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I’ve been a slave all my life, and have long since grown accustomed to my place on Protheka, and yet somehow this demon’s statement has my knees knocking together.
He releases me arm as if repulsed by my reaction, turning on his heel and striding up the path towards the house. I remain rooted in place, staring after him, my face still wet with tears until the squat demon–a servant, I assume–appears in my field of vision.
“This way,” comes his grizzled high voice, inclining his head towards the spire. I don’t dare refuse, too frightened to disobey. I follow the path, trying my hardest to keep my chin from wobbling as I enter the building.
He leads me up a set of narrow steps that makes me stumble, and a few twists and turns later, the demon opens a door. “Here.” I’m practically shoved into the room beyond before the door closes again, the finality of the sound echoing throughout the room.
The room itself is terribly well furnished, pale blue walls with sharp black accents. A large, four-poster bed sits in the center, the rest of the room taken up by two overstuffed armchairs and a small desk- nothing like the cell in which I’ve spent the last couple of months, or my lodgings at the work camp before that.
It would make it so much easier to despise the place if it weren’t so… nice.
My tears come harder as I collapse onto the bed. Even surrounded by such finery, I can’t help but feel like more of a prisoner now than I ever have. At least in the work camp, I knew that I could escape the advances of a dark elf if I played by certain rules, especially with Toklys as my protector. But here, my only purpose is to be bred.
There will be no escape.
I’m alone, utterly and completely alone. None of the fine fabrics or beautiful trinkets adorning my new cage change that. I burrow deeper into the soft bed, not even bothering to change out of my filthy clothes as I clutch the pillow tighter.
This room is nothing more than a gilded cage, and even as I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but feel like I’m waiting for the gallows.
63
KHA’ZETH
Humans, I scoff to myself as I stride through the manor’s doors. My steps echo down the dim halls, only adding to the cacophony clanging around in my skull.
I can’t pretend to understand King Asmodeus’ reasoning behind bringing them here. While the preservation of the demon race is of the utmost importance, surely there’s a more… appealing race we could breed with.
Humans are fragile, fickle beings, their lifespans comprising of only decades rather than centuries. From what I’ve seen, they’re as weak mentally as they are physically, and seem to have no true skill- they have no magic, no strength, and no real intelligence.
I sigh, suppressing the urge to return to my rooms for the remainder of the day.
Whether I approve of the King’s decision or not holds no bearing- the King has ordered that we breed with the humans, and while the idea of taking the filthy, wide-eyed human girl by force is distasteful at best, I have no choice.
She’s clearly terrified, despite the fact that my manor is one of the nicer estates in Ti’lith. I’d have half a mind to be offended by her reaction if she was capable of higher thought, but as an animal I suppose she just doesn’t know any better.
I’ve done nothing to the human, I’ve already shown her more kindness than the King’s guards ever would, and yet she blubbers and weeps at every opportunity.
I’m unable to keep the scowl off of my face as the main hall opens before me. I’m about to settle into my favorite armchair by the fireplace when I notice half of a pastry stuffed into the gap between the arm and seat.
I growl, plucking the pastry up and brushing the crumbs off of the seat with nimble fingers. I was so lost in thought walking into the room that I didn’t notice the complete and utter mess my nieces made of the space.
The small dining table is littered with half eaten food and torn out pages from books, bits of scratch paper and cursory drawings scribbled over the surface. Inkwells are toppled over by the edge of the table, staining the petrified wood and the carpet below it- no doubt the product of Tanulia growing tired of her newest hobby.
Elincia must have been in the process of making a fort, because half of the furniture is pushed together in an off-kilter circle, sheets and towels stretched over the top of tables and chairs. The flowers that had once been in a vase by the window are now shoved through new holes in the sheets, and I’m horrified when I realize that she’d destroyed the bedding I’d commissioned from Asmodeous’ own bedmaker.
Astack of first edition tomes are scattered on the nearby end table, several of them toppling face-first onto the floor, various pages bent and torn by Valindra’s careless hands. While a part of me is glad she’s attempting to study, I cringe at the damage that’s been done to the works that are part of my personal, prestigious collection.
Those girls are lucky they’re not here right now, I seethe as I snatch up the books, smoothing out the pages with a little cantrip. What is the point of having anything nice if the girls destroy everything they touch?
My fingers absentmindedly trace the charm I wear around my neck, bearing the sigil of Netia, the goddess of chaos.
Be careful what you wish for, I think to myself.
Imagining the looks on their faces when I send them to their rooms and forbid them from sweets for the next week only offers a small amount of gratification as I clean up the tempest they left behind. I don’t know how my sister would have handled them, if she were still alive.
I wish she could see them now. She’d be so proud of them, mess and all.
I miss Drannatha every day, and I know the girls do, too, even if they only remember her through stories. When she succumbed to the fading a year after they were born, caring for the girls naturally fell to me. It’s an extreme rarity for any demon woman to bear more than one child in their lifetime, much less to bear three, and all future matrons.
