Page 4 of The Demon King's Unruly Mate

Heat bloomed beneath my skin as our eyes met, a sudden, unexpected flush that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. He moved with that particularly dangerous masculine grace, all straight spine and broad shoulders, eyes scanning everything and everyone. The rich red wine color of his skin was darker than mine, but striking against the black of his clothes.

Kaz’s gold eyes narrowed slightly. A flicker of something—surprise? Guilt?—crossed his features before his expression settled into careful neutrality. He offered me a stiff nod as he crossed the room to stand near the window.

I’d seen him before, of course, in intelligence reports, surveillance images, the occasional formal function where our paths crossed but never connected. Thirty-five years old. Trained in combat from childhood. Unmarried, despite numerous political overtures. His sister Rava had been betrothed to Javed in a political alliance meant to reunite our feuding families.

An alliance that had shattered when Kaz’s ax separated my brother’s head from his shoulders.

So, what was he doing here? Now? Tonight?

“I assume you’re here at the king’s summons as well,” I said, breaking the tense silence.

Kaz nodded once, his gaze moving past me to assess Griffin’s position by the door. “Seems we’re both being made to wait.”

“A favorite tactic of my father’s,” I said, my voice cool and controlled despite the strange heat coursing through my veins. I’d never reacted this way to anyone before, male or female. It was as disconcerting as it was unwelcome. “He believes it puts one at a psychological disadvantage.”

“Does it work?”

I allowed myself a small smirk. “Not on those who expect it.”

A corner of his mouth lifted in what might have been the beginning of a smile, but before he could respond, the doors behind the throne swung wide.

This time, it was my father who appeared—or rather, a diminished version of the imposing figure who had ruled the ifrit with an iron fist for decades. King Adron Fitsum leaned heavily on an ornate cane, his braided white hair swaying with the sharp shake of his head.

“I’ve heard enough,” he said, addressing someone still inside the corridor. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”

Emil Malum stepped into view, his pale red skin a stark contrast to the dark formal attire he favored. His face tightened with barely concealed fury as he bowed to my father.

The sight of the clan leader’s obvious displeasure threaded the twins of satisfaction and concern through me. Emil was a snake, always had been. Whatever he’d been discussing with my father, I’d need to discover it sooner rather than later.

But then my father hobbled to his throne, and all other thoughts fled. Age and illness had taken their toll on the king’s body, but his gold eyes remained sharp as they fixed on me, then Kaz.

“So,” he said finally. “The last of my children and the man who killed my heir. How fitting that you should stand before me together.”

I held my breath, waiting for the ax to fall—figuratively, this time. Would my father demand Kaz’s execution? Declare war on the Kadhan clan? Either would devastate our already fragile political landscape.

And why in all the hells was I to stand witness?

Kaz stiffened beside me, but his voice remained steady when he spoke. “Your Majesty, I?—”

“Spare me your justifications, Kadhan.” His mouth twisted in what might have been disgust or simply discomfort as he leaned back in his throne. “Fortunately for you, my son had become... problematic. His removal, while regrettable, has perhaps saved us all considerable difficulty.”

I kept my expression locked down, though my mind raced. My father had never acknowledged Javed’s cruelty before. Had never suggested he was anything but the perfect heir. What game was he playing now?

“However,” my father continued, “his death has left us with a significant challenge. The Fitsum line requires an heir. The ifrit court requires stability. And the alliance between our branches, which was to be secured through your sister’s marriage to my son, remains unfulfilled.”

No.I saw where this was heading a moment before my father spoke the words that would change everything.

“The solution is simple,” he declared. “Princess Talia will wed Prince Kaz tonight. The royal and mercenary lines will be united, and a new heir will be secured.”

The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet. “What?” The word escaped before I could stop it, a breach of protocol I’d never have allowed myself under normal circumstances.

Beside me, Kaz’s expression froze in what might have been shock or horror or both.

“Father,” I began, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Surely there are other?—”

“Quiet, girl,” my father snapped. “You will do your duty. The royal line has never passed to a female heir, and it won’t start now.”

My mouth clicked closed as fury and humiliation burned in my chest. I’d known, of course. Known that no matter how clever I was, how ruthlessly I’d carved out my place in this world, I would always be seen as nothing more than a bargaining chip.

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