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He steps into the room.

The door remains open. He crosses to the window and faces the storm, his shoulders nearly spanning the narrow wall. Three lightning pulses illuminate the black spires before he speaks.

“A word would have condemned you.”

I grip the edge of the washstand. “That is not an answer.”

“It is the part I was permitted to give you.”

“Permitted by whom?”

He turns from the window. Whatever strain disturbed his control has been forced back beneath it, but his voice carries none of the polished distance he uses at court.

“King Asmodeus.”

The name changes the room.

Asmodeus rules above the Council, above the Princes, above every law that governs human survival. Humans speak of him quietly even when no demon is near. Authority that absolute requires no presence. It lives in every decree and punishment.

“He knew about us?” I ask.

“He learned enough. You were human and unassigned. I was a Volvath lord refusing every lineage arrangement placed before me. My visits to the lower district ceased to appear accidental.”

“You told him.”

“No.”

The word strikes with arena certainty.

“Then someone watched us.”

“Someone always watches a house the king may need.”

I remember hidden meetings beneath storm-dark arches. Draxon walking a different route each time. His warnings that I must never speak his name in the market. I believed he guarded his status from the disgrace of wanting a human.

Perhaps he guarded my life.

“What did Asmodeus order?”

Draxon looks toward the open door. One claw lifts. The stone panel closes, shutting the guards outside.

“He offered a choice,” Draxon says. “I would end our connection, accept appointment as arena-master, and make no attempt to contact you. In return, your name would remain outside the breeding assignments controlled by the royal houses.”

The second half waits beneath his words.

“Or?”

“He would give you to House Grolnok.”

I know the name. Every human woman does.

House Grolnok’s cruelty is common knowledge among humans, though we speak of it only behind locked doors. Their breeders are rarely seen beyond their estate. Those who are seen move with guards close enough to hear every breath.

“They already had breeders,” I say.

“They demanded more.”

“What would they have done to me?”