The door to the Revival swung open, and a swirling gust enveloped the High Prince. When the smoke cleared, he stood with two fingers holding the door open, eyeing me with a slight frown. The skin between his brows creased, and his eyes drilled into me. I recognized the warning in his gaze.

If I didn't follow his commands of my own will, he would force me.

But he didn't look happy about it. Funny, he had once seemed to relish touching me. Then again, he had once seemed to be many things that he was not.

I dipped my head and strode toward him. He ducked through the door, shoving it open behind him so he could watch me enter behind him.

When I passed through, the harsh smoke and sting of zaikut assailed me. I cleared my throat and blinked away the haze. Ahead of me, the High Prince appeared even more affected. He staggered one step back and coughed into his sleeve. Perhaps he hadn't been faking his reaction to zaikut.

Then I berated myself. It was ridiculous, my need to know if anything I'd seen from him had been real. After all, I had already witnessed one undeniable truth.

This monster murdered my family.

And if I got the chance, I would murder him.

Another step into the room, and the music rattled my eardrums and vibrated through the floor beneath my feet. Swiveling neon lights colored the smoke and highlighted the smoke.

It was almost beautiful—if not for its inhabitants. Zaikut splashed mugs, vomit speckled tables, and hacking laughter grated my ears. A few strange beasts hovered around the Demons they served, much like pets. Demons sharpened their teeth with butcher blades, wrestled each other in vicious matches, and shredded apart a wooden statue of the First Guardian.

Even more disturbing, a host of human slaves served their Demon masters by carrying items, handing them drinks, and even dropping to their knees to perform acts I had never seen in public.

The High Prince weaved in and out of groups before me, stepping quietly and quickly. I was vaguely aware of eyes following me as I walked, and of sharp noses turning up to sniff the air. However, I was too absorbed by the horror around me to pay much attention.

Until a Demon lunged for me.

Just in time, I jerked out of her reach. Before she got another chance, the High Prince stepped between us.

"He's mine," he growled. "Unless you'd like to challenge me?"

The attacker gasped and fumbled to her knees. "High Prince! I am so sorry. I didn't realize it was you—I didn't even know you had returned!"

Her reaction was loud enough to command attention. A reaction rippled across the crowd: hushed murmurs, swiveling heads, and then cheers. Like dominos, Demons dropped what they were doing to tuck their chins to their chests, and humans dropped down to press their foreheads against the sticky floor.

Once again, I was the only one in the room who did not move—and once again, all eyes turned to me. All except the back of the club, where a smoke-filled room continued partying obliviously.

The Demon Prince exhaled through his nose, and his eyes lifted to the ceiling. When he finally turned toward me, I braced myself for a punishment or perhaps a repeat of his belittling announcement from earlier. "I don't need obedience from him. I just need his lifeforce."

Instead, he spoke so quietly I could barely hear him even with my Guardian senses and the silence around the rest of the room. "You're making this difficult."

Fury slithered in my gut and crawled up to strangle my throat. I was making this difficult? By not bowing to the man who murdered my family?

He knew nothing of difficult.

I wondered how he would respond if I voiced those thoughts right now, for all to hear. Would he try to defend himself? Would he strike me down to assert dominance? Could he even hurt me more than he already had?

His eyes connected with mine—face stony, jaw clenched. I stared back, hands balled in fists.

A Demon peeled away from the crowd and stumbled toward us, distracting us both. His eyes gleamed, and his protruding belly swung back and forth with each step. Distantly, I realized I hadn't seen anyone overweight in fourteen years. Back then, my father had an impressive belly. I remembered how it jiggled when he chuckled, and I remembered how soft and warm he felt whenever he hugged me.

Those memories conflicted harshly with my current reality.

"High Prince! Welcome home!" The approaching Demon's jowls flapped, and spittle sprayed from his lips. "Quite a prize you have there. I'll trade you a hundred human cows for that Guardian, Your Highness."

The Prince smiled at him—a barbed-wire smile. "He's not for sale, Farmer."

Several of the nearest Demons staggered back a step, but the Farmer appeared unaware of the contempt in the Prince's voice. "How about two hundred cows? That should be enough to last a year, even for an appetite like yours! And I'll even throw in a few whores, if that's what you're—"

Light flashed, blinding me. When my vision adjusted, the Farmer was writhing on the floor. Zaikut bubbled from his lips, and his eyes rolled back to expose the whites.

Around us, everyone stared, mouths open and half-finished drinks frozen in hands.

"As you may have surmised," the High Prince said pleasantly, addressing the now silent room, "this one belongs to me, and no one else is allowed to touch him."

Throats bobbed, and heads nodded.

The Prince flicked a wrist. "Now, then...please carry on. Nothing to see here."

Obediently, gazes averted. In halted, staggered movements, the activities around the room resumed.

Without even glancing at him, the High Prince stepped right over the still-twitching Demon on the ground. As his shiny black dress shoes landed neatly on the floor past the Farmer, the space in front of him cleared. He didn't belong here...but everyone here belonged to him.

He took two more steps...then halted. Three seconds passed before he turned back toward me. He eyed me with a furrowed brow and clenched jaw.

"Come," he said.

He had just commanded the room of Demons with utter confidence, but now that note of uncertainty crept back into his voice. The realization baffled me. A cow held far less status than any of the Demons here, and at this moment, I had very little power. I saw no reason for him to deliver my command any differently than the others.

Except...except that he was certain the Demons would obey him.

He didn't know how I would respond.

Honestly, I wasn't sure how I would respond either. For the last hours, my body had proven extremely unreliable. But somehow, my feet began moving, swerving around the Farmer to follow my captor.

Briefly, I imagined that something akin to relief passed over his face. But before I could study it further, his impassive mask resumed, and he turned away.

The High Prince circled the room, slowing near tables of Demons engaged in strange and terrifying games. I wondered who exactly this 'Duchess' was and why he was looking for her. He had thus far appeared at best tolerant and at worst disgusted by everyone in this place. What made him seek this one Demon?

We entered the back area, where the Demons still appeared somehow oblivious to everything else around them, and the High Prince stopped by a table of Demons who were flipping knives in the air and catching them between their claws.

The rules of the game were unclear to me, but the winner was clearly the Demon in the hooded black shawl who faced away from us, who hooted as she swept all the coins at the center of the table over toward her towering pile. She patted the head of a strange beast beside her, something like a crocodile with wings, sharp spines down its back, and a spiked club tail.

The three other Demons at the table stopped what they were doing to gape at the High Prince, but the winning Demon continued to wiggle her shoulders as she stacked her chips, humming a taunt. She paused only to suck a breath from the gigantic pipe propped between her fingers. The strange animal beside her swished its tail and rocked in time to her humming, flashing sharp teeth.

My mind played a reel of the beasts I had seen in the corridor—and landed on one that bore an uncanny resemblance to the beast before me. But rather than lending me further understanding, this recognition only confused me further. While the Morgabeast was destroying the world, this beast eyed me like a guard dog.

What was the Morgabeast? A monster? Or a guard dog gone rogue?

"Duchess," the High Prince gritted out.

Her beast swiveled toward us first, and it fixed the Prince with a toothy grin before arching its back at me, spines raised. Then the Duchess flicked her shawl over her shoulder and spun around to face us.

While I wasn't sure how I had expected the Duchess to look, I certainly hadn't expected this. Beneath the black shawl was a leather jacket and pants that clung tightly to a fit frame, and her claws and teeth looked lethal, but white strands streaked her black hair, and subtle wrinkles feathered her pale face.

Her grin faded to a frown, and her teeth and claws shrank to more closely resemble a human. "Isalio?"

I blinked. That was truly his name? Who was this singular Demon who called him that? And why had he told me the truth?

The Demon Prince's jaw ticked, eyes flitting to her companions. "I told you not to call me that in public."

She sneered. "Oh, then what am I supposed to call you? Your Highness?"

He rolled his eyes. "You're drunk."

"You're interrupting my fun," she fired back.

"You're drunk every time I see you."

"And every time I see you, you want something from me."

He swallowed. His fingers found the fabric of his still-wet dress-shirt, and he darted a millisecond glance at me.

I had thought he could not surprise me anymore, but the way he acted around this Duchess had me baffled. This was a different kind of respect than he had shown me. Not a surrendering beast or a submissive lover. No, this was more like a guilty child.

This Demon appeared to hold even more sway over my captor than the General, so I probably should have been attempting to court her favor. But she didn't even bother to glance in my direction, and while my hatred for this High Prince could almost compete with my love for humankind—-and everyone else appeared to fear him—I sensed more weakness in him than I felt from this Duchess.

The beast at the Duchess's feet slithered forward and curled up by the Prince's feet in a strangely cat-like motion. Absently, the Prince crouched to stroke its head.

"Good girl," he whispered.

And that fearsome beast flipped onto its back and emitted a rattling purr.

Her three companions stared, and I was equally taken aback. However, the Duchess just folded her arms over her chest.

"Get back here, Rogabeast," she ordered. "He's not a boy anymore."

Meaning he was a boy when they met? That would explain his apparent tendency to revert to a child in her presence. I studied the Duchess, but she continued to glare at her beast—Rogabeast.

Rogabeast slunk back toward the Duchess, head down. Coiled around her feet, it bared its teeth at me, amber eyes flickering. The Duchess's eyes returned to Isalio, and she cocked an eyebrow the same way he had moments before.

He sighed and lowered his voice. "Trust me, I wouldn't have come to you if I had any other option. Unfortunately, I need your help."

She huffed a scathing laugh. "Of course you do. But didn't you hear what I told the Queen and King? I am done helping. Go find someone else to do your dirty work."

The other Demons at the table gulped and exchanged a glance.

The Prince rubbed his forehead. "Duchess... you're the only one I trust."

Her arms slipped away from her chest, but her brow furrowed even further. After several seconds of scrutinizing the Prince, she nodded at her companions. "Scram," she ordered.

The chairs rocked as they vacated the area.

The Duchess straddled the back of her chair to fully face the Demon Prince. "Well? Get on with it. What is it this time?"

After a second of hesitation, he tilted his head toward me. "He's injured. I did the best I could, but I think the wound is infected, and I don't have your skill with healing."

For the first time, her gaze met mine. I stiffened, fighting the urge to fidget. Her eyes blazed amber with only bare specks of brown, and her expression and posture oozed dominance and power.

"His lifeforce is very strong. I expect he'll heal within a week, with just a few scars. He'll be fine."

"Well, fine is not good enough." His voice was still sharp—jagged. "I don't want him damaged."

Her brows furrowed. "And why not? Because his lifeforce is that precious?"

He hooked a glance around the room, drew a breath, and evened his tone. "Something like that."

Her eyes dropped to my arm, and her lips twisted to the side. "Don't worry. He'll survive whatever you've done to him, and he'll soon be ready for more."

His shoulders set, and he fixed her with a poisonous scowl. "I didn't do that."

The harshness in his voice surprised me, and apparently, it also surprised the Duchess. She pinned him with the full force of her amber gaze, and he met her gaze with equal ferocity. The tension was so palpable that the Demons at the nearest tables stopped what they were doing to gawk, but when the Prince and Duchess both eyed them, they quickly looked away.

Then the Duchess's gaze returned to the Prince, and she spoke slowly and quietly. "Well, I'm not treating any more cows. Especially not another Borgal."

She started to swivel back toward the table with her earned coins, but the Prince's words stopped her.

"This one is nothing like Borgal," he spat.

She examined the Prince for a few beats before eyeing the Rogabeast, who bared its teeth at me. "Well, that much is clear." Her voice was hard to read now—no longer quite as contemptuous, but still dangerous. "The Rogabeast seems to think this Guardian means you harm."

He released a wry laugh and rolled his eyes. "I'm quite sure he does."

"Hmm." For the first time that night, their dynamic appeared to shift. She leaned a little closer to him, while he drew a step back. And when she spoke again, her voice was gentler—maybe even concerned. "Isalio...why don't you have any soldiers with you?"

This time, he did not address the use of his name. "The soldiers all report to the General," he said.

Her expression darkened. "Fucking Danif."

He rubbed his forehead, appearing tired, but also a little...maybe fond. "You shouldn't say his name here, either."

She eyed him, eyed me, eyed the Rogabeast...and then slumped over the table, dropping her head into her hands. "Fuck," she groaned. "I'm too intoxicated for this."

"Then sober up fast," said Isalio, "And come to my room."

Without waiting for her answer, he turned on his heel.