Page 3 of The Demon King's Unruly Mate

“Home sweet home,” I muttered. What a useless phrase. The sprawling palace with its vaulted ceilings and thick stench of incense had never been a sanctuary. Just a battlefield where my brother had tormented me, where my father had ignored me, where I’d dreamed of teleporting far away, never to return.

Griffin’s expression didn’t change, but I caught the slight twitch of his tail—a tell I’d learned to read over years of service. He hated this place as much as I did.

“Indeed, Princess.” His tone betrayed nothing. Always the perfect bodyguard.

I straightened my spine as he strode for the doors to the grand hall. Time to don the mask of the perfect princess. Demure. Obedient. Utterly without ambition. The mask that had kept me alive while Javed murdered our siblings one by one.

Javed. Even thinking his name made my skin crawl. It had been nearly two months since his death, and the court stillperformed its elaborate mourning rituals as though we’d lost a beloved prince rather than a monster. My brother had been cruel since childhood, taking pleasure in tormenting those weaker than himself. As he grew, so did his sadism, until even our siblings—the ones he hadn’t already killed—learned to flee at the sight of him.

I’d survived by making myself useful. By becoming invisible when necessary and indispensable when possible. By building a network of informants that rivaled the king’s own, gathering secrets like others gathered jewels.

And now Javed was dead, killed by the leader of the Kadhan clan—our knives, our rivals, our shadows. I should feelsomething, shouldn’t I? Grief for a lost sibling, anger at his murderer, relief that his reign of terror was over. Instead, there was only a cold, hard knot of calculation in my chest.

The world was objectively better without Javed in it. And his absence left a power vacuum I fully intended to fill.

My father’s chamberlain met us with a deep bow at the first crossroads of corridors. “Princess Talia, we’ve been expecting you.”

“I came as soon as I received my father’s summons.” I kept my voice soft, my expression placid. “How is the king’s health today?”

“Stable, Princess.” The chamberlain’s eyes darted away from mine—the first lie of the day. My father’s health was anything but stable. “He awaits you in the throne room.”

I frowned. “Not his chambers?”

“The king has requested the throne room for today’s audience,” he repeated, gesturing toward the ornate doors of the antechamber cracked open behind him. There would be no negotiation or further explanation.

Audience. Not mourning dinner. Not family discussion.Audience. As if I were just another petitioner seeking the king’s favor.

“I see.” I maintained my serene smile even as irritation prickled beneath my skin. “And my cousins? Have they arrived?”

The chamberlain’s hesitation told me everything I needed to know before he spoke. “You are the only one summoned today, Princess.”

Interesting. Either my father had already spoken to my remaining relations separately, or I was the only one he deemed worth consulting tonight. Given Adron Fitsum’s views on female capability, I suspected the former.

“Of course,” I said smoothly. “I’m at his majesty’s disposal.”

The throne room was elegant but cold, its imposing seat of power and white marble walls adorned with portraits of past Fitsum rulers. All male, of course. I paced the length of the empty room, my reflection distorted in the polished floor beneath my feet.

Griffin took up position by the door, his posture relaxed but alert. “This isn’t standard protocol.”

“No.” I kept my voice low. “Something’s changed.”

Father had summoned me. Alone. No cousins, no distant relations with tenuous claims to royal blood. But more worryingly, none of my informants had picked up anything on this meeting.

I’d spent exactly twelve nights in this palace over the past decade. Twelve nights when I couldn’t avoid the formal functions that required my presence. The rest of my time had been divided between ‘educational trips’ abroad and ‘cultural visits’ to distant relatives. Convenient excuses to keep me away from Javed’s increasingly violent outbursts, really.

Not that my father had particularly cared about my safety. I was simply more useful alive than dead, another piece onhis political chessboard. The perfect princess to be traded in marriage when the time was right.

But now I was the last legitimate child of an aged, sickly king. By rights and circumstance, the throne should pass to me.

The doors again swung open and interrupted my thoughts. But instead of the chamberlain sweeping me away to somewhere less formal, a tall ifrit male strode inside.

My breath caught in my throat.

Kaz Kadhan.

Leader of the mercenary branch of the royal line. Killer of my brother. The most dangerous ifrit in our world.

Andfuck, he was gorgeous.

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