Page 89 of Demon Food

“Oh, yes, that’s right.” He smiled. “Three out of four.”

Brat.

“Should I not be awarded something after winning so many times against His Future Majesty?”

“Had I known there’d be winnings involved, I would’ve found a way to cheat.”

A smirk tickled his lips as he sipped his wine.

“What do you want, human, hmm?” I slapped my cards down to lean back in my chair, interlacing my fingers behind my head. “You want riches? Jewels? A pony? What I do not have, I shall steal from other kingdoms just to please you.”

“I want your blade.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Pardon?”

“I want the angel bone knife. I want something to remember you by, and that is the thing I want.”

Fuck, the wine made him bolder. Looser. I wanted to circle my fingers around his wrist and yank him into my arms, just to see if I could feel the difference in his body.

“That blade is special, you know. One-of-a-kind.”

“I’m well aware,” he said. “Which is why I promise to take good care of it.”

“So, what about me?” I dipped my head. “If I win, what do I get?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “What do you want?”

“You.”

It looked like the words got stolen from his mouth as he blinked.

“I want to see you again,” I said, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “The moment you’re freed from the palace, the moment I can get to you. I’ll have my personal sentinel take you somewhere of my choosing, and it is there you’ll wait for me.”

He held my gaze over the orange glow of the dancing flames but said nothing.

“Come on, Snow Fox.” I grinned, tipping my chin toward the nightstand where my blade lived. I switched to Vultaen to say, “What a beauty she is. So precious and rare. She would serve you well through future stabbings.”

His throat bobbed, but then he lifted his glass in a toast. He matched my Vultaen as he said, “She is beautiful. I can’t wait to own her, the same as I have owned you all evening.”

I bared my teeth in a tight smile. This fucking human winked.

The next round of cards could not go fast enough. Neither of us said a word as we stacked one card over another in the circular pattern of six, then four, then two. The goal was to see who could get closer to the odd number of thirty-seven, so it was a game of numbers as much as it was a game of luck.

We each only had one card to lay to determine the winner, and the gods could favor either of us.

He’d been so skilled in his choosing that I held my breath when he hovered his fingers over the remaining cards in his hand. So far, he had a total of twenty-nine, which was fucking perfect. He was not likely to go over at this point.

Then he laid it. He laid his last card. An ace. One or eleven. Either too far under or too far over.

I laid my card, and it was an easy success. Thirty-five. I’d won.

He was mine.

“Feloré, Feloré, Feloré.” I winced, grinning like a loon. “I’m so sorry for your loss, darling.”

The expression fell from his face as he scanned the cards, like he was searching for some mistake, but there was none to find.

“But I am not fucking sorry I won.”