Chapter Text
The Lord of the Hells was not incapable of mercy— he just didn’t see the point.
However, creatures such as this one did not often make it to his feet, so Sylus, in a capricious stroke of benevolence, would at least hear her out. “Speak,” he says, already impossibly bored with the trembling human before him. He used to find it amusing when they knelt, when they begged, sometimes even when they sobbed. Now, he just finds it pathetic.
“I don’t want to die,” the girl says, voice all weak and wobbly.
He sighs. “None of you do.” His throne clings to him like a shackle, the dull warmth of infernal metal seeping through his robes. What he wouldn't give for a day off. “But then you go and do things like break into my kingdom and sneak through my halls. No better than a common thief—”
“No, that’s not—”
“Silence!” he booms, deep voice ricocheting off the domed walls, and she cowers further.
Braziers crackle around them, the muffled wails of a thousand-thousand souls fueling their undying warmth. Hers will soon join the chorus, and for some reason, that idea irritates him. Strange.
“Please,” she whispers, head tucked, and at least she appears to have some manners. “Please don't kill me.”
With a scoop of his wrist, he wraps her in his energy and draws her closer, settling her sideways on his lap and sliding one of the shadowy red tendrils beneath her chin to force her terrified gaze up. To her credit, she doesn’t recoil when she sees the distorted cacophony of the Hells reflected in his eyes. “Since you’re so eager for my attention, shall we make a deal?” he asks, the familiar thrum of his power lapping at the promise of another soul.
Her lips are nearly white from how she presses them together to still her quivering jaw. “I have nothing to bargain with,” she says.
“Mmm, I don’t think that’s entirely true.” He releases his shadows to comb through the rough, soot-dark tangle of her hair. Poor thing went through quite the ordeal to make it here in one piece, it would seem. And even if she deserves respect for nothing else, she deserves it for that.
She swallows and tries to turn away, but he doesn’t let her. If she means to do this, she will have to commit. “I’ll give you anything you want,” she finally says, staring at a space just beyond his horns.
The smirk that steals across his face clearly frightens her, but that only serves to goad him on. It’s not his fault humans have such deliciously delicate constitutions. “Anything?” he repeats, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek.
A single tear rolls down her face, carving a clean track through the thin layer of ash that coats her from head to toe. She closes her eyes. “Yes,” she whispers, barely audible.
Sylus allows himself to inhale her scent, still sweet from the world above, untainted by the brimstone and rot that shapes his unholy domain. To his surprise, it’s uniquely enticing. “Very well,” he says. “I will spare your life.”
She blinks, finally looking at him properly, a mixture of suspicion and relief swimming in her gaze. “You will?”
He hums. “Ah, but you haven’t heard my price yet, sweet one.” He coils a lock of her hair around his finger, entranced by its subtle sheen, the way it catches the light from his ever-burning fires.
She lifts her chin, and he is instantly intrigued by her newfound spirit. By the unbowed, steely glint in her eyes. “And what is your price?” she asks, defiant even as one of his claws drags along the column of her throat.
He makes up his mind, then. Souls are easy enough to come by—as abundant as hunks of obsidian—even if he occasionally needs to lure them into his care. But a companion… now that would be a rare delight. “It’s a small thing, really.” He leans closer to skim his nose along her jaw. She is so wonderfully soft. “So simple you could do it in your sleep.”
Her breath hitches. “Out with it.”
He pulls back far enough to grin at her. She doesn’t flinch this time. “My, my. How easily a command crosses your lips,” he marvels, caressing the corner of her mouth with his thumb.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Did I say I disliked it?” He takes her in, all graceful curves and brash inclinations. Yes, he is satisfied with his decision— and suddenly eager to get her out of those filthy rags that barely pass for clothes. Silks would suit her far better, no doubt. “I will spare your life,” he says again, “if you remain here. With me.”
She’s quiet for a moment, brow furrowed as she stares at him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he confirms, wondering if, perhaps, she is not as fragile as he first suspected. If she is different. He can hope, at least.
The girl sits up straighter, shifting in his lap in a way that’s not unpleasant, and meets his gaze with such daring certainty that it takes him aback. Not even his own kind risk looking at him so brazenly. “Then you have a deal,” she says, eyes dry, voice clear.
Sylus studies her, waiting for the fear to take hold. It doesn’t. “I’m afraid this sort of contract requires more than your word,” he explains, testing her resolve by settling a hand at her waist.
Her throat bobs, but she remains where she is, and there’s almost something teasing in her tone when she replies, “Must I sign in blood?”
Sylus leans closer, giving her a chance to pull away as he hovers his mouth above hers. “Not exactly.” And just when he can feel the inviting heat of her lips, she chokes out a Wait.
Ah, there’s the fear. It simply manifested slower than he expected. He should never have—
“What’s your name?” she asks.
He cocks his head, shocked into silence as surely as if she’d slapped him.
She lowers her gaze, perhaps out of respect, perhaps out of shame. “I would at least like to know your name before we…” She is unable to finish the sentence.
It takes him a moment to process that this is not a rejection. No, she is not asking for a way out, but rather a way in. In all his years…
He stares at her, unsure how to reply. Your King, he should say. The Lord of All Things Wicked and Wasting, he should say. And yet the words that leave him are neither. “You may call me Sylus,” he says, dumbfounded by his own honesty and grateful that he had the foresight to dismiss his generals before he began this audience with her. They would balk at him permitting a human to use the name that not even they—after countless centuries of loyal servitude—may speak aloud.
“Sylus,” she repeats, and he is instantly addicted to the way it sounds on her tongue. Before he can ask her to utter it again, she nods decisively and says, “I’m ready now.”
What a fascinating creature she has turned out to be— as brave as she is timid.
He moves slowly, tenderly slotting a knuckle beneath her chin before briefly losing himself in her scent. Honeysuckle and mint. A pity such things don’t grow down here. He would enjoy it, he thinks, if she smelled like this always. “May I?” he asks, the turbulent hunger of his power prickling just beneath the surface. It craves the bloody tang of a fresh deal, but he will give it something more. Something better.
“Yes,” she whispers, not a hint of doubt in the word, and so he presses his lips to hers.
A whine catches in her throat when the bond is made— a roiling, conquering thing. He holds her closer, desperate to soothe the ache of his foul magic, and she yields to him, letting him deepen the kiss, letting him taste her fully. She is sweet everywhere, it would seem.
But then it is done, and he’s pulling back. It does not escape his attention that she rocks forward, eyes shut, lips searching for more. “Come,” he says, removing his hands from her even though it pains him to do so. “Allow me to show you to your quarters.”
She frantically clutches at his robes as he tries to stand, and he pauses, looking to her for an explanation.
“I…” She worries her lower lip, her little hand curling into an even tighter fist at his collar.
He resists the urge to cover it with his, not wanting to distress her further. “Speak,” he says instead, puzzled by the care in his tone. By the way he needs to know what bothered her so. He has not comforted another being in an age, but he inexplicably longs to comfort her.
“I… would prefer to stay with you,” she says, gaze darting around the dimly lit cavern that serves as his throne room, then hastily adds, “if that’s all right.”
A sensation Sylus registers as relief sweeps through him. He did not harm her. “It is,” he says, trying and failing not to fixate on the fact that she asked to remain with him, “but would you not prefer to do so with a clean face and wrapped in silk?”
Her brows pull together— confusion mingled with curiosity. “You’re not going to put me in a cage?”
“No,” he says, suppressing a laugh. “I’m not going to put you in a cage.”
She releases her hold on him and rests her hands on her lap, and it’s a testament to his self-control that he doesn’t guide her palm back to where it was. He has not known another’s touch in so long that the scraps she unknowingly feeds him are enough to make him ravenous.
“Then… I suppose a bath would be nice,” she admits.
He hums in agreement. “Shall I join you?” Her eyes go wide on a startled gasp, but he’s already smirking. “Only teasing,” he assures her.
She looks like she wants to hit him.
Sylus makes to set her down so they can be on their way, but then her bare, bruised feet catch his eye, the scrapes on her ankles nearly pulling a snarl from his chest. With a huff, he threads an arm beneath her knees and curves the other around her back, and then he hauls her against him, deciding instead to carry her.
She squeaks in surprise and throws her arms around his neck. It’s somewhat adorable that she thinks he would drop her, if not a bit insulting.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, slowing his pace so that his long strides don’t gobble up the distance between them and the washroom too quickly.
She nods.
An odd feeling of excitement—or maybe pride—takes root in him. He’s not sure why he’s so intent on providing for her, but he is. He’ll need to hide her from his advisors for the time being. It would not do for them to see him doting on a human. “I’ll fetch you something from the kitchens while you bathe,” he says. “Any requests?”
She scrunches her face like she’s bracing for his inevitable refusal. “Would it be too much to ask for fruit?”
There is not a single berry, melon, or piece of citrus in the whole of his kingdom. “It would not be too much,” he says. Luke and Kieran have been itching to make a trip topside. No reason he can’t send them on an errand now.
As he’s contemplating how to best phrase his directive to the twins, he crosses the threshold into his quarters, and she gasps. Jagged stone walls give way to a marbled dome, dark as pitch with a canopy of twinkling stars enchanted into its basin. It has long been one of his favorite installments, and she’s looking up at it in wonder.
He stops walking, hoping to prolong the moment.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, gaze flitting between the whorling constellations.
His chest goes tight as a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. “Yes.”
She looks at him then, the press of her tiny fingers like a brand against the back of his neck. “This is where I’ll be staying?”
He swallows. “If you’d like.”
She smiles again, and oh, he would give her anything she desires if she would simply keep doing that. “I would like.”
“Very well,” he says, nearly groaning at the mere thought of her stretched out on his sheets. He’ll need to sleep elsewhere for now, for both their sakes. At least until their bond isn’t quite so new.
He sets her down before he does something foolish, but no sooner has he released her than he aches to have her back in his grasp. This is going to be a problem.
“You’ll find everything you need through there,” he says, gesturing toward the wetroom to give his hand something to do besides reach for her.
She follows the line of his arm, takes a step in that direction, and then pauses. “Sylus?”
It is everything he can do to hold back the Yes, my Queen? that knocks against the back of his teeth, but he clenches his jaw tight and instead lifts a brow.
“You’re not what I expected,” she says, finishing her thought.
Perhaps he could convince her that their bargain requires them to kiss multiple times a day. But no, that would be a lie. And he will not lie to her. “The feeling is mutual,” he says, and takes his leave with a bow, instructing her to bolt the door behind him so that no one can disturb her.
It doesn’t take him long to locate the twins, their synchronized cackles echoing up from one of the lower floors.
“Luke,” he says by way of announcing himself, and both of them jump before he can add, “Kieran.”
“Yes, boss,” they say, half question and half salute, turning so fast they drop the blades they were using to negotiate a secret out of one of their guests.
The flayed soul whimpers, and Sylus ends its misery out of sheer annoyance.
Luke huffs and Kieran whines, and Sylus hushes them both with a raised palm. “I’ll get you another one, stop pouting.” They perk up at that. “But first,” he says, struggling to focus through the faint scent of her that still clings to his robes, “I have a task for you.”