Page 32 of The Soulbond and Her Beloved

Sinai smiled. He could never get rid of her.

Rising, she dressed languidly, felt untouchable. Like the queen she was always meant to be.

She just finished dressing when the door opened, two soldiers marching in.

“We were instructed to escort you back to your cell, Mistress.”

Just like that, the dreamy haze of bloodfeeding and orgasm disappeared.

“What?!No, no, you can’t mean that!” She scrambled backward. “Tell my master I need to speak with him—!”

The soldiers took her arms, their grips firm as they began to drag her from the room. She struggled violently, her bare feet sliding against the floor.

“Daemon!” she screamed. “Please!Don’t let them take me back there!”

***

Two days later, in the earliest hours of dawn, Grand Lord Vladya stood outside the Grand King’s bedchamber, pausing at the door.

Inside, Daemonikai stood still at the center of his vast chamber, his attendants working to dress him in his full ceremonial attire.

Vladya observed quietly for a moment, noting the cold, distracted look in Daemonikai’s eyes.

It was the same distant expression he’d seen far too often in recent days. A sharpness that concealed something else.

Vladya’s gaze flicked to the crown resting on the polished table nearby, its gold and crimson gemstones gleaming in the faint morning light.

“Someone has decided to wear his crown today, I see,” Vladya said, stepping inside.

Glancing briefly at him, Daemonikai's tone left no room for conversation. “A proper attire for a formal ceremony.”

To his servants, he ordered. "You may leave.”

They quickly bowed and filed out without a word.

Vladya crossed the room, resuming the work the attendants had left unfinished, adjusting and tying the last of the ceremonial robes.

“You look majestic, Your Grace,” Vladya remarked lightly. “And tired.”

Daemonikai’s lips twitched faintly, though not into a smile. “I haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

“You barely ever sleep enough but always manage to look refreshed,” Vladya pointed out in an easy probing tone. “I think something is on your mind.”

When the final robe was secured, Vladya stepped back and gave a small nod.

Daemonikai inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, Grand Lord Vladya.”

Under normal circumstances, Vladya would have taken the title as the jest it usually was, but today there was no humor in his voice.

He gave a simple, respectful nod in return. “You’re welcome, Your Grace.”

The rest of the day passed in much the same way. Daemonikai carried an air of aloof formality that set the tone for the entire ceremony.

Everyone in attendance noticed the shift, though no one dared address it openly. Vladya himself kept a cautious distance.

By evening, as the people feasted and danced to the vibrant music, he finally stepped away from the event square, seeking a moment of quiet. The slaves’ performance was energetic, but he found little enjoyment in it as usual.

He hadn’t made it far before he heard footsteps behind him.

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