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The Kennel Master would have done better in taking care of them, if his Ur'gin hounds are any indicator. Leave it to trolvor to neglect them like this.
“Must I?” I ask before I realize I’ve spoken.
King Asmodeus chuckles again. “I had petitioned my fourth son for the task, but he refused, and I’m growing impatient. Giroth is testing my theory, but I need another to ensure that our success is not an anomaly before I give the others to my allies.
“Take one at your pleasure, do with her what you will, but make sure that your seed does not go to waste. I want her bred and made heavy with child as soon as possible.
“I need results.”
Outwardly, I am the servant the King expects of me. But internally, I am filled with disgust, the flavor clinging to the roof of my mouth as I turn my attention back on the crowd of humans, who are diminutive compared to their looming keepers.
None of them express any remarkable traits.
Some are taller or plumper, but they all have the same, beaten expressions on their faces. As if they understand what it means to be owned by the Crown. They’re devoid of magic themselves, hardly more cognizant than binmou that graze in the pastures of Galmoleth.
I don’t care to waste my time choosing.
Without thought, I snatch one from the line.
She lets out a little shout, her body shivering under my touch as I drag her to my side. Does she know what is going to happen to her? By the blank look in her wide eyes, I can’t imagine she does. She is smaller than the others with a curving figure and raven hair that veils her soft face. If she weren’t so dirty, I might find her features tolerable.
It’s the most I can hope for.
“This one,” I say, tightening my claws into her flesh until it nearly breaks. I don’t want to bring another hungry mouth into my home, but it can’t be helped. The King’s word is law. “I thank you for this gift, my King.
“I will use her well.”
The human’s trembling grows more pronounced as the others are escorted away, back to whatever hovel they crawled out of. Some are weeping more openly, not bothering to stifle their cries. But the one next to me is silent.
Blissfully silent.
“See that you do,” the King says. “And return to me when you’ve succeeded.”
I issue a bow less pronounced than before and turn on my heel, dragging the human along with me. She stumbles over her short legs, biting back a cry. I can’t be bothered to care. She is a ‘gift,’ an item to be filled with my seed until it sticks, nothing more.
Leave it to the King to transform a gift into a charge.
I storm down the hall towards the exit desperate for fresh, stormy air. I understood why we breached our anonymity and attacked Protheka, but I thought it would be someone else’s problem, not mine.
It’s this heated irritation that makes me rattle the human in my grip. “You’d better not be more trouble than your worth, understand?”
Her eyes widen, and I think she’s about to speak.
But when an unfettered sob escapes her, and tears spill over to chase through the dirt on her cheeks, I can’t stop a groan from escaping.
“Come on,” I growl, yanking her along.
I can’t even be sure she understands me, but her upset is obvious. Would she rather be thrown back in a cell for the trolvor to neglect? Or tossed in the arena like one of her companions? Perhaps I could still go back and tell the King that this one is broken, and get another. I haven’t even touched her yet.
Why is she crying?
And why do I have to pick up the King’s trash?
The End
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BOOK 3: SUBMITTING TO THE DEMON
