Chained to the Devil’s Daughter (Mating the Elements #1)

17

Searra

D o not forget what we talked about,” Filaris urged over morning tea.

Somehow, Ash’ren had fled my chambers without stirring me, leaving only a sweet and spicy poem as a trace. His words and memories of our time together left me ill-equipped for morning tea with Filaris.

“Please, Searra.”

“I won’t. I won’t!” The words tasted sour on my tongue, and I chased them with a sip of lavender tea, one of the many delights Filaris had shown me.

I won’t forget. Of course not! It was vital that I take a fortnight to deliberate my choice of suitor. The rich nobles of my father’s court wouldn’t stand behind my choice otherwise. On the flip side. . . I was getting the flames rid of those muffer-fluffers soon anyway, so why should I heed their opinions of my love life?

Timing. It was all about rings-given timing.

“Searraaaa,” Filaris sing-songed, drawing my attention from the swirling of brown liquid. “It’s vital you do not name him right away.”

“Yes, Filly, I know, I know.” I gulped the last of my tea. “Besides, when have you known me to do anything rash? I’m notorious for my well-thought-out decisions. As you rings-well know.”

“Hmm,” Filaris growled incredulously.

“I won’t forget. Promise. And if there’s another way—”

“There isn’t!”

My eyes wandered anywhere but hers. I nodded a little too enthusiastically.

“Why do I get the sense there’s something about this promise that I’m not seeing?”

“Because you’re a pessimist.” I raised my cup like a salute and chugged the contents.

“Realist.” Filaris put her empty cup on the table and stood. She was one of those people who could wear a pantsuit and immediately appear as a respected authority, but a gown transformed her entirely into an intimidating woman too beautiful to approach. “I’ve never left a place feeling so uncertain about my mission’s accomplishment. Either it has failed, or it has not. But this, this is. . . Well, my guts are all twisted.”

“Perhaps use the restroom before you leave,” I chipped perkily. She shot me a withering look. “Come on, Filly. Have faith.”

“I do.”

Despite the way my intestines knotted, I meant it. I’d do my absolute flaming best not to name Ash as my suitor.

Following Filaris deeper into the suitors’ quarters, grief blossomed. She’d been more than a friend all this time. She’d been a rock, a motivator, even a mentor. It’d only taken a week to discover our goals were aligned, and Filaris had come clean of her purpose to infiltrate Hell’s inner sanctum via the weak-hearted, human princess. Without Filly, I may never have acted on my desire for the throne. Without her, I could’ve easily given in to the darkness blackening my soul.

“You’ve sent word to your contacts?” I asked as I picked up various items around her room.

“I’ll head straight for the meeting house and deliver their answers to you as soon as I reach Kindra.”

“Good.”

Silence ensued as we readied for her departure until a knock summoned us to breakfast.

“We’ll be right there,” I called. Taking Filaris’ shoulders, I hoped my smile conveyed my sincere gratitude. “I’ll miss you.”

“And I shall miss you.” Filaris broke from my grip and pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Next time I see you, you’ll be blessed by all the bones.”

My smile faltered. It was all I could do not to curl my lip in disgust.

∞∞∞

The low roar of the dining hall loomed before us with every step, but for the hushed moment we crossed the threshold. The nobles rose on my approach and awaited my signal to eat. The moment my bottom touched the extravagant gray Bone Throne, I nodded for everyone to proceed. Stupid rule. So many stupid rules. Filaris would say, these stupid rules and traditions are the only reason a realm doesn’t devolve into chaos . Sure. Maybe. But still, very stupid.

The conversation slowly rose once more, followed by the clicking of utensils and pouring of wine. Tor’cha, the gruff chef who was secretly full of cupcakes and goodness under her rough exterior, had recently come into her very own. I’d never known food could taste so good, until Filaris had shown up and turned the cuisine in Hell into a magnificent experience.

“Remember how food tasted when you first arrived?” I chuckled.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve been trying to forget!” Filaris scrunched her nose and laughed along. “I can’t believe you’d all been eating that way, for centuries! That’s when I knew there was something very wrong in Hell.”

“Yes. Thank our lucky stars that you showed up.” I gazed at my friend affectionately. “Salt. So simple.”

“So good.”

“Mmm, ohh,” the sound of intense male pleasure perked my ears. I turned to see Ash’ren at the foot of the dais, on the closest possible chair to mine. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Filaris and I exchanged a glance and then burst into laughter loud enough to turn heads.

“What?” Ash’ren asked with a one-sided shrug when he noticed we were laughing at him. “Even without salt, this would be a finer meal than grains.” To demonstrate, he took an overflowing bite and let his head drop back. “Ahhh.”

My cheeks heated, my body recognizing the sounds in the far reaches of my soul.

Filaris snorted. Embarrassed, I pointedly ignored making eye contact, but I could see her head shaking.

“Don’t. Forget.”

“I know , I know.” I swallowed a sigh and returned to my plate without another glance at Ash and his masculine moans that were threatening me with a sudden case of sitophilia.

∞∞∞

After a final hug and hushed warning, I watched from my bedroom’s balcony as the carriage carted Filaris away. Devil’s pentagilaire—the demon lords that made up his advisers—all scrambled to get their word in about my former suitor, with encouraging words about the wealth our arrangement would bring to Hell. It was, after all, the wealthy who stood to benefit from my match to a Fyre demon. Or to any demon other than Ash, really.

When I’d first begun to take suitors, Devil had assured me it was my choice. My heart was to have the final say. Of course, it wasn’t entirely up to me, for I could only vote yes or no on the candidates of his choosing.

My gaze naturally floated to Ash’ren in the public garden. Even with the alterations, his brocaded tunics strained at the seams to contain his impressive muscle mass. He was scribbling away in a notebook while chewing a stick of pyro oak for its slightly mind-altering sap. The notebook hung loosely in his hand while he paced, pyro stick rolling between his lips as he mumbled to himself.

He was not the same demon I’d grown up loving. He’d come to the palace as a messenger. An orphan who couldn’t read or write was the perfect choice for weaselly council members from Fyre with nefarious dealings with my father. I was a lonely, sheltered girl. He was a troublemaker and my very first friend.

I learned to give him small pieces of myself, usually pieces I didn’t know existed until he brought them out of me. After delivering his messages, the spirited demon would wait until the cover of night to sneak into the palace gardens, climb the dragoncherry tree, and lean against the outer wall as I read to him. He’d never known the wonders of the written word, and it was almost all I’d ever known. We were quite the pair, the secluded princess and her fearless friend.

Now, his pen swished and swirled as he scrolled. I wondered if he’d had writing tools, if he’d written to me like the letters I kept in a box in my closet. They would never see the light of day. No matter. They would only bring fresh pain, and I was done grieving him, for he was right before me.

Ash’ren came to a halt and tilted his head back, eyes closed. The sun highlighted the smooth planes of his face and the arrogance simmering under his serene expression. His beauty was blinding. His chest rose slowly, and when he exhaled, he opened his eyes, finding mine immediately.

Lustily, he winked, and my rational mind was done for. Even with a whole garden between us, the familiar feel of his fire wracked me in a whole-body shiver. When my eyes fluttered open again, he was gone. The feeling in my chest remained.

Silk shushed through my fingers as I fiddled with my skirts, and the feeling grew. And grew. I really shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t.

I flaming shouldn’t.