Page 21 of The Demon King's Unruly Mate

“And in the meantime, two young lovers get their happily ever after.” I offered her a glass of whiskey, which she accepted with a nod of thanks. Our fingers brushed, the contact lingering a heartbeat too long.

Her eyes met mine, and for once, they weren’t calculating or guarded. They were simply... seeing me.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “For what Javed did to you.”

I stiffened, the glass halfway to my lips. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve noticed your reactions,” she continued, her eyes dropping to where my free hand had clenched into a fist at the mere mention of Javed’s name. “The way you tense when someone mentions control or compulsion. What he did with those relics...”

The glass nearly shattered in my grip.

“I don’t want your pity,” I growled, retreating across the room to stare out the window.

“It isn’t pity, Kaz.” Her voice followed me, quiet but firm. “It’s understanding. If this mating is to work, we need that between us. We’ve both survived him.”

I kept my back to her, watching the tourists below laugh and stroll without a care in the world. Normal people living normal lives. No royal bullshit, no arranged marriages, no scheming.

“Understanding,” I repeated, the word feeling foreign on my tongue.

In the reflection of the glass, I could see her waiting. The princess who’d tracked me across countries with ruthless determination. The same woman who’d lied without hesitation to Leona, slipping into Emil’s scheme to further her own goals. The female who’d shown me a small kindness when the memories threatened to drown me.

And beneath it all, the sister of the man I’d killed.

I took a long swallow of whiskey, letting it burn down my throat. “We need to figure out what Emil is up to.”

Talia sighed, but didn’t push back on the change of subject. She moved to pour herself another tiny bottle of whiskey and took a graceful seat on the edge of the bed. “We confront him directly. We go to the lake house under the guise of traveling with Leona, and make him tell us what he’s after.”

I snorted. “Just walk up and ask? That’s your grand strategy?”

“Sometimes the direct approach catches people off guard.” She sipped her drink, watching me over the rim of her glass. “Emil expects elaborate schemes and political maneuvering. He won’t be prepared for bluntness.”

“And if he refuses to talk?” I raised an eyebrow.

Her smile turned sharp. “Everyone has a pressure point, Kaz. Emil is ambitious. He wants something badly enough to risk moving against the crown. We just need to identify what it is, and leverage it.”

“And if what he wants is the throne itself?”

Talia’s eyes gleamed in the fading light. “Then he’ll have to go through both of us to get it.”

The casual threat from those perfect lips sent heat straight through me. Not a princess claiming her birthright, but a warrior marking our shared territory. Understanding, she’d called it earlier, but this was something deeper. This was Talia choosing to stand with me, not just endure me.

Like this was real. Like we were... partners.

Mates.

“You know,” I said, moving closer, “for someone raised to be the perfect princess, you have a surprisingly vicious streak.”

“For someone raised to be a mercenary,” she countered, not backing away, “you have a surprisingly soft heart.”

“I wouldn’t call it soft,” I growled.

“No?” Her tail brushed against mine. “What would you call it, then?”

“Selective judgment.” I plucked her glass from her hands and set it on the nightstand with my own. “I choose my battles carefully.”

“And am I a battle worth fighting?” she asked, leaning back on her hands to keep our eyes locked.

I moved closer, tracing my thumb along the curve of her jaw. Her skin was impossibly soft beneath my calloused fingers. “Oh, I’m certain you’ll make me wage wars for your heart.”

---