The moment he left, I started exploring the room. I hesitated to open the dresser based on the warnings from both the Duchess and Isalio, but the drawers were all bare. Moss covered the floor inside the washroom, bordering the toilet and sink and stretching into the shower.

Thirty minutes of searching confirmed Isalio's assertion: the room provided all basic necessities but nothing that could be used as a weapon.

Finally, I succumbed to exhaustion. I flopped down on top of the sheets, still fully clothed. As the rain reduced to a pitter-patter and the first light of morning spilled into the room, I slipped into a deep slumber.

When I awoke, sunshine lit the room, and birds trilled echoing calls. The bright cheer of the day only accentuated my despair. The night before, the thunderstorm had painted events with the shadowy brushstrokes of a fever dream, but this nightmare was real. Bodies of my fallen comrades floated through the destroyed base, and the rest of my people would soon fill the barns.

I rolled off the mattress and trudged toward the window. The sun beamed high overhead. Dark woodlands stretched out around the palace, and beyond that, bright desert sand twinkled on the horizon. Straight down, I spotted the dead oak tree, the crows black freckles dotting its branches. An ant-sized figure circled the tree—perhaps the Keeper.

In full daylight, the ground looked even further away. Remembering how close I had come to taking this leap the night before, my palms grew clammy and my throat tightened.

I turned away from the window and started my routine exercises to clear my head. My aches and bruises protested the strain, but the burn of my muscles dissolved some of the fog over my mind. Wiping away sweat, I dropped down on the bed and dug into the leftover food. I had just finished off the last bite when the door opened.

Isalio entered, shoulders stiff, clutching another plastic container. He still wore the black button-up, jeans, and dress shoes from the night before. His gaze darted from my sweaty forehead to the empty container.

"You're taking care of yourself," he said. "That's good. I mean, I'm sure you're only doing it so you can kill me as soon as the chance arises, but still...it's better than letting yourself waste away."

I vaguely registered his strange words and the even stranger lilt in his voice, but my mind was already preparing for what came next. He would repeat his request, I would refuse, and he would have me taken to the barn.

He took a few jerky strides toward the bed, gripping the container tight. I had the bizarre notion that if I stood up, he would jump back. When I didn't move, he closed the space between us and dropped the container on the bedside table. Then he backed up several steps and ducked his head. He fiddled with his belt loops as though he didn't know where to put his hands.

I studied him, perplexed by this inexplicable change. This was not the suave submissive from the base nor the powerful predator who struck down Demons and Guardians alike. Now, he just appeared self-conscious and a little lost.

I wondered if this was what he looked like as a child. He was a nice boy. Imagining a sweet child with Isalio's eyes, confusion twisted my gut. Somehow, this confusion felt even worse than the anger. At least all-consuming rage united my mind, heart, and body against a common enemy.

Eventually, the silence grew so unbearable that I considered bringing up his request myself. Maybe that was his plan—to just stand there until I broke down and gave him what he wanted. My jaw moved, playing with words I couldn't quite form.

But before I could speak, Isalio turned on his heel and left the room.

***

The next day passed the same way. Isalio entered the room several times, handed me a container of food, contemplated me for a long minute, and then exited again. Each time, he made some nervous, flimsy attempt at conversation, like a child dangling a toy before a tiger. Each time, I remained silent.

He did not mention the dinner or the barn.

On my third day in the palace, I grew sufficiently disgusted by my own filth to brave the shower. The spray of hot water soothed my skin but did nothing to soothe my mind. This shower was nicer than any at the base. I wondered if the barn had any showers at all...and I wondered why no one had taken me there.

After cleaning myself, I opened the sack Isalio had given me, I found two pairs of pants, three shirts, and a few boxer briefs, all in approximately my size. No Demons wore my size. Had they crafted this clothing for a cow, or stripped it from a dead body?

Pushing this out of my mind, I tugged on a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Then, for the first time since I had caught my reflection in the hall, I dared to look in the mirror.

Deep-set coffee eyes stared back at me. My tight curls were a little longer than usually, frizzy at the ends, and black facial hair now covered a quarter of my face. With a clenched jaw, flickering eyes, and a shirt tight enough to show off my muscles, I looked almost intimidating. Too bad Isalio could likely force me to bend to his will with the same effort it took to crush an ant underfoot.

And yet, he hadn't. That was the part that baffled me most—that he hadn't taken my life force or my free will. In fact, he behaved almost more like a prisoner here than he had back at the base.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Isalio slipped through the door with another container of food. Red rimmed his eyes, and dark creases lined his face, but his navy button-up and faded blue jeans hugged his body perfectly.

He took two steps toward me—then jerked to a halt. "You showered. And those clothes are..." His eyes roamed over me, and he bit his lip. "You look good."

"And you look like shit."

For some reason, that made his lips quirk. Maybe he recognized the jab as a weak one. In truth, the angular symmetry of his face, the contrast of colors, the taper of his chest, and his long, lean legs—every part of his body appealed to me. And somehow, hating him only made the attraction more potent.

"I looked even worse at the rebel base," he said, "And I still seduced you."

"That's because I didn't know who you were."

His smile faded. "And you think you know me now?"

The question caught me off-guard. In truth, he confused me now more than ever. And I was both desperate to know the truth and reluctant to find it.

"I know you're a monster," I said.

His mouth moved as though chewing something bitter. "I could be treating you a lot worse, you know."

"So you think a fancy room can make up for murdering my family and friends? For enslaving my people?"

"No, but I—"

The door cracked open, and Isalio whipped toward the intruder and straightened his shoulders.

The General strolled into the room.

In clearer lighting, he cut an even more impressive figure. I knew he was smaller than me, slightly, but with his shoulders squared and head held high, he seemed too large for the room. Based on the white streaks in his hair and wrinkles around his eyes, I guessed he was around fifty. Still, his perfectly-trimmed black goatee and meticulously-maintained physique showed no signs of aging.

His eyes flitted over me only briefly before landing on Isalio, and he cracked a smile. "I've been waiting for this moment, Lio. Finally we are alone."

I blinked at him. Lio? Just what was this man's relationship to the High Prince?

"How did you get in?" Isalio's voice was sharp, but the threat there was diminished by his body language—he edged backward, and his shoulders caved a little.

The General chuckled. "Not quite the welcome I was hoping for." When Isalio's expression did not change, he sighed. "Your parents have given me access to every room in the palace so I can maintain order."

The thought of this General in complete control of the palace terrified me, though I wasn't sure why. He couldn't be worse than Isalio.

"So that's why you're here, then?" Isalio scoffed. "To maintain order?"

Another chuckle. "I'm here for you, baby."

He strode toward Isalio, who backed away. Two more strides, and Isalio's shoulders hit the wall. Danif's hands pressed against the wall on either side of Isalio, and he leaned down for a kiss.

Isalio slammed his palms against Danif's chest, holding him back. "We're not together anymore, Danif."

"Lio, baby, why are you being like this?" said the General. "Not being 'together' never stopped you before." His eyes flitted toward me, and his mouth dropped a bit too slowly, like a bad actor. "Oh, wait...is this because of your Guardian?"

My chest tightened, warring with a strange kind of confused panic, and I realized I had taken a half-step toward them. With great effort, I forced myself to sit down on the bed. Isalio had taken everything from me, and I should be enjoying anything that could hurt him.

Isalio breathed a laugh, not looking at me. "It has nothing to do with the cow. I'm just not in the mood."

Danif grabbed Isalio's hands, which were still pushing him away. He played with Isalio's fingers gently, almost reverently, but there was something vile in the action too. Something that constricted my chest even tighter and boiled my blood.

"You're cold, Lio," he said quietly. "You need to feed more on this cow. Or maybe I can warm you up, instead."

He pushed Isalio's arms to his sides and then pressed his lips to Isalio's. Isalio struggled to pry his hands free or twist away. My breath came fast, and I fisted the sheets around me to stop myself from getting up. Isalio was far more powerful than me, I reminded myself—and more powerful than this Demon, too. He did not need protection.

But why wasn't he defending himself properly? Why didn't he just drop Danif to the ground like he had done to the others?

Danif pulled back a little and released one of Isalio's hands, only to reach for the bottom button of his shirt. Isalio clasped his wrist.

"Stop," he said, voice hoarse.

"You know, I defended you in front of your parents. I told them to let you keep your cow near you, even without the Demonstration they requested. But I'm starting to fear that they were right. Are you fucking him? Is that why you don't want me anymore?"

Isalio shook his head, and his lips moved to form the word "no," but nothing came out.

Danif clucked his tongue. "You've changed, Isalio. This cow is changing you."

"I changed before I took this cow."

"But you've changed more since. You haven't broken this cow, have you? Instead, he's breaking you."

"That's not true."

Danif's smile returned. "Then prove it."

Unease tightened my gut. Enemy or not, I could not watch Isalio be pushed into this—whatever this was—and especially not on my account. But what else could I do? If he was doing this to protect me, I could only make things worse.

Isalio stood very still as Danif unbuttoned the bottom of his shirt. I found myself unable to breathe and unable to look away. Somewhere deep down, I still knew that Isalio was my mortal enemy, but if someone handed me a Demon-Slayer mace at that moment, I would have bashed in Danif's skull.

Danif trailed a slow finger along Isalio's waistband. I fisted the sheets tighter and forced myself to take a shaky breath.

"General?"

The muddied voice came from just outside the door—the red-haired female soldier from earlier. Danif turned his head toward the door without taking his hands off of his Isalio.

"Now's not a good time, Ralina." His voice was cordial.

"I apologize, General," she called back, "But the Queen has summoned you."

Danif closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. "Tell her I'm on my way."

Faintly, I heard footsteps leaving. Danif slid a hand into Isalio's hair and ducked so they were eye to eye. He dropped his voice to a whisper, but my enhanced hearing allowed me to catch his words.

"You're getting weaker, baby," he said. "If you're not careful, you'll soon be weaker than me, and I would hate to see what happens to you then."

He pressed a light kiss to Isalio's forehead and started back toward the door.

I listened to the door close, and I heard the footsteps fade, but my eyes remained on Isalio. He was staring at the wall ahead blankly, unmoving. After a minute, he blinked, and his chest expanded with air. Then his hands drifted to his shirt, rebuttoning the bottom with casual ease, as if simply getting ready for the day.

Still without looking at me, he turned toward the door.

Was he really going to leave without even acknowledging what just happened? My anger and confusion took control of my tongue, producing a word I had not said since the base and had not planned on saying again: "Isalio."

His name felt different on my lips now, twisted into something dark, dangerous...and intimate. He had given me his name back at the base like handing me a Demon-Slayer, and I still didn't understand why he chose to reveal that truth amid his sea of lies.

He froze mid-step but did not turn around or speak.

"What the fuck was that?" I demanded.

"What was what?" Smooth; emotionless.

"You told me you're the most powerful Demon in the world. Why do you let him treat you like that?"

I heard the movement of his mouth, playing with his words before he spoke. "He knows I sometimes...enjoy that kind of thing."

I blew out a harsh exhale. "So you were enjoying that? Because it sure didn't look like it."

Silence. I wanted to tell him to turn around, but I was afraid of what I might see. Afraid he'd be laughing at me, but even more afraid he wouldn't be.

"What do you care?" he said.

He still had his back to me, and his voice gave away little. I struggled with how to respond. I thought back to how his eyes had blazed bright amber when he first saw me in uniform. But how could I know which version of him was real? What he really wanted?

Only one thing seemed certain: the power dynamics of the palace were far more complicated than I had expected. Maybe if I met the royal family, I would understand more. And maybe, just maybe, I'd survive long enough to use their secrets against them.

"I'll go to the dinner," I said.