"Didn't you learn that in your research?"
Grayson stared at her for five long seconds. He looked down at the bright yellow duck apron still tied around his waist, then at the three heavy wooden armchairs sitting near the grand window, and finally back to Mailah's sweet, innocent face.
He let out a long, dark sigh that made the golden flames of the kitchen candles flicker slightly.
"I am a demon prince of the dark realm," Grayson muttered to himself, though his hands were already reaching for the backs of the heavy wooden chairs. "I have led armies across barren lands. I have dictated treaties that lasted centuries. And now I am constructing a fortress out of cushions."
"A pink fortress," Mailah reminded him cheerfully, tapping her notepad with her pen. "And remember: no magic. Use your muscles."
