“What do you know? You’ve been king for just a short while, and your first decree is war? No, wait—that’s your second. Your true first was doubling down on an eternal punishment.” Tone dripping with sarcasm, she said, “Your royal record will be unmatched in history.”
If Sian hadn’t fucked up so dearly in the past, Goürlav’s record would’ve been historic. After his brother had been forced to abandon all those subjects, the young, idealistic king had lost any desire he’d had to make changes.
He’d shouldered all the blame for families being torn apart, and for what had happened to Sian. “Dear gods, brother, how could they have . . . your horns were . . . ?” Goürlav hadn’t even been able to say the word: amputated. “They will never grow back . . . and I forced you to go there.” Sian had handed Goürlav his bloodied horns, telling him, “Cast these away. I never want to see them again.”
To this day, he had no idea what Goürlav had done with them.
Calliope said, “If you’re going to defeat and govern, then decree instead that the fey and demons live in peace together. Make the kingdom an example of what could be.”
“The Sylvans would never live like that. They consider every other species inferior. Did your family not raise you to believe that?”
“I can think for myself.” Five words Kari would never have uttered.
“Come, you must believe the practices of other species are savage. For instance, a demon’s claiming bite.”
“I’d say it’s fairly common. The Lykae and vampires do it too.”
“If you were mate to a Lykae, would you let him mark your flesh?”
“If I loved and trusted him, I would,” she said, astounding Sian. “But . . .”
“But what?” Of course she would qualify such a statement.
“I don’t think it’s fair. Why don’t females ever get to bite? If I wore a mark, I’d make my man get a tattoo or something.”
“A tattoo,” he rasped. “To make things fairer.”
“Was that too progressive for a relic like you?”
Imaginings ran riot in his mind. Her baring her neck to receive his fangs . . . while he plunged his shaft inside her . . . on the brink of spilling for the first time . . .
The visual had made him hard as hell metal, his fangs now aching along with his cock. He scrubbed his palm over his mouth. Calliope dredged up hopes best left buried.
How had he gone from his plan to use and discard her to fantasizing about claiming her as his own?
What if she returns different?
He shook his head hard. What was more likely—that his mate would welcome a male’s bite or that she was weaving a web of deception even now?
Had she figured out she was his? He hadn’t exactly concealed his attraction, yet she’d never brought up the possibility. “If you have your own views on other species, what do you make of demons?”
“If I based my opinion on my experiences with you, I would assume all demons are violent and unnecessarily cruel. But I don’t believe in wholesale hate, attributing the deeds of one to many.”
Who was this creature? “Violent and cruel?” What had Uthyr said? There’s a difference between trickery and cruelty. “Guilty as charged. I come by both honestly; I am the king of hell.”
She sighed. “I used to think that way.”
“What way?”
“That we can only be as we’ve always been. Maybe in time your mind-set might expand.”
“And if I’m satisfied with how I am?”
“Then you’ll never grow.”
He drank, masking his reaction to her. Talking to her like this made his heart speed up. Being with her made the years fade away, until he felt . . . young.
But young meant trusting, which he would never be again. “You’re one to speak of growing,” he bit out. “You were the most intolerant female I’ve ever met.”
“How old was Karinna when she died?”
“Twenty-four. Your age,” he said, only to frown. Yet you plan to send her away, outside of your reach? That would also mean outside of his protection. At the thought of losing her, his wings tensed. He yearned to have his mate safeguarded within them.
“How do you know she wouldn’t have changed in her thirties? Her forties? Her hundreds? Karinna died before she ever had the chance to grow.”
His mind began to race. Could a young female like Calliope be shaped into the queen he wanted and deserved? Perhaps she’d been returned to him for just that purpose!
What if he could teach this adaptable fey? Bend her to his will? He swallowed. A future might still be possible. “On the surface you seem different in this life. Though this could be an act.” How could he shape what he couldn’t even get his arms around? “For all I know, you’ve remembered the past and are deceiving me right now. You were an exceedingly skilled liar.”
Temper erupting, Calliope shoved back from the table and shot to her feet. “I’m not that fucking princess!” Her eyes blazed teal.
He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off: “Even if I share a soul with her, I’m not her. I don’t remember that life, don’t want to. And I’m sick of taking the blame for others’ actions.”
“Why should I believe anything you say?” He wished she could pass some test to allay his suspicions. At that moment, he realized Uthyr was right. Sian did have a stranglehold on a lifeline of hate. For all these ages, it’d kept him sane.
So what will happen if I release my hold?
She strode to the hearth. As she paced in front of the fire, flames reflected off her golden gown. “I’m sorry you and others were hurt by Princess Karinna. But that’s your past, not mine. I don’t claim it. My name is Calliope. Lila to my friends.”
“Lila.” He liked the way her pet name felt on his tongue.
As if she hadn’t heard him, she said, “Since I haven’t done anything, you don’t have the right to hold me here against my will.”
“Might makes right,” he said, because he had no credible counter to her words.
“Might won’t keep me imprisoned—because wits always win.”