydstrom told them, "I will return to finish this mat­ter." Then he began squiring her back to the tent.

"That's all you're going to do? Not good enough, Rydstrom!" She struggled against him. "Untie my bloody hands!"

"Why? So you can kill some misguided children?"

"No, I'll just give them nightmares for the rest of their lives." The way people were staring at her eyes, she knew they were glowing blue with fury.

Once they were back inside, he dragged her over to the bedding in the corner. She was dismayed to see that while they'd been gone, someone had driven a stake into the ground. Attached to it was a length of cord. No, the demon wouldn't dare . . .

He fetched her a towel from the dressing stand, dip­ping it in the washing bowl. After he stripped her shirt, he rubbed her clean, then redressed her in another awful blouse.

"How are you going to punish those little punks?"

"I'm going to tell their parents that you bade me to be lenient with them."

"Well, aren't you a cunning demon? Already working

on my image among them. Too bad that will be a he. And Good King Rydstrom doesn't lie."

"By the time I leave this tent, it won't be a lie."

"Never! Not on your-"

"Then I won't arrange for you to write a message to your sister. Even though I'd found a messenger here who thinks he can get a letter to Tornin."

"Truly? Oh, fine. King Rydstrom, will you be lenient with the poor, misbegotten sons of curs who threw rot­ten vegetables at me?"

"I'd be glad to convey that." Was he eyeing that long line attached to the stake?

"Don't even think about it!" When he bent down to tie her ankle, she kicked out with those useless slippers on her feet.

But he seized her leg, holding her in places as he knot­ted the line. His task complete, he started for the exit.

"Where are you going? You can't leave me like this!" He stopped with one hand on the flap and faced her. "You stir up ill-will when you're out. There's much I have to do, and I can't watch you constantly."

"Then free me."

"Not a chance." He pointed at her ankle. "There's enough line for you to reach the guard outside."

"Guard?" she cried. "Do you think I can escape ... ?" She trailed off. "He's for my protection. Again you leave me defenseless."

"The guard won't let anything happen to you."

"But what will I do?"

"Sit in here. Contemplate why others might feel moved to throw things at you."

As he ducked out of the tent, she yelled, "You leave me tied up like a dog? Then you had better remember that this bitch bites!"

And then he was gone.

An hour inched by before the tent flap opened once more. Surprisingly, it was the boy, Puck.

"What do you want?" Sabine snapped, sitting up on her haunches, scouting for vegetables on his person. "Come to throw tomatoes?"

As he entered, he pulled a blade from his pocket. Excellent. She was going to be shanked by a pup barely our of diapers.

Yet then he drew a piece of wood from his other pocket and plopped down beside her, beginning to whittle.

Oh. "Can you make me an eye-socket-size stake? For Rydstrom?" Puck frowned, not understanding English. "Or better yet, you can use your little knife to cut through these bindings."

He grinned with total incomprehension.

Sabine didn't care for children, and after repeated failed attempts to communicate his role in her escape plot, his presence swiftly began irritating her. "Shoo, then. Get out."

He didn't budge.

In an exaggeratedly cheery voice, she said, "You've shown me what a good wittle whittler you are!" Her tone normal once more, she said, "So go the hell away. I've important things to ponder."

Nothing. "Oh, I get it! You're doing some kind of cute orphan stunt. Trying to make me like you so you might get a new mommy because I am wed. Of course,