Not that Calliope herself would ever be. The Vrekeners might accept a sorceress for their queen, but the hostile hell demons would never—could never—show fealty to a monarch without horns.

In an impudent tone, Calliope said, “Or perhaps you prefer to stick to your harem?”

“I plan to wed and keep my harem of twelve.”

Her lips thinned.

Nettling her amused him to a surprising degree. “Do you oppose the institution?”

“Of marriage?”

“Of harems.”

Her eyes flashed. “In your case, I find it—how should I put this?—predictably antiquated.”

“Antiquated?”

With a challenging arch to her brow, she said, “It seems that servicing twelve females would require a lot of time and devotion. If satisfying them was a priority.” She leaned in and added in a confiding tone, “But then, older males don’t often aspire to impossible goals.”

His lips twitched. “I can provide references from them, if you’re inclined to join their number.”

Her haughty smile made his cock stiffen even more. “You must expect this very dimension to freeze over.”

He had to raise his goblet to disguise his grin.

“I’d never share a male like that.”

He shrugged. “Pity.”

“How would that work anyway? Would you put your wife into the rotation?”

“Depends on how much she pleasured me,” he said.

“Would you take your concubines to your marriage bed?”

“No need. I’d go to them. They occupy one of Graven’s towers, living in luxury.” He assumed.

“Can we cut to the chase? Why did you invite me to dinner?”

Because absolute boredom drains my life force more than anything else. Because it enlivens my decaying mind to be near you. “I told you. To learn more about my prisoner. And I didn’t issue an invitation. I issued a command.”

“You can learn all you want, but you’ll always despise me just for being a fey.”

“Maybe, Calliope, I’m looking for reasons not to despise you.”

She clearly hadn’t expected that answer. “Then maybe, Abyssian, I’ll look for reasons not to despise you as well.”

“Now that we have that settled, shall we dine?” At his words, dishes materialized in front of them, a bounty of food.

“Are you wielding magic to create this dinner?”

“I do have servants.” Though an army of them had cooked this feast, magic summoned the fare to appear here.

“These are all . . . fey dishes.” She gazed at him with a soft expression that would’ve made a lesser demon shudder with pleasure.

Kari had once cast him that same expression. He was ashamed to admit how much it’d affected him. He’d fantasized about earning that look again as much as he had about claiming her.

“Thank you, Abyssian.”

Not trusting his voice, he inclined his head. Damn her. Do not get seduced, Sian.

She began to eat, nearly purring over the herb salad. The taste of buttery bread drizzled with honey made her lids grow heavy.

He had no appetite for this foreign food, so he downed his demon brew and watched her savoring love affair with her meal.

Transitioning immortals were sensation seekers, constantly testing their new perceptions; this one’s body seemed to be vibrating as she sampled one dish after another. Her chest was flushed, her nipples stiff against the silk of her gown.

He pulled at his collar. Did she realize how erotic she appeared when eating? He had his answer when she licked honey from her thumb with a sheepish grin.

No, she did not. Her sensuality was innate.

For the main course, a platter of pheasant and roasted vegetables materialized. With her first bite, she gave an audible moan that made him shift in his seat.

Over the last hour, the agreeable ache in his shaft had escalated into unenjoyable pressure. “I suspect you’re in the grips of overstimulation, are you not?”

Her cheeks went red. Even the tips of her ears pinkened. “What makes you say that?”

He found he liked stealing blushes from her. “Oh, not a thing.”

“Any other suspicions about me you’d like to voice?”

“That you’re a virgin.”

Her face blazed in confirmation.

“Your former male failed to seduce you.”

“Why are you so certain he tried to?”

“Because in his position, I would do naught else.” How easy life would prove if he’d been born a fey like her. He’d once been ready to look like her kind, act like them. He would’ve sacrificed anything for her.

“Can we change the topic from my sex life to one more suitable for dinner?”

“Certainly. As long as we follow up after dessert.” Glare. “You have a stout appetite for so slight a creature.” Smirking over his cup, he said, “Of course, when one plans to escape from hell, one needs to build up strength.”

“When one doesn’t know if one will receive another edible meal, one eats more.” She took a large bite, chewing with exaggeration.

He just stopped his lips from curling. He liked this boldness in her. Yet it differed from Kari’s. The princess’s had come from the absolute belief in her own superiority. Calliope simply got so mad she grew heedless of consequences, her temper truly demonic.

Which appealed. He wanted to kiss her when her eyes went teal with fury.

She said, “You seem to be drinking more than eating.”

He raised his cup. “Sylvan fare is not my preference.” In Demonish, he murmured, “Though I hunger for a certain fey’s honey upon my tongue.”

Had she blushed again? Surely she couldn’t understand his language. He’d never met a Sylvan who spoke the “cant of slaves.” She must’ve reacted to the tone of his voice.

Dessert proved to be an agony. She would dip a strawberry in cream, then subtly suck the cream off the tip.

Gods almighty. She would be dining at his table every night.

In a throaty voice, she said, “Has anything ever tasted so good?”

He slanted her a look. “Your lips, I’d wager.”

She cast him a sassy grin. “A fool’s bet, because you will never know.”

Challenge accepted, firebrand.

Between bites, she said, “Thank you again for this food. Not that you gave it to me out of kindness. I know you have some agenda.”