Page 41 of Her Demon Daddy
“It is rather inconceivable,” he agrees. “And yet, I’m certain it must be the truth. My cousin would not go around blabbing about this to just anyone.”
Vag’thimon muses about the portal. Perhaps the trip itself scrambled his brain, or maybe he was just desperate for companionship since there are so few matrons in his tiny facsimile of a kingdom. Indeed, he concludes, it’s lucky he didn’t take up with an ur’gin instead.
On that flattering note, we arrive at my room.
“Allow me,” he says.
He doesn’t open it himself, of course. He tilts his head, and one of the trolvor opens the door.
I step inside, ready to throw myself on my bed and weep, but Vag’thimon follows me inside.
He shuts the door behind him, and with the flick of his finger a lock slides into place.
I ought to be frightened. He claimed me in front of Asmodeus, and gods know what his fellow demons think is happening in this room. But I’m not afraid. He lends against my door, hands steepled beneath his chin.
He seems different when he’s not in front of anyone else. Regal and arrogant, but somehow more approachable. Is it possible I can convince him to spare Asmodeus’ life?
“What are you going to do with him?” I ask. “Why does it matter how he got to Galmoleth? Can’t you forgive him and…and let it go? You’re the one in charge here, right? What you say goes?”
He shakes his head.
“If Asmodeus had been the one to open the portal, he would be King.” He lets that linger for a moment. No one can say he doesn’t have a flair for the dramatic. “Not only of his small kingdom, but here as well. Power such as that would nullify any accusation of impersonation or treachery. How could anyone deny him anything, with power such as that? I would kneel before him myself.”
I don’t understand. “But he did open the portal! He—”
“No.” Vag’thimon looks more contemptuous than I’ve seen him thus far, which is an accomplishment because it seems to be his default expression. “No, my dear cousin clutched his pretty necklace and begged for help from our gods.”
“Humans would believe that makes him powerful. That the gods favor him.”
“And that is what makes humans so weak.”
“The xanthan don’t seem—”
“Careful.”
I press my lips closed.
“We serve our gods,” he says. “They do not serve us. To plead with any of them to interfere in mortal matters is the height of dishonor.”
“Even if he saved lives because of it?” I demand. “What would have happened if he hadn’t asked for help? He, and all the demons around him, would have been killed.”
“Then they would have been killed.” His voice sounds sure, but something in his eyes shifts. He leans the back of his head against the door. “The trial will proceed as planned.”
“What does that mean? He’ll serve time in a dungeon? Or be punished somehow?”
It’s painful enough to visit him in the dungeons, to see his proud demeanor in such a dark, squalid place. Dungeons nearly broke me, and I was no royalty when I went in. How awful it must be to have the world at your fingertips only to lose it all. It’s chilling for me to imagine the man he’ll become if he’s sentenced to decades locked away.
Vag’thimon shrugs, leaving his head where it is. His horns scrape the thick metal door.
“If he’s found guilty, he’ll be put to death.”
Rage propels me forward. I want to grab him by his infernal horns and shake him until his head tears off of his neck.
“You used me!”
“You let yourself be used.” He sneers. “All I did was grant you the audience you requested.”
“You told me,” my voice shakes with fury. “You told me that if I spoke to him and found out the truth, he’d be spared. You never said the truth would have him killed!”