I refuse to sleep in the bed.

It is too large, too luxurious, too much like the kind of life I was supposed to walk into today. The silks are soft, cool against my fingertips as I test them, but they feel like shackles all the same. I won't let him think I am comfortable here. I won't let him think I accept this.

So I press my back against the cold stone floor instead, rolling to my side and drawing my knees to my chest.

The air is thick, humming with something I cannot name, something just out of reach. My fingers brush absently against the smooth ground, but it doesn't feel like stone. It feels... different. Almost alive. Just like everything else in this realm. The torches lining the walls flicker, their blue flames casting long, twisting shadows across the room.

I stare at them, wondering if they are watching me back.

A golden cage is still a cage.

My father said that once, though I cannot remember if he was speaking of our palace or of me.

My breath is steady, but my heartbeat is not.

I refuse to break here.

Not in this place. Not in front of him.

Something shifts in the air. A slow, creeping weight settles over my skin, a presence I don't need to see to know is there.

I don't move. Don't lift my head.

I just listen.

No sound of footsteps, no rustle of fabric.

But he is here.

The silence stretches long enough that my patience wears thin.

"If you expect me to bow," I murmur, still watching the torchlight flicker across the ceiling, "you'll be waiting an eternity."

A slow, amused exhale. "And if I expect you to kneel?"

I force myself to sit up, resting my hands against my thighs as I meet his gaze. He stands just inside the chamber, arms folded, watching me like I am something curious and unexpected.

"I am not in the habit of kneeling for monsters," I say, my voice sharp.

His lips curve slightly. "A shame. You would look exquisite on your knees."

My hands curl into fists. "I am not afraid of you."

He tilts his head. "Lies do not suit you."

I push myself to my feet, keeping my movements slow, controlled. My head barely reaches his chest, but I lift my chin anyway.

"What are you?" I ask.

"You already know."

A demon, of course. But what kind. Why is he here? What kind of deal did I seal with that card?

There have always been whispers of demons. Stories passed from mouth to ear, scribbled in the margins of forbidden texts, spoken in the hush of candlelit rooms. Tales older than I am. Older than my kingdom. Perhaps older than the world itself.

Accidentally striking a bargain with one? That is no myth. It happens. More often than anyone dares to admit. Even if I have never met a soul who has lived to tell the tale.

I grit my teeth. "A name, then."

His expression doesn't change, but something in the air does. A tension, a shift, like the walls of this place are listening.

I press forward. "Or would you rather I keep calling you bastard?"

Something flickers behind those void-like eyes. A glimmer of amusement.

He takes a step closer, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to enjoy this moment.

"You would speak my name so freely?" His voice is soft now, thoughtful. "Most would not dare."

"I am not most."

His eyes sweep over me, his gaze a weight I refuse to acknowledge. Then, finally, he exhales a quiet laugh.

"Malphas."

The name lands heavy in the air between us.

It hums against my skin, settling into the stone beneath my feet, pressing into my lungs. It is not just a name—it is a weight. A presence. A thing that does not simply exist, but demands to be known.

A shiver crawls down my spine.

I know this name.

Malphas, the collector of souls.

Malphas, the shadow that waits beneath the world.

Malphas, the name that is never spoken without consequence.

I should not have asked.

But I will not let him see that I regret it.

I meet his gaze, forcing my voice to stay even. "Malphas."

His lips twitch, as if pleased by the way it sounds coming from me.

It tastes wrong in my mouth, like something I was never meant to say. As if simply speaking it has marked me in some unseen way.

His smile deepens, though he says nothing, just watches. Waiting.

I swallow down the unease twisting in my stomach and lift my chin. "Now that I have your name, what changes?"

"Nothing." His tone is casual, as if this is all a game to him. "Unless you mean to use it."

My fingers twitch at my sides. "Use it?"

His gaze flickers over me, something unreadable shifting in the black void of his eyes. "A name holds power, little bride. If you knew what to do with it, you might even have some over me."

I scoff, rolling my shoulders as if to shake off the weight of his words. "If that were true, you wouldn't have given it to me so easily."

"Perhaps." He tilts his head slightly, the movement slow, deliberate. "Or perhaps I was curious to see what you would do with it."

The way he looks at me makes my skin itch. Like he is peeling me apart layer by layer with nothing but a glance.

I force myself to hold his stare. "I will find a way to leave."

Malphas exhales a quiet chuckle. "I look forward to watching you try."

He takes a step back, as if retreating, but the air still feels heavy with him. As if he never truly leaves, even when he does.

I watch him warily, waiting for him to vanish back into whatever shadows bore him. But instead, he turns slightly, gaze sweeping over the room. The untouched bed. The cold floor where I have made my place.

His smirk returns. "You do not like my hospitality?"

I let out a slow breath through my nose. "A prison dressed in finery is still a prison."

"And yet, there are no chains. No locks."

He's right. The door isn't locked. There are no bars, no iron shackles binding me to this place.

I tried to leave.

The handle turned easily beneath my fingers, the door swinging open without resistance, only to reveal a vast, endless black beyond it. A void stretching in every direction, swallowing light, swallowing sound.

I don't know what waits in that darkness.

I wasn't brave enough to find out.

I won't tell him that.

"Then let me go."

His amusement does not waver. "That would not be nearly as fun."

I clench my jaw, anger flaring hot in my chest. "Do you enjoy this?"

"Enjoyment is a mortal concept," he muses, stepping toward the doorway. "But I find you... interesting."

Interesting. Like a puzzle. Or a pet.

I glare at his back as he moves toward the exit. "And what am I supposed to do here, while you—what? Lurk in the shadows?"

His hand rests lightly against the frame as he glances back at me. "Rest, little bride. You will need your strength."

"For what?"

He smiles, slow and knowing. "You will see."

The door closes behind him with barely a sound.

I wait. Listen.

Nothing.

The tension in my shoulders does not ease.

I press my hands to my arms, trying to shake off the feeling that his presence still lingers, even though he is gone.

The name echoes in my mind. Malphas.

I should not have asked.

And I will not say it again.

Not until I understand what it truly means.

***

A voice pulls me from sleep.

Soft, almost melodic, like the whisper of wind through leaves. Feminine, but wrong in a way I can't place.

I don't move at first, keeping my breathing even as my mind claws its way toward wakefulness. I'm not home. I'm not safe. And I am not alone.

Cautiously, I open my eyes.

A woman stands beside the bed.

No—not a woman.

Her skin is a deep, mossy green, the texture rough in places, resembling the bark of a tree. Patterns of twisting vines and knots run along her arms, disappearing beneath the dark fabric of her gown. Her features are sharp, striking, with high cheekbones and full lips that part slightly when she notices I'm awake.

Her eyes are gold, luminous, otherworldly. They study me with quiet curiosity.

I school my face into careful neutrality, swallowing down my initial shock. She is watching me too closely, and the last thing I want is to offend a demon. Or whatever she is.

The thought makes me exhale a quiet, humorless laugh.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

Two days ago, I would have laughed at the idea of worrying about the manners and customs of hellish nobility. Now, I am lying here pretending I'm not unsettled by the presence of a woman with bark for skin.

I push myself upright, my muscles stiff from sleep. "I assume you aren't here to kill me."

Her lips twitch in amusement. "Not today."

I raise a brow. "Reassuring."

She steps back slightly, folding her hands in front of her. 

"I am called Nevira," she says, her voice smooth and unhurried. "I am to be your handmaid while you reside in Castle Varethos."

Varethos.

My fingers curl against the sheets. "Handmaid?"

Her golden gaze flickers to the bed, then back to me. "Yes."

It takes me a second to realize what feels off. I fell asleep on the floor.

But now, I am in the bed.

My pulse kicks up. I glance toward Nevira, searching for any shift in her expression. "Do you know how I got here? In the bed, I mean."

She tilts her head, considering me. "Lord Malphas placed you there."

Heat rises to my cheeks, irritation flaring beneath my skin. "I didn't ask to be moved."

"No," she agrees easily. "But the Lord Malphas does not ask permission." Nevira gestures toward the far side of the room. "A bath has been drawn for you. I have also selected something for you to wear."

I frown, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The air is cool against my bare feet. "Why?"

Nevira blinks, as if the question is unexpected.

"Because the Lord has requested it."

I exhale sharply. "Yes, I gathered that. What I mean is, why bother? Why go through the trouble of a bath and clothing for a prisoner?"

She does not flinch at the word.

"You are not a prisoner," she says, her voice as even as ever.

I let out a quiet scoff. "That's debatable."

Her golden eyes narrow slightly, assessing. "The Lord has instructed that you be prepared for the Luncheon of the Eclipsed Moon."

I stare at her. "The what?"

She doesn't repeat it, only watches me with mild patience, as if waiting for me to process the information.

I run a hand over my face. "And why, exactly, would I be attending that?"

Nevira offers a small shrug. "I do not know."

"Then what do you know?" I ask, more exasperated than I mean to be.

"I know that you are to accompany Lord Malphas."

My breath catches slightly. I press my lips together, suppressing a curse.

A bath. A gown. A formal event in a castle full of demons.

And I am to be on his arm.

I close my eyes briefly, inhaling through my nose.

What game is he playing?