“We were . . . not. Fey and demons don’t belong together.”

“Why?”

Her question seemed to take him off guard. “Because they beget dark fey.”

Also known as banebloods, those poisonous creatures had demon fangs and fey ears. Their logical minds warred with their base instincts. “Dark fey like the Møriør’s archer? I wager he’s glad his parents didn’t feel the way you do.”

“The way everyone does.”

Not her. She hated Rune for what he threatened to do, not for what he was. And more, Lila believed in fate. If a theoretical demon was destined for a theoretical fey—and the fey accepted the bond—then fate intended for banebloods to be born.

Abyssian asked, “Would you mate with a demon?”

She said nothing, because she didn’t want him to get any ideas. She would never accept a bond with Abyssian Infernas.

“I have no idea what you’re thinking, and it vexes me to no end. You must’ve practiced constantly to hone your blocks. Why would you have?”

Because her cousins used their demon servants to mind-read at court. She shrugged, which just made Abyssian madder.

“If you’re so blameless, open your blocks to me.”

“Sure thing.” She did for a split second, blasting out one thought.

He raised his brows. “I’d be happy to get fucked. Are you offering? If so, I’m accepting.”

It was disturbingly easy to picture Abyssian in the sexual positions described on the tower walls. Pandemonia was getting to her. Or overstimulation!

She refused to be attracted to a Møriør who’d tormented her and kept concubines. “I’d have to be dead first.”

“To fuck me?”

“To open my blocks. Because I don’t trust you.”

“So fucking is still on the table.” Eyes gleaming, he said, “Or perhaps fucking on the table is still on?”

Though his play on words turned her imagination to a sizzling scenario—him, naked over her on this table, pistoning between her thighs—she managed a bored look. “Pass.”

“You doubtless want to stay faithful to your former intended.” Abyssian steepled his large fingers. “Tell me about this male who inspires such devotion. Does he live in the mortal realm?”

“In Sylvan.”

“How did you meet him?”

“My parents introduced us.”

“And you were enthralled with his looks.”

“Looks aren’t everything.”

“Sayeth the beauty.” The demon’s lips curled into a smirk that other females—not her—would consider sexy. “Had you planned to have offspring with your fey male?”

Abyssian’s voice made her ears twitch. She didn’t have a lot of experience with demon kings, but this one was jealous. “We’ve talked about it. I want a large family.”

What kind of father would Saetth be? She still debated whether he had set her up. Why not just kill me . . . ?

With each moment she floundered in hell, her lifelong dream of being queen of Sylvan grew more distant.

No. She’d still fight for that future. She would be a good ruler, had absorbed so much knowledge growing up at court. She’d taken her first steps amid power scuffles; her teething ring had been tasty intrigues. She’d learned to dance at the same time she’d grasped political footwork.

Her first word: queen.

Then her experiences in the mortal realm had given her a broader mind-set.

She’d once read descriptions of the different types of ruling styles, everything from benevolent father to tyrannical dictator. She’d liked the protector of the realm/service to the people style.

“Now what are you thinking about? Your eyes went distant.”

“This and that.”

Her answer clearly irritated the demon. “You were thinking of him.” Abyssian’s eyes flickered. “Two perfect fey with their perfect feylings. Sounds like a match made in hell to me.”

TWENTY-TWO

You’ve asked me a lot about my personal life, but what about yours?” Calliope leaned back in her chair, her breasts straining against her bodice.

The sight enthralled him. His arousal had been simmering since he’d first seen her in that gown. Even speaking of her betrayal hadn’t dimmed his need.

Ten days ago, he’d been sleepwalking; now everything felt so visceral.

She followed his gaze and tugged up her bodice in a vain attempt to cover more flesh. Kari would’ve worn that dress like a second skin, using the garment to play up her beauty—her favored weapon.

If this fey ever recalled her wiles, Sian would be doomed. “What do you wish to know about my personal life?”

“Do you want a wife and kids?”

“I do want pups,” he said honestly, “but a male like me needs his mate for such things. At least for the first time. Do you know about a demon male’s seal?”

“Vaguely.”

“I won’t spill semen until I claim my destined female. But after my seal is gone, I can plant my seed in any field—except a fey’s.”

“Because of banebloods.”

Sian nodded. For millennia Rune had cursed his nature. When members of the Møriør had delved into the archer’s mind to be brought up to speed with this time, Rune couldn’t conceal the depth of his frustration and shame over his black blood.

Sian’s looks might be repulsive, but Rune had been poisonous to everyone, always on his guard not to harm another by accident.

Now the archer’s entire existence had changed. “My friend Rune believed he would never have a mate, but he has found his female at last.”

“Another dark fey? I thought they were rare.”

“They are.” Banebloods were usually killed at birth. “But his mate is a halfling who is immune to him.” Rune’s vampiric female couldn’t get enough of the black blood running through his veins.

“And you never found your mate in all this time?”

Sian waved to the seat at his right. “Do you see a queen by my side?”

“What if you never find her?”

“I could wed. I might make some lucky demoness my queen through a binding ceremony.” Would Pandemonians recognize another female as queen while his mate still lived? Would his red-blooded heirs be recognized?