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“What’s wrong with you?” He glowered.

“Shh, let’s just go to your chambers. Less talk, more action,” she grinned wickedly, her voice loud.

Before Azriel could salvage anything from the situation, Penelope had already disappeared. Azriel cursed, and with a steely grip on Freya’s hand, he hauled her into the library.

“What was that for?” He asked, anger visibly written on his face.

Freya’s other hand massaged the spot on her hand, but the grin grew more on her face.

“Helping you,” she said. “Building your reputation, making her jealous. You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask you to do any of that, and you know it,” Azriel said. He ran his hand through his hair. “Freya, what’s wrong with you? And please don’t tell me you actually fancy me because I cannot cross any line when it comes to my best friend’s sister.”

She scrunched her face like she’d be sick. “You think so highly of yourself. I’d rather bed a human than to bed you.”

.....

“And...is that supposed to be an insult or something?”

Freya groaned and rolled her eyes, seeing as her comment didn’t hit the mark as it should. She stepped further into the quiet library, her boots clicking on the marble floor.

“It’s been so long since I have been in here,” Freya said, looking at the shelves of books. “Who often uses this place?”

“My men and I,” Azriel said. He led the way over to a desk, and piled on top in a neat stack were several booklets of records.

“As you can see, I told Zavian I had it under control,” he said. “There was no need for you to come over again.”

“Hmm, but I want to.”

Azriel peered closely at her. “Are you lonely, Freya?”

Freya blinked rapidly. “Lonely? Because I want to spend more time here? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, it’s almost like you have fought everyone you know, and you look down on people, humans and demons alike, and find them beneath even making friends with them, and now you’re here,” Azriel said.

Freya scoffed. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those demons who believe marriage will save me from the throngs of loneliness.”

“I didn’t say marriage. I said companions,” Azriel corrected.

“Azriel, focus on your life, and let me focus on mine.”

“I recall you putting your business into my life with Pen minutes ago. I think that gives me a pass to make comments about yours.” Azriel said. “Get out of your head and your quarters more, and just try to enjoy company for what it is, company. Maybe all this hatred for Neera stems from one truth.”

“And what is that?” Freya snapped.

“You feel threatened because she stole your brother and closest friend,” Azriel finished emphatically.

Freya clapped her hands together slowly, the sound echoing through the large hall.

“You have got me figured out,” she drew out in sarcasm. “When you are done with the analysis I didn’t ask you for, can we get to sparring in your field?”

Azriel sighed. He cared for Freya as he would care for Zavian, but there was that wickedness to her that Azriel had thought he could talk her out of, but thinking of pulling Freya from it was like trying to remove salt from seawater.

Azriel straightened. “Let’s go take the swords.”

“Good, and I hope after all of this, you should get used to being one-handed,” Freya said with venom. “Let’s see how much of the greatest warrior you still are.”

He was going to be dealt with for his speech, and he was looking forward to it.

....

Neera assessed the gown in the mirror and wanted to rip it to shreds.

As much as she wanted Zavian to believe this persona of her she wore, she had to dress the part, and it cramped on her actual style. If it was not silk, it was frills, or an enormous skirt, or something so plain, mostly always plain, that she looked like some low-class person. But Zavian had to buy it, and if wearing the former Neera’s clothes was how she would succeed, then she had to bear a little longer.

There was a knock on her door, and without asking who it was, Neera invited the person in.

When she saw Penelope’s face, her shoulders fell, and a frown settled on her face.

“Hello, Ne...your Majesty,” Pen quickly corrected herself as she stepped into the chambers.

“What do you want?” Neera asked.

“I told the King I wanted to see you,” Penelope said. “Truth is, it’s been a long while.”

“So that’s why you were hoping to see a different version of me. Am I right?”

“Your Majesty...”

“Do you think I traded souls with a chameleon when I died, Pen? Just switch to whatever environment I am in; sweet, enamored wife to Zavian, sickenly likable person to the maids, and a dumb, lovely friend to you?”

Neera turned round to look at her friend. “Or maybe you should try dying and see for yourself.”

Penelope’s eyes widened as Neera took steps toward her. There was a determined look on her face, and Penelope blanched when she saw the fangs protruding from her mouth.

“Neera...,” Penelope’s voice held a scared plea.

“It’s your Majesty,” Neera corrected. “and besides, if I kill you, and you are brought back to life, I would be doing you a huge favour. You might become a demon without a choice, and perhaps then we could have a decent conversation.”

The fangs returned inside Neera’s mouth, and she scrunched her nose, the putrid scent of Penelope’s fear offputting her senses. Neera rested her hands on her hips and looked Pen up and down.