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“Like I said, I don’t think she’ll advocate for herself. Sol and the others might not realize there’s a problem until it’s too late and harm is done.” He leans forward. “You know humans, Rusalka. More, your powers can read her desires—and lack thereof. You won’t harm her or allow her to harm herself.”
Normally, I’d hate that he’s so sure of me, but he’s not wrong. This opportunity could shake our realm to the very foundations, but I haven’t fought this hard for my people to stop now. This human may be a trap waiting to be sprung. “Bram can read emotions as easily as I can.”
He gives me a severe look. “Bram doesn’t know what he wants.”
Azazel’s also not wrong about that. I shrug. “If you’re so worried about her, then why don’t you take her?”
“I have other priorities at the moment.”
I’m mostly arguing for the sake of arguing. I won’t do a single damned thing to endanger this offer. “Very well, I’ll take this human and care for her. But you must know that I will do my best to convince her to have a child to benefit my people.” The rest of the territories—Azazel excepting—don’t take us seriously. If there were to be a power imbalance with my people on the wrong side? No. I won’t allow it to happen.
“I know.” He moves past me in a graceful step that I admire despite myself. “Follow the hallway to the end and go through the door. We’ll get things started shortly.” Azazel opens a door that most definitely wasn’t there a moment ago and steps through.
“The bargainer castle is so damned creepy,” I murmur. Our walls have the decency to stay where we built them, rather than change on a whim. A low rumble shakes the floor beneath my feet, and I flinch. “No insults meant.” I’m not certain the castle is sentient... but I’m not certain it’s not.
Either way, the rumbling stops, and I’m able to make my way down the hall to the door there. It leads into a large room with a dais on one side and several chairs and seating arrangements obviously meant for me and the other territory leaders. There’s the gargoyle, Bram, with his dour expression and leathery-looking wings. Thane, the kraken leader, enters next with his equally dour expression and inset pool of what smells like salt water. And here comes Sol, the dragon leader, looking like someone just took a piss on his foot and ruined his day. But then, he always looks like that. A cheery bunch, this group is not.
Azazel appears seconds before the door opens and five human women file out. The bargainer demon truly is putting on a show, because they move to a short dais I’d missed before and step up onto it. All are dressed in luxurious gowns. Several appear terrified.
I glance at Azazel, and his gaze flicks to the woman in red. Mine, apparently. She’s pretty, but all of them are; her long dark hair is gathered up around her face, and her red gown shows off smooth shoulders and the top curve of her breasts. She’s also smiling as if she’s having a marvelous time.
Reaching out with my magic tells another story. She’s intrigued by all this, but it’s almost as if the more intrigued she is, the more shame she feels. The mix coats every inch of her, thick enough that I can taste it on the back of my tongue. Familiar. How many dreams have I visited with this very combination? I’ve never had to deal with the person attached to the desire and shame, though, only to draw forth their deep yearnings until I’m filled to the brim with them. I know how to do that but not what they feel in the morning when they awake, shivering and throbbing and sick with need.
I have a feeling I’m going to discover the answer to that soon enough.
“Red,” I say, barely waiting until Bram chooses his woman to claim this one as mine.
3
BELLADONNA
When the lights come up and several of the other women make shocked noises, I can only look to the demon standing near the center of the room. She must be a demon, though a different variety than Azazel, who looks like the devil I was taught to fear. I can’t help the way I shake when I catch his large red body out of the corner of my eye. Azazel has been nothing but courteous with me, and yet I’m still smiling wildly to avoid cowering.
But the other? The woman—though I shouldn’t assume gender. I’ve learned that, can do better. The person with the coyly melodious voice that spoke the color of my dress and claimed me as their own. They are tall, nearly as tall as Azazel, but built much leaner. They wear a gown of many colors that flares out around them when they walk, revealing legs that morph from human above the knees to that of a... goat’s? Fur and cloven hooves. They even have a tail that whisks behind them, strangely graceful. It’s oddly charming.
Above the waist, they appear human enough, with smooth pale skin, full breasts, and short white-blond hair. I can’t see their eye color at this distance, but I can tell their lips have a wicked curve, which makes things low in my stomach heat.
And there are flames licking at the edges of their shoulders and arms. At first I think they’re a trick of the light, but no, they are actual flames. None of the other monsters in the room seem that concerned, but why would they be, with their tentacles and wings and scales?
What is this realm, which contains monsters and demons who are both so human and so decidedly not?
There’s no opportunity to ask. I’m separated from the other humans; we’re each put with our respective monster and ushered through doors that I’m nearly certain appeared with a faint shimmer while Azazel was talking.
The room my monster and I end up in looks like a perfectly mundane study, if an expensive one. Not overtly, but the signs are there in the thick carpet beneath my feet and the luxurious deep green on the walls... ansd the massive desk that looks like it’s hundreds of years old. Or at least what I imagine a desk would look like if it was that old.
My monster sinks into one of the upholstered chairs and stretches out their... hooves. They watch me with undisguised interest but show no signs of speaking.
I take a deep breath and catch the faint scent of cloves. I will be here for seven years. The very least I can do is dredge up some courtesy. “I’m Belladonna. What’s your name?”
“Rusalka.”
The name is just as beautiful and dangerous as this monster seems to be. I clear my throat. “What—um—I mean...” I can do this. I don’t know why my hard-won charm falters in the face of this monster’s increasing amusement. I try again. “What are your pronouns?”
“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” Rusalka murmurs. “I’m not overly precious about pronouns, but ‘she’ works well, or ‘they,’ I suppose, if you’d like to use that. Gender is a bit fluid for most of my people.”
She. They. Two pronouns. Okay. That bends my mind a little, but I’ll be damned before I ask her to explain. I’ll figure it out. I do my best to banish my mother’s derision to the recesses of my mind. It doesn’t matter what my mother thinks of pronouns. It matters what I do.
My smile feels brittle at the edges, shaky. “Your people?”
