"I'll need your help with that, hero."
Alistair scowled, knuckles whitening around his hilt.
"…Sera, heal her," he breathed, golden eyes searing into mine.
The healer tensed, "Alistair, but she's—"
"I said heal her!" He barked, gaze never leaving me.
Sera flashed me a deathly look before rushing to my wound. As she kneeled before me, her expression sharpened in concentration. The staff hovered over the injury, golden glow brightening like a tiny sun.
"Thank you," I smiled warmly at her.
"I cannot believe I'm healing a demon," she muttered through gritted teeth.
Believe it bitch.
A warm buzzing sensation spread like a hot spring up my wrist. I watched in fascination as blood vessels reached out and reconnected—hand crawling back to my arm. After a few minutes, skin stitched itself back together like I'd never swung the blade through it.
"What are you thinking?" the mage whispered in Alistair's ear.
The hero turned to his team, the air of a leader slamming down on them.
"…I've decided. We will take her prisoner. She can be of major help to us," he said, each word heavier than the last.
I was prepared to go much further but he's accepted me so easily. It's almost funny.
The team fell silent, looks of disagreement all the resistance they could muster.
They all listen to him. How sweet.
"Your kindness crosses the line this time," snarled the assassin.
Well—all but one.
The tank put a hand on her shoulder, "I think it could be fun."
She ripped his hand off, "You never take anything serious—"
He leaned in to her ear and whispered something unintelligible.
Her brows raised before her jaw tensed, not letting out another word.
Interesting.
The mage calmly stepped before me, fury flickering over his face so fast I questioned its existence. His hand reached out, shimmering purple sparking at his palm. My wrists glowed as a charming pair of cuffs wrapped around them, chain running to his hand.
"Be it magic or even the intention to harm—I'll know," he warned, glaring down at me like vermin.
"Don't worry," I smiled, "I have no such thoughts."
Harm…I'll have to test the limits of that spell.
Footsteps suddenly thundered through the entrance. All heads whirled to the source. It was the prince's team of warriors—always quick to follow the hero's exploits. No one looked stunned.
Blonde hair and excessively intricate gold detailings decorated his armor. He wore a matching smug grin as his large group of guards trailed behind him.
"Alistair!" He exclaimed like an old friend, "We've killed off the surrounding…" his voice trailed off as his eyes caught on to me.
The mage yanked me forward, my arms slid against stone, body falling pathetically.
"She's our prisoner, your highness," the mage said icily, chain pulsing brighter.
The prince Damien scoffed, "A demon as a prisoner? Please," he drew his sword.
Alistair stepped in front of me, "Please wait, your highness. She has willingly surrendered and agreed to help us hunt the other generals," he explained confidently.
The prince rolled his eyes. "You always have to be the saint," he muttered, roughly running a hand through his hair.
"You don't deserve Lucien's allegiance," Damien spat, tossing a sharp glance the mage's way.
Lucien and the assassin are part of the famous 'kingmaker' family. Each sibling chooses a king candidate that can fight for the crown. The stronger the better. Lucien is believed to be the strongest. But I know who the real powerhouse is—the infamous black sheep of the family. The assassin.
Damien's shoulder shoved past Alistair, blade tilting towards my neck. The prince's lips curved in amusement.
"Speak demon. What lies could have convinced th—"
I slammed my forehead to the ground, "I am your humble servant your esteemed royal highness! The demon king has forsaken me. To prove my loyalty, I will carve out my eyes, offer you an arm, curse the demon king, torture my guards, worship you—"
"Enough!" he barked, fingers massaging his temple, "I've…never seen a demon like this."
I can imagine. The demons of this world had pride as high as the clouds above. They'd never beg—even as a trick.
"Neither have I," breathed a dazed Alistair, glancing back at me.
"I've always wondered…no—hoped that even one of their kind sought redemption," his lips curved up in a soft smile.
That answer hinted at his traumatic past. The novel outlined this tragic hope in vivid detail.
"You trust too easily," whispered the prince, returning his sword to his side.
He turned to the doors, "Come along everyone, I've left a monster capable of speech for interrogation."
As his armor clanked to the beat of his steps, he tossed his head back lazily and smiled.
He's going to test me. Enissa was known to treat her personal guards like her own children.
"Let's put this demon to the test shall we? I hope you weren't lying about torturing your own guard."