Page 127 of The Prince of Demons

Ever since I accepted my place at Aether, my body no longer hummed with anxiety. I slept through every night without nightmares about being late for class or showing up unclothed. I went to class unafraid of a rogue shadow or a scathing text from my mother.

A level of self-assured maturity had hit me, one I never thought I could achieve. I was ready to make my own choices, consequences be damned.

I picked my outfit like I was crafting a new identity.

Magic alone crafted the dress I pulled from the dresser. Glitter lined every curve and crevice, sparkling like stars on a desolate black night. It hugged my curves before trailing like shadows behind me, capped with opalescent gemstones. It dipped low in the front, covered only by a sheer mesh, showing off assets that would have gotten me sent back to my room in childhood. I brushed my hair down, evenly parted into two smooth, straight sections, with diamonds pinned in.

Looking at the vanity mirror, I was wearing the night sky, and my face was its shining moon.

I gathered my shadows and formed a door with them.

I did not mind addressing my shadows, stepping out with them in the light, now that he had taught me. When he had taught me to be strong, and in control, and fearless, and I could be the same with him on my side.

My hand lingered on my shadow knob. Was I ready for this? For my first real date, with Reaper, that I chose for myself?

When I stepped through the door, I knew I made the right decision.

I met him in our first location: The Whispering Woods. Fireflies drifted along the sky. Lone instruments played themselves in a semicircle around a flattened meadow.

And my chest lifted when a shadowed, muscled demon turned around to face me.

“You look like a princess, Luna.”

I avoided gawking at Reaper, who wore black slacks fitted low on his hips and a grey sweater that looked casual enough to have come from the school library. He was the picture of relaxation, of normalcy—and his mismatched outfit pieces made me suppress a laugh.

“What’s the smile for?”

“Nothing in particular.” I hid my grin. “But I think you should let me be your stylist. Your outfit is fascinating but peculiar.”

He frowned. “This is what your computer told me ‘fancy wear’ for males consists of.”

He was trying to dress like a mortal? That was adorable.

“The internet is not as wise as I am,” I said.

“Indeed,” he murmured, drinking me in.

“So that’s what you were doing this whole time? Looking up mortal fashion choices while you avoided me?”

“I was not avoiding you.” He scrubbed his face. “But there’s only so much ‘man’ I can muster in one sitting.”

Oh. He misinterpreted what I said. That was why he dressed like an adolescent boy.

Reaper said gruffly, “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just … felt guilty. That you were correct, and I have never really been a man to you.”

His gaze was lonely. Wistful.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said, “and it was more of a reflection of my cowardice than a reflection on yours. I’m sorry.”

He let out a long breath before he replied. “I knew your meaning. And you were right on both implications. I cannot be a human man for you. I do not know how. You were cursed with my love from the moment you met me.”

Silence descended. One filled with all the words we should have said but didn’t.

“Why did you say I was cursed when you first met me?”

He jolted when I spoke, then came forward to run a piece of my hair through his fingers.

“Do you remember when I told you family love can be the most toxic?”

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