A firm hand snatched my wrist, yanking me back. I gasped: Louise. “Don’t even think it,” she warned regretfully. “Others have tried to escape. What do you think happened to them?” She nodded knowingly towards the gate. 

I spotted two heavily-armed guards, carrying menacing swords. A cold chill sent ripples down my spine. This was the first time I had ever considered escaping Duke Franco’s castle. I had never even noticed the guards before.

How could I have been so naive as to think that a servant could simply stroll out of the castle gates without any questions asked? I was immediately frustrated by the sense that I was unprepared. Until now, I had accepted being docile, simply hoping for a better life, rather than making decisions towards one. I had been Duke Franco’s foot soldier for too long, and it had made me soft and foolish. 

After a quick stop by the kitchens to steal a loaf of olive bread, I headed to Duke Franco’s office. He expected me as soon as I had finished Marielle’s morning chores. I managed to inhale most of the bread in minutes before knocking on his door. 

“Come in.” His voice was cold and rough. 

The inside of the Duke’s office, like much of his castle, was dark mahogany and filled with nooks and crannies. The estate was massive, planted in the middle of splendid gardens and surrounded with wildwoods. At court, I had heard noblemen whisper that it was perhaps even more magnificent than the king’s palace. I had repeated it to the Duke and was shocked to see a glimmer of greed deep within his eyes. 

“I am done with the laundry, Father.” 

Without looking up, the Duke gestured to the seat I usually take across from him. Franco allowed me to call him “Father” behind closed doors. When I was about ten years old, I had gotten extremely sick after my sisters dared me to eat the rosy balm Mara allowed us to press on our lips on grand occasions. Eager to show my worth, I ate two small jars of the waxy, candy-colored paste. 

I spent the next week sweating in bed with a fever and a sour stomach, unsure whether I would ever be able to eat again. On the third day, I was shaken by violent fever dreams and spent hours crying for my father. The maid, unsure who I was referring to, fetched Mara. When Mara heard me call Duke Franco “father,” she was sent into such a rage that I wasn’t sure what was worse: my illness or her anger. Ever since that day, Franco has continued to allow me to call him “father,” but only in private. It was our secret. 

“There’s an important letter I need you to translate,” Franco said. He was wearing a crimson surcoat embroidered with his snake and golden sword crest. A sword hung from his hip. 

“Of course,” I answered, pulling out a scroll and a quill. 

Franco and I had learned to work efficiently together: he gave orders, and I took them. I prided myself in learning quickly, constantly analyzing my mistakes to make sure they wouldn’t happen again. 

The Duke started dictating a letter to Spendios, Voke’s diplomat residing in Thornland. 

Spendios was a demon of about fifty years old, but unlike humans of the same age, he didn’t look a day over thirty. He was tall and broad-chested, with icy blue eyes. I wondered how old King Luther was… My thoughts went to the previous day, and to my first, and likely last, meeting with the Demon King. I was reminded of his purple eyes, so lively they made me think of a crisp waterfall. 

“Tatiana!” Franco wasn’t a patient man, and he could tell that my thoughts had trailed off. 

“I’m sorry, Father.” I read through to where I had stopped. “Any further construction to the Eastern River dam would prevent the water from irrigating Thornland’s farmlands. We demand that King Luther stop with his plans to control the river.”

I had a strong feeling of deja-vu. In a year, the Eastern River dam would collapse. The Eastern River would gush through Voke, sweeping their army away and allowing our armies to invade them. When I met King Luther, he was coming to accept his capitulation. My trust in Duke Franco had been so blind. I had never suspected that the Humans had plotted for the flood to happen for over a year. But it all made sense now: by claiming the risk of a drought, the humans prevented Voke from reinforcing their dam. All my life I was taught to believe that demons were cruel, cunning and barbaric. But what if they weren’t? Their king certainly didn’t appear that way. He felt so… honorable. 

“What if the dam was reinforced?” Franco glared at me. I had unintentionally whispered the question to myself. 

“What did you say?” 

My heart jolted in my chest, but there was no backing away now. I cleared my throat. “I was wondering what would happen if the Demons were to reinforce the dam.” I managed to say. 

I don’t think he expected me to have the audacity to repeat the question. 

“Don’t you dare concern yourself with the contents of this letter.” He slammed his fist on the jet-black leather top of his desk. 

I forced myself to apologize. “It won’t happen again, Father.”

They say that necessity is the mother of invention. Desperation might be as well. A plan was forming in my head. Franco couldn’t read nor write in the Shadowtongue. Only those with Demon blood could. For once, what I had always considered to be a monstrous flaw started to feel like a strength. No one ever proofread my letters, because no one could. What if I could sneak in a message to Spendios, asking for shelter? If I was able to make him understand that I had been a prisoner all my life… would he consider helping me? I needed more time to think.

I sighed audibly and pretended that the quill had slipped from my weak fingers. It fell on the ground with a soft thud.

“Oh I am so sorry, Father. I suddenly feel light-headed.” I closed my eyes and leaned back dramatically. “It must be the lye from the laundry. I’ve read somewhere that demon women can feel sick from too much soap,” I lied. “Demons aren’t accustomed to bathing as much as humans, and, well…”

Franco was a harsh man, but he had always felt out of place with women. Plus, he couldn’t resist an opportunity to regard demons as barbarous. He interrupted me, embarrassed. 

“Of course, ahem… should you go back to your chambers?”

I repressed a victorious grin. 

“Thank you, I will. I can finish translating the letter tomorrow morning,” I said as I drew a long, pained breath. 

“Please.” After a pause, he added, his voice soft. “Tatiana... disregard my outburst of anger. Mara is still upset about this morning’s events.”

“It’s forgotten,” I smiled weakly, as I exited his office. 

Franco knew how to manipulate people, but over the years, I had learned a thing or two from him...