“You will learn to.” Those dishes were delicacies from the Stygian Marsh, enjoyed by only the wealthiest demons of Pandemonia. “Or should my servants change their menus to tempt a fey prisoner?” The idea was ludicrous. “Once you get hungry enough, you’ll eat. If you enter into a battle of wills with me, you will lose.”

“If you have a grove or an orchard, I could pick my own food.”

“There are no groves or orchards! Have you forgotten the location of your new home? This isn’t some sort of fairy woodland. This is hell.”

“Then let me work in the kitchen. I could find something to eat there.”

Angling to get out of the tower? “You actually think to escape me. You were sly with your trap, but I’m far too strong for you to defeat.” Damn it, he should be furious at her insolence and gall! Not secretly hoping she will strike again.

“Demon, there is one thing I can absolutely guarantee: I will escape you. Save yourself the embarrassment and free me.”

Considering her outrage and her desire to get away from him, she might not be Nïx’s pawn. If this fey was complicit, shouldn’t she be seducing him to win his good favor—instead of stabbing him with a poisoned spindle?

Unless Nïx had sent her here to kill him.

Sian was struck by how little he knew about his mate’s current existence. He hadn’t cared who her family was or where she’d been born, because she was still Kari and his history with her was all that mattered.

But this new version was throwing him. He decided to send spies, his three best generals, to the Magic Kingdom to find out more about her.

She pinched her temples, swaying on her feet. She’d neither slept nor eaten since she’d gotten here. She was sick from the fire vines and injured.

Gods, what would this little firebrand be like at full strength?

He could enchant her with a healing spell, using some of his life force to improve hers, but she didn’t deserve that consideration after attacking him. Instead, he grew vine all over the castle’s roof—which she definitely deserved.

He refused to allow pity—or his instincts—to curtail his vengeance. Her pain wasn’t a fraction of the misery she’d brought down upon him. Upon all of the demons in hell. Her labors weren’t enough punishment. She’d had no pity for me.

He bared his fangs at her. “I look forward to our next meeting, female.”

“Whatever, demon.” She rubbed her eyes, plucking something from one.

She’d been wearing a colored contact lens. Her eyes were mismatched again.

FOURTEEN

For the past four days, Sian had run through the wilds of hell in the pouring rain. His emotions remained chaotic.

My mate finds me “repulsive.” He roared with frustration, increasing his pace.

He’d gone from being one of the most irresistible males in the universe to one his female could scarcely stand to look upon.

He didn’t even want her for his queen, but he wanted to be wanted. By her.

Months ago, he’d lamented to Rune that his new visage would keep females from flocking to him—which had meant fewer substitutes to blunt his need for Kari. Even if only for a brief time.

Has my need ever been blunted? He’d told himself he was using other females to purge himself of his obsession. Then why is it even stronger?

Hardly trusting himself around his prisoner after their last encounter, Sian had remained away, refusing even to watch her through the mirror.

Fate must have been jesting to pair a lovely fey with a bitter monster. Maybe Nïx’s plan was to madden Sian until he became a less effective warrior.

When the brush grew thicker, he drew his battle-ax from its holster. All but an extension of him, the weapon had a solid-black blade, the metal forged in hellfire. His sire, King Devel, had given it to him when Sian had been a pup, with a word of advice: Only hit hard if you aim true, son.

The fey prided themselves on their Titanian steel, but this razor-sharp hell metal was indestructible.

Sian hacked his way through the dense brush. Strange, even with his current turmoil, the landscape wasn’t as restless as it’d been before his female had arrived.

The rains were easing the drought and tamping down the airborne ash. Even the Styx was subsiding to normal levels of lava.

At times, he took pleasure in seeing the lands react to his moods, one of the few aspects he liked about being king. Otherwise, the crown of Pandemonia was just a weighty responsibility that fell to him—but held no benefit.

A king’s power? As a primordial, he’d already been infinitely powerful.

Having legions to command? With nothing more than this ax, Sian had felled armies all on his own. Plus his Møriør alliance could wreak more havoc than millions of trained warriors.

No, he hadn’t yet found any real benefits to this throne—only one horrific liability: the hell-change.

That curse had warped Goürlav all the way up to his recent defeat in a death match. Each year for eons, his appearance had deteriorated.

So too will mine. Though Sian’s transformation differed from his fraternal twin’s—each becoming a separate brand of monster—he could feel himself worsening. A low, constant hum reverberated along his spine, as if some engine powered his decline.

He ran harder. He’d bloody liked his former face. It’d stared back at him from the mirror for ten thousand years, was part of his identity.

Take away my face, what happens to my sense of self?

When he dreamed, he looked as he once had. When he fantasized about taking his mate, his body wasn’t hulking and monstrous.

If I could just find the hellfire . . .

He remembered the last time he’d seen his dam, darkness personified. After hundreds of millennia, her life force had run its course. An outline of a faded shadow by then, she’d wanted to pass on advice to her sons. . . .

“Your sire won’t survive long once I return to the ether.” Speaking over her sons’ pleas for her to stay, she told Goürlav, “Like King Devel, you shall inherit the crown and be cursed with the hell-change.”

Taking that bit of news better than Sian would have, Goürlav asked, “Will you finally tell us how he halted his curse?” Their sire was handsome.

She’d brushed Goürlav’s golden hair from his brow. “Find the fire, and your appearance will be pleasing.”