His Human Queen

Breakfast with the Demon King

Even as he left, I tried to imagine what kind of food the demon king might have in his home. Dead goat… the head of a lamb… my mind whirled with the disgusting possibilities that I might find, and even as I had found my way to the kitchen, I couldn’t bear to open the cabinets or the massive refrigerator.

Instead, I stood there, wide-eyed and hungry, until finally, I took a deep breath, gripped the handle of the massive refrigerator and yanked it open, holding my breath, prepared for a rancid stench, only to find… completely… normal food.

Fresh fruits and veggies, sweets, breads, and anything I could want were right here.

Quickly, I made myself a plate and hurried to the counter, eating until my eyes grew heavy, and only then did I pry myself from the stool and turn toward where Dante had said my quarters would be. I scurried off like a rat with cheese until I came to the end of a long hallway. There sat a black door, and again, I couldn’t help but wonder what monstrosity lay behind it, only this time, my exhaustion outweighed my fear, and before I knew it, my hand was closing around the cool iron knob of the door.

Inside, I nearly fainted. I thought my room at Caspian’s was extravagant, but this was over the top. The first thing that struck me was the sheer scale of it—a sprawling chamber with a vaulted ceiling that seemed to disappear into shadow, supported by beams carved with twisting, serpentine motifs. The walls were draped in heavy, floor-length curtains the color of dried blood, tied back with ornate iron clasps shaped like snarling beasts. Between the curtains, the stone itself was visible, rough-hewn and black as night, with veins of shimmering silver that caught the faint light from the candelabras scattered about the room. In the center stood a bed so massive it could have hosted a small feast. A floating ebony platform, its dark wood polished to a mirror sheen, hovered just above the floor, supported by carved gargoyles whose eyes seemed to follow my every move. The mattress was piled high with pillows and covered in blood-red silk sheets that gleamed like liquid in the dim light. At the foot of the bed, a velvet throw the color of midnight was carelessly draped, its softness a stark contrast to the room’s imposing grandeur. To one side, a towering wardrobe of blackened oak stood with its doors slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of gowns and tunics in jewel tones—deep purples, emerald greens, and sapphire blues. Opposite it, a fireplace large enough to stand in crackled with a low, flickering flame, its light dancing across the fur rugs scattered across the stone floor. Above the mantel, a massive mirror framed in twisted silver reflected the room endlessly, creating the illusion of a labyrinth of shadows and light. It was a room fit for a queen, or perhaps a prisoner of one’s own lavish dreams. I stood there, breathless, my exhaustion forgotten, and wondered how I was ever supposed to sleep in a place that felt more like a throne room than a bedroom.

Reluctantly, I climbed into the satin sheets, settling deep into a bed of softness that seemed to hug my every curve.

I had expected sleep to find me harshly, to have some nightmarish fever dream that reminded me where I had laid my head, instead it found me peacefully, quickly, and dreamlessly.

Waking up, though, that wasn’t as soft and peaceful. I jolted awake with the fear that I had slept late. The sun wasn’t up yet, but truthfully, I wasn’t sure there was a sun in hell.

So, I rolled from the bed, surprised to find my leathers clean and waiting for me.

Just as I laced my second boot, a sly, sneaking creak of the door alerted me to someone coming in, someone who didn’t knock.

Panic consumed me for a fraction of a second until the inky black hair I recognized from yesterday popped through the crack in the door. I nearly smiled when I realized Dante seemed disappointed that I was awake.

“Breakfast is ready.” He grumbled before walking away, still wearing pajamas.

I made my way into the kitchen on weary legs that were somehow both tired and restless.

“Good morning,” I smiled, making myself at home by pouring a large cup of coffee, hoping the bitter sweetness would chase away the tired feeling sucking the life from my bones.

Dante muttered his own good morning before flipping the bacon in the pan.

“You cook?” I asked, subtly surprised that a king would make his own breakfast.

“I do. Surprised?” He smirked over his shoulder.

“No… I just assumed that with you being a king, your servants cooked for you.” He huffed at that.

“I don’t keep servants, I don’t have omegas like Caspian, we don’t do that here.” I ignored the jab and asked, “What is an omega?”

He looked over his shoulder as he plated the food. I took another drink of my coffee, trying to avoid staring at the tattoo that covered his muscled back.

“Caspian really didn’t tell you anything about his kingdom, did he?” I just shook my head.

“An omega is the lowest-ranking member in a wolf pack. There is more than one omega in a pack. Garmorr uses their omegas like slaves; they work for no money just to survive on whatever scraps Caspian offers them. I don’t run Malfeas like that.” I was speechless.

“I had no idea,” I muttered, my stomach suddenly sour despite the wonderful breakfast Dante just sat in front of me.

“Yes, well. I am sure he had no intention of ever letting you know, not until he marked you anyway. I would have loved to see his face when you turned him down.” He chuckled. But I wanted to change the subject instead of letting my cheeks flush worse.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” I asked softly after my first bite, trying to remind myself I don’t have to eat like a starved animal.

“We have a meeting.” That was all he said as he began eating.

I couldn’t help but stare at him. The man was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Sexy doesn’t describe him; hot doesn’t do him justice.

“Is there a problem with the food?” he asked as I took another nibble.

“What? No! It’s wonderful… I just have to remind myself I’m not starving and I don’t have to eat like I am.” I admitted, wishing I could kick myself for blurting such a thing out.

“I understand, Maeve. I’ve been that hungry before. I wish I could tell you food insecurity faded with time, but… it has been thousands of years, and I still fear I may not get to eat my next meal.”

Why did that break my heart?

“I’m sorry.” Those two words were all I could muster around the knot in my throat.

“Don’t be. I haven’t gone hungry in centuries, and now, you won’t either.” The promise in his words was something I had never heard from anyone before. The certainty was shocking, so shocking I couldn’t speak, so we just ate in silence, waiting for the moment we would leave for his ‘meeting’.