Page 139 of Demon Touched

And I could be in Strata, couldn’t I? Because I’m friends with the chief assemblyman now. He knows I’m nephilim and doesn’t seem to care. I’m sure he’d grant me the right to stay here. It’s not like with Syrus, who as a demon lord would need to get the Assembly’s permission to remain in this realm.

Syrus. The warm weight at my back. The presence wrapped around me.

The one huge obstacle in all of this, like a hook in my heart.

If I choose Strata, I’ll be choosing to leave him. And I don’t know if I could bear that.

I gently disentangle myself from him and rise from the bed, my eyes falling on another open envelope on the table. I didn’t notice it in the surprise of getting the solicitor’s letter.

“You got a letter too?” I ask, seizing on the distraction.

“An invitation to Lady Roseningrave’s party,” he says. “It’s tomorrow night.”

Despite everything, I roll my eyes. “Ugh, the last thing I want to do right now is go and make small talk with a bunch of rich snobs.”

“Those rich snobs happen to include a lot of Assembly members,” Syrus says, rising too. “It’s been more than a week now, and I can’t get the other demon lords to even talk to me, let alone start negotiating my return. I’d hoped we wouldn’t ever need to ask the Assembly for that extension…” His expression is grim. “But I think we should start building some alliances just in case.”

We, he says, like we’re still a unit, one interconnected being—and yet it seems every day that goes by, another connection between us is severed or bent out of shape.

But because I love him, and because the idea of having nothing tying me to him is too terrifying to contemplate, I simply smile and kiss Syrus’s cheek.

“All right then. Let’s ask Aster to find me a party dress.”

“You look like you fit right in,” Syrus leans in and murmurs to me a day later, when we’re sipping drinks at Lady Roseingrave’s party. I already want to leave. Half the conversations are about people I’ve never met and the other about politics I have no say in.

Syrus must sense my frustration—hence the flirting, to distract me.

“I look like I fit in?” I throw back. “Says the man who used to be king of this city. If anyone’s going to get on with these snooty types, it’s you,” I say, lowering my voice enough to ensure no one hears.

He shakes his head, smiling fondly. “Only you would take fitting in as an insult.”

I know for a fact that I look good. Aster found me a black dress that has reams of skirts and a tight-fitting bodice that scoops low at the front. Fashionable while being just on the right side of scandalous, if Syrus’s reaction was anything to go by. Whenever I look over at him, he’s eyeing me, his gaze dark, and his hands seek me out without him even seeming to be conscious of it.

Lady Roseingrave’s house is incredible, so at least there’s lots to look at, all done up with exquisite taste. My stepmother Ada would kill just to own this room alone, with elegant, deep blue drapes and brocade wallpaper decorated with fine panel molding. The furniture is upholstered in rich, beautiful fabrics, and the crystal chandeliers sparkle like stars, almost outshining the guests.

But not quite, because they’re all exquisitely dressed too, and the ladies in particular are dripping with more pearls and diamonds than I thought even existed in the realm.

“Besides,” Syrus continues, “I’m not sure runes and horns really fit in.”

After some debate, he’s broken out his demon form for the party, although he has kept his wings vanished for the practicality.

“No,” I agree. “But you saw how happy our host was when we arrived. You made the right choice about showing off your true form. Now you’re Roseingrave’s guest of honor. I’m sure she loves the drama of having a demon lord at her party.”

Even if people have been too nervous to approach Syrus, they’ve followed him around like a gaggle of geese, squawking and hissing to each other, with a few managing a handful of bland remarks before scurrying off.

Syrus and I pass the time by discussing the other guests, snickering like naughty children at a guest who’s so drunk he doesn’t realize he’s put his elbow in the lemon mousse. Before I know it, I’m actually having fun. This—being able to spend time together without it feeling like the sky’s about to fall down around our ears—is nice, even if we have to endure some pompous bores to get it. I’ll take what scraps of normality I can.

Which is why when Syrus tangles his fingers in mine and starts to lead me away from the main room, I follow without protest. He pulls me into a shadowy corner in one of the smaller side rooms.

“What are we⁠—”

My words are cut off with a huff of pleased surprise when he presses me up against the wall, his mouth on my neck.

“It’s criminal, how good you look in that dress,” Syrus murmurs against my skin. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all evening.”

My breath hitches as he pushes a knee between mine, sliding a hand up my leg until his fingers are caressing the bare skin of my thigh.

“I thought this evening was about building up friendly relations with the Assembly,” I say as Syrus kisses his way up my neck, even if my dazed tone undermines my point a little.