The air was a physical weight, thick and heavy against Daniella's skin. With every breath, she felt the imperceptible density of the Demon Realm, a world where the atmosphere itself seemed to possess a conscious presence. It felt like breathing in liquid velvet—purple-black and cloying—as if the darkness were trying to settle in her lungs. She stood at the edge of the dragon's spine, her eyes fixed on the horizon. No matter how long she stared, the sky refused to break. There was no dawn, only a precipice of "almost," an endless stretch of twilight where night never truly surrendered to day.
Perched atop the ancient, scaled spine of the beast, Opal guided their flight with a terrifying, nonchalant grace. His hands rested confidently on a moss-green horn that jutted from the dragon's neck like a jagged crown. His black eyes narrowed, scanning the gloom ahead. Beneath them, the dragon's back was a landscape of scars and history; centuries ago, stone seats had been embedded directly into its hide. The beast's immortal flesh had long since healed around the rock, softening the edges with thick scar tissue until the saddles were part of its very anatomy.
"My grandfather killed this arrogant beast millennia ago," Opal called out over the rushing wind, his voice devoid of pity.
"Trapping it here forever. A perpetual slave to the Royal Bloodline."
Jasper sat a few paces behind him, a stark, unimpressed contrast to the creature's primal power. He looked bored, his jaw set in a line of growing irritation, a sharp departure from the budding smile playing on Daniella's lips.
Daniella, her dark green hair whipping behind her like sea grass and her eyes flashing with a raw, childlike wonder, sat nestled securely in Jasper's lap. Despite her excitement, her knuckles were white where she gripped his forearms. She was acutely aware that a single slip would send her screaming into the abyss.
"I'm on a dragon!" she exclaimed, the thrill momentarily eclipsing her fear. She reached down, her small hand trembling as she brushed the cold, reflective surface of the green scales.
"Careful," Jasper chided, his voice low and sharp like a chisel on stone. He didn't wait for her to pull away; his arm tightened around her waist, anchoring her against his chest. With his free hand, he reached down and—with a sickeningly casual display of strength—wrenched a small, shimmering scale from the dragon's hide.
The beast didn't even flinch. Jasper pressed the cold token into Daniella's palm.
She took it, her thumb tracing the jagged edges, cherishing the weight of it. In this moment, the terror of her situation felt like a fair price for such a spectacular sight. "Can I keep it?" she asked, her voice hushed with skepticism.
Jasper only gave a curt nod, as if the scale were a common pebble.
"I collect beasts," Opal interjected, casting a glance over his shoulder. A dark, predatory gleam flickered behind his eyes. "You must come to my sanctuary, little Queen."
Daniella felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the wind. The last thing she wanted was to be "collected" or entangled in the jagged oaths of demons. She offered a polite, hollow smile but kept her silence.
"If time permits, cousin-in-law," Jasper dismissed, his tone freezing the conversation. He knew Opal's "farm" well. It was a place of horrors where anything Opal could break ended up—creatures with fur, and creatures without.
Through the oppressive gloom of the unending night, it finally appeared: The Castle.
It was not a fortress of jagged battlements, but a haunting monument of sweeping arches and pale, desert stone. Carved from a massive hill, it looked like a colossal, tiered relic left behind by a forgotten civilization. The architecture was an open-air Italianate marvel, a labyrinth of colonnades and decorative screen walls. There were no true walls to block the view, no glass to shut out the world—only pillar after pillar, a beautiful cage of rock and air that allowed the harsh desert winds to whistle through the corridors like a choir of ghosts.
The dragon began a slow, thunderous descent. As they neared the ground, a regal tableau awaited them on the obsidian-soaked earth.
A family stood in silent reception, the very embodiment of power. They were terrifyingly beautiful, their poise radiating the ancient weight of their bloodline. Their clothing was a vibrant map of status. At the center, the King and Queen wore robes of brilliant, burning orange, laced with navy-blue stitching—the signature of the crown. Their daughter, a woman of striking height, wore navy blue splashed with orange embroidery, her hair woven into long, gleaming cornrows that swept past her shoulders.
Jasper watched them with a cynical eye. He couldn't appreciate the display; he saw only the politics. He was a Royal by marriage and strength, not by the "pure" blood they flaunted.
The dragon's landing was not a thump, but a ripple that shook the very foundation of the hill. Its claws tore into the sand, and for a moment, the world held its breath. Then, the beast tilted its head back and unleashed a magnificent, deafening roar.
A blinding stream of fire—a column of pure, glowing orange heat—shot into the sky. It was a miniature sun birthed in the darkness. The heat washed over the assembly, making the orange robes of the family pulse with inner light. For a heartbeat, the castle arches were illuminated in a burning glory before the desert night swallowed the flames whole, leaving behind the sharp scent of sulfur.
Jasper slid off the dragon's flank, his dark clothes rustling. He reached up, his hands steady as he guided Daniella down to the cool sand. Together, they began the long walk toward the silent, awaiting majesty of his kin.
The family parted in a synchronous, fluid movement, opening a path into the great archway. Inside, the air turned sharp and cool, filtered by miles of stone. They ascended a wide, shallow staircase that seemed to float between two carved archways, arriving at the Sunken Terrace.
The terrace was open to the desert on three sides. At its heart sat a colossal daybed draped in indigo and burnt-orange silks. Jasper gestured for Daniella to sit, and they settled into the luxury as the rest of the family arranged themselves in a semi-circle. They were a ring of predators, their eyes fixed on the pair with a quiet, unnerving curiosity.
"Fascinating," Jade whispered. The matriarch leaned forward, her expression unreadable. She wasn't looking at Daniella's beauty; she was watching her lungs. "She is not gasping. She breathes our air as if it were her own."
"Grandmother," Opal announced, his voice echoing in the open chamber, "this is Queen Daniela. Cousin Jasper's wife."
"Queen?" Dion, a younger man with a majestic afro, stared at Jasper in disbelief. "No human survives here for more than a day. And you bring a Queen into the thick of it?"
Jasper met his gaze with a stare so hard it felt like a physical blow. "Do not mind us. We are here for a short trip only." He looked around the circle, his silent message clear: She is off-limits. To a demon, a fresh human was a delicacy, and he could see them practically tasting the air around her.
"We must spend time together," Seraphine said, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. She looked at Daniella, her eyes trailing over the girl's throat. She was practically salivating; the rage pulsing off Daniella was a vintage she hadn't tasted in years.
"Of course," Daniella replied, her voice trembling slightly. She felt like an object on an auction block.
"Excuse us, Great Aunt," Jasper said, pulling Daniella to her feet. "The trip was long."
"We will have a celebration tonight," the Matriarch commanded. "Your attendance is mandatory, nephew."
Jasper bowed politely, ignoring the "servants" in the shadows—prisoners with shackles disguised as decorative patterns. He led Daniella away, ascending toward his private floor.
As they entered the chamber, Daniella sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. She walked to the edge of the room where a wall should have been. She reached out, her hand passing into the empty night air. There was no glass. Just the open, whispering desert.
"You are a Royal in both worlds," she said, turning to look at him as he began to strip off his traveling clothes. "How lucky you must feel."
"Lucky?" Jasper scoffed. He pulled on a navy suit with heavy orange embellishments—the mark of his secondary status. "I am monitored in one world and suffocated in the other. This family is far more cunning than you. Keep your distance."
"I know how to stay alive," she snapped, staring out into the dark sands. She thought she heard a faint sound—a scream, or perhaps a plea—carried on the wind. "How long, Jasper? We have to be back in a day, or do you mean to hide here?"
"Time works differently here," Jasper said, stepping toward her. "And listen to me: Do not let anyone here feed on you."
Daniella spun around, her eyes blazing. "I don't plan on having sex with any demon!"
Jasper's expression darkened. "You will find far more than just lust demons here, Daniela. This is our home. We feed on guilt, love, fear, pain, and grief. Whatever the emotion, there is a mouth waiting for it."
Daniella frowned, her eyes scanning his new, regal attire. "Why do you even care?"
Jasper reached out, his fingers grazing her chin with a possessive, cold intensity.
"Because you are mine. And I do not share my plate."
"Lucky me," she said flatly. She turned her back to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and beginning to untie her corset, desperate to breathe without the constriction of her clothes.
Jasper grabbed a navy blue dress with orange stitching from a carved chest and tossed it onto the bed beside her. "Put it on," he commanded, his irritation manifesting in the sharp edge of his voice.
He watched her, feeling the distance between them growing. He found himself, for the first time, mourning the peace they had once shared, realizing how far away that version of them truly was.