I grind my teeth. “It benefits us both. I get a queen and shut the Divine Six up, and in return, I will offer you anything that you desire. Wealth, protection, anything.”
She folds her arms, chin tilting high in defiance. There she is, the stubborn little sunshine. “The Divine Six literally told me I don’t belong in Hell,” she snaps.
“Even more reason to marry you.” I grin. “It’s a way I can piss them off even more than you can imagine.”
Her mouth trembles, her eyes sparking with rage as she begins pacing back and forth in front of me. “Leave,” she snarls. “You’re a fool for ever thinking I would help you. I would rather rot than owe you anything.” She stops dead in front of me, poking a finger into my chest, her hand raising over her head just to reach. “A fool!”
I step closer, grabbing hold of her wrist, pulling it away from my chest. “Just remember, Daisy,” I say with a low growl. “Not only did I give you your soul back, but I saved your damn life.”
She stiffens, looking at my hand wrapped around her small, fragile wrist, then whispers, “And look how that worked out. I’m depressed, I drink myself to sleep every night, and I am more heartbroken each day that passes because I woke up from that day in the shower.”
I flinch before I can stop myself, the words hitting me harder than any blade ever has. It’s a direct shot straight to my chest, her words landing a hard blow for some strange reason. She still regrets waking up; she still hates the fact that her attempt on her life didn’t work. I bare my teeth, the only emotion I’ll allow on my face, hiding how her words have affected me.
“Fine,” I bite out, forcing her hand away so hard she stumbles a step backwards. “Forget it.” I disappear without another word, leaving the gift to sit abandoned on her floor.
“How did it go?”Aran asks as I appear back in my chamber, his presence making me startle.
I turn to him and punch him straight in the face before storming off to the training grounds.
“Not very well then,” I hear him mutter on my way out.
Chapter 19
Daisy
Idon’t cry, I refuse to cry.
Tears are what he wants as one kind of proof that he still has power over me. That he can rip the floor out from beneath me, and I’ll jump to his commands, like I didn’t just spend the last month clawing my way out of the depressive pit he left me in.
Anger surges through me hotter than any sadness ever could. How dare he come here, after a month of absolute silence, after leaving me to drown in my own mess? He just vanished, and then has the absolute audacity to show up on Christmas Eve, carrying a perfectly wrapped present to offer a proposal like he was offering me a glass of mulled wine and not his freaking hand in eternal wedlock.
A marriage of convenience. Like I’m nothing more than a contract he needs signing. Not a woman he abandoned, bruised and broken, who he then spat venomous words at when I was finally strong enough to stand again.
I storm to the trash can in the kitchen and hurl the stupid, perfectly wrapped gift into it without a second glance. It hits the bottom with a satisfying thud, the sound calming some of my unadulterated rage. I hope it breaks. I hope whatever is in that godforsaken box is shattered beyond repair. Just like me.
I march back into my bedroom, yanking off the sheets, so not even where he had the audacity to sit has been defiled by him and his stupid scent. I scream as I throw the balled-up bedding into the laundry hamper.
No contact, no help, nothing from him for over a month. Then boom, “Oh, become my bride.” What an absolute maniac. I frantically pace up and down, ranting and muttering to myself like a mad woman. What the FRICK was that? No, “how are you?” No apology, no softness, no affection, and certainly not even a flicker of guilt. Just “marry me.”
Like that’s a thing normal people do after emotionally eviscerating someone and then vanishing. He acts like I’m something on his to-do list. Acquire her soul, check. Destroy her mental well-being, check. Return her soul, check. Crush her spirit, check. Leave, check. And ooh, one last final thing to do, propose marriage. CHECK. Did he get confused and think this was the Hallmark channel? Is this what we’re doing now? Is this my twisted, demon-fuelled Christmas special?
I climb into bed, still vibrating with rage. My jaw aches from how tightly I’m clenching it. I toss and turn, I punch my pillow, I scream into it. But eventually, exhaustion wins, and sleep drags me under. And of course, he’s there, in the haze of my dreams, his obsidian eyes following me like shadows made flesh. His voice slithers through my subconscious, repeating over and over:
Merry Christmas, little flower.
The next day,I don’t bother pretending to be festive, despite my candy cane pyjamas. I sleep until the afternoon, cocooned in my bed with my phone buzzing endlessly somewhere under the covers. After what feels like the hundredth buzz, I finally drag myself up, finding my phone tucked into the depths of my bed, and lie my back against the pillows to read through it. It’s all messages from Talia and Ezra, as expected. I text back a half-hearted ‘Merry Christmas’ into the group chat, making them instantly flood the chat with emojis, selfies, and stupid jokes. I smile at the screen, happy knowing my friends are having an amazing Christmas, despite the ache in my chest, gnawing away at me. I scroll through social media for a few more hours, the sinking feeling in my chest deepening at each happy Christmas photo I scroll by. Smiling selfies, family photos, present hauls. They all fill my screen, a tear rolling down my cheek despite my best effort to hold myself together.
At around six p.m., I finally forced myself to crawl out of bed and open the gifts my friends and my boss had left for me. Talia had gotten me a pair of fuzzy socks in my favourite colour—yellow—and a little jar filled with handwritten notes, the label on the outside saying ‘Reasons We Love You’. Ezra, being Ezra, had gotten me a ridiculous oversized hoodie that said ‘Sunshine Incarnate’ across the front in glittery gold letters, and a box of my favourite candy. I clutch the little notes in my hands for a long moment, heart throbbing painfully. I open the gift from my boss next, a packet of coffee beans from the cafe that I won’t be able to use because I don’t own a coffee machine. Well, it’s the thought that counts.
I swipe up my phone, deciding to text my dad since it was Christmas after all:
Merry Christmas, Dad.
The little ‘read notification pops up, but when a few minutes pass without a response, I just close the thread. I’m not surprised, but it stings all the same.
I sit on the couch in my living room, the twinkle of my tiny Christmas tree throwing soft, colourful shadows across the walls. Everything just feels hollow. And no matter how hard I try not to, my eyes keep dragging back to the trash can. To that stupid present. I clench my jaw. “Don’t you dare, Daisy. You’re better than this. You don’t care about some stupid gift from some stupid demon.” I mutter to myself.
Five minutes later, I’m stomping across the room, cursing under my breath. I open the lid to the trash can, staring down at the little box before yanking it out, glaring at it with as much hatred as I can conjure up. I shuffle back to the sofa, tearing away the wrapping paper and throwing it on the floor. Opening the box, I gasp, my eyes widening at the little present. Inside is an orb, small and delicate, and glowing above a stand made of intricate golden branches that curl upward like reaching hands. I pull it out of the box, watching as it levitates above its stand. It freaking levitates, looking almost weightless as it pulses with a warm, gentle light. I stare at it, mesmerised by the magical little globe. I glance back down at the box, a small folded note tucked inside. I hesitate before placing the orb on my coffee table and picking up the note with trembling fingers:
