Page 10 of Smoke, Mirrors, & Misdemeanours

She shot back, “But I wouldn’t spend my days regretting my decisions.”

This time, the corners of his lips twitched. “The key to dealing with a demon is knowing precisely what you wish for, and how much you’re willing to give up.”

Cassia resisted the urge to scoff. Whatever he intended to offer, the price would most likely be steeper than she could afford.

He cocked his head. “It’s only tea and a little conversation.”

Under her breath, she retorted, “Obviously you don’t know how much chaos can come from tea and a little conversation.”

She blinked when he laughed—a low, resonant chuckle that sent a shiver from the base of her spine to her nape.

“Come,” Arkenoth said, inclining his head toward a teahouse at the end of the street, its bright interior a stark contrast to the dark, fire-lit establishments of the Demon District. A gilded sign hung above the entrance, its delicate script reading ‘The Gilded Lily.’

“Allow me ten minutes to explain my proposition,” Arkenoth continued, voice silky as a spider’s web. “If you do not like it, we will part ways, and I will not disrupt your evening again.”

Cassia hesitated, fingers tightening around her bakery box. Every instinct screamed at her to refuse—to turn on her heel, march to the train station, and leave this entire evening behind.

Yet . . .

A proposition. One that might benefit them both.

And tea.

And possibly . . . cakes?

Her stomach gave a traitorous growl at the prospect. She’d been so focused on her mission that she’d missed dinner.

She sighed and met his gaze. “Fine. But if I don’t like what you have to say, I’m leaving.”

Arkenoth’s lips curved in a faint, knowing smile, as if she had given him the only answer he expected.

They strolled together to the teahouse. He stepped ahead to open the door for her. Cassia hesitated for only a moment before sweeping past him.

The scent of bergamot, orange blossom, and spice greeted her. Inside, the teahouse gleamed with understated opulence: tall arched windows, white marble counters, crystal chandeliers. Glass cases displayed delicate pastries, their sugared surfaces glistening. White marble tables lined the perimeter, each adorned with fresh-cut flowers. It was refinement and indulgence—a world away from her bakery’s rustic charm.

They took a table by the window. Outside, the Yulefrost revelry of the Four Factions continued—laughter, distant music, and the occasional burst of celebratory fireworks punctuating the winter air.

Cassia ordered a pot of spiced black tea and a slice of angel sponge cake, light as air, soaked in orange liqueur and layered with vanilla bean cream. A dessert that felt almost too decadent for the circumstances, but after the evening she’d had, why deny herself the comfort?

But the demon ordered nothing but hot water with a slice of lemon.

No tea. No cake.

When their orders were brought to their table, she asked, “You don’t take tea? Coffee?”

“Caffeine has the strangest effect on me.”

Cassia lifted her cup, inhaling the warm, spiced aroma. “Stranger than a demon ordering plain hot water at an establishment like this?”

The corner of his mouth tilted, but he let the remark slide. Instead, he regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you aware of the significance of Yulefrost to Nocturne Demons, Miss Aura?”

She arched a brow. “Something to do with it being the longest night of the year?”

He sipped his lemon-flavoured hot water before answering, “Our ancestors believed it to be the most auspicious time for conception of progeny. With the night at its longest, and much of our power governed by darkness, there is a long-standing belief that any child conceived on Yulefrost night has the highest chance of inheriting great strength.”

Cassia paused, her fork hovering over her cake. “That sounds . . . deeply traditional. And ambitious.”

“Tradition and ambition are the pillars of demon society,” he said. “And my mother, being a devout believer in such customs, has made it her personal mission to see me wed. For the last five years, she has hosted a Yulefrost ball—an event that, to my great misfortune, exists solely to parade eligible daughters before me in the hopes I will finally select a Chosen.” He exhaled slowly and put his cup down. “It has been the bane of my existence ever since.”