I woke at the break of dawn after a short, fitful sleep. My hair was sodden with cold sweat. There was no turning back now. If I stayed, Franco would eventually discover the missing documents from the bottom of his pile. I didn’t intend to still be at the castle to witness his rage. 

I stretched off some of my anxiety, then made my way to the water basin and mirror. Franco had always insisted I look impeccable for my visits to court. Since the vicious dance lesson with my sisters the day before, the shadow of bruises had appeared alongside the cuts on my arms and neck. If the Duke noticed yesterday, he had said nothing of it. I knew he expected me to dissimulate my disheveled state, but I needed to reveal it to Spendios for the full effect of my plea. So I loosely braided my cut up strands of hair so they would unravel if I shook my head firmly. 

I picked one of the few nice dresses Franco had allowed me to have for important occasions such as today. It was a navy blue silk dress with a high collar and frilly sleeves. It covered my throat and my arms, but the fabric was light enough that in a flick of the wrist it would drift up my arm to my elbow, revealing just enough of the abuse for Spendios to believe me.

“You look stunning,” Franco complimented me as we sat across each other in his carriage, a well-rehearsed routine.

His favorite kindness was to admire my appearance. I had always been fond of his praises, stashing them away in my memory like little treasures, proof that I wasn’t a monster after all. Today, I realized that commenting on my appearance was mostly lazy. The observation was always made in passing, as if he were to say, “What a lovely day it is” or, “Your horse has such a lustrous coat.” It didn’t express any specific feelings of love or admiration. It was just something to say, a sweetness to lull me into the false idea that he cared. 

“Several times this week, Mara expressed concerns over your attitude,” Franco informed me, leaning closer as if to bring me in on a secret only we shared. 

“Oh? I don’t feel any different,” I answered calmly. But my heart started drumming faster. Damn Marielle. 

“I want you to know that if anything is on your mind, you can tell me. I want us to trust each other, always.” 

“Of course,” I feigned an innocent smile. 

“Tatiana. I want you to be happy with us. I know how Mara and my daughters can be. But with time, I am convinced that things will change. They will learn to accept you.” His tone was so warm he almost sounded honest. 

I felt the tingle of my blood creeping up my cheeks and hoped I didn't look flushed. The small, helpless child buried deep inside me wished for all of this to be true. Maybe if I told him how trapped and abused I felt, he would forgive my thoughts of betrayal. Maybe in the future, he would reconsider sending me to my death like I was cannon fodder. Was there a chance that he didn’t know how I was treated under his roof? 

No. Since I rose from the dead, I saw my entire family, not only Franco, under a new light. One that was harsh, and toxic, and bleak. 

“I am proud to be a part of our family, Father. When I imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t rescued me from the demons…” I shuddered, and let my voice trail off in horror, proud of my performance. “I love Mara like a mother, and the girls like true sisters. That is enough for me.” I beamed candidly. 

“Good.” Franco answered. 

Lying was becoming frighteningly easy. Being raised in a viper’s nest had made it natural for me to slip into their skin. I had simply never tried before. 

Thornland’s court resided in King Hughes’ stronghold, an imposing structure covered in ivy and topped with menacing towers. Growing up, I hated coming here with the Duke. The labyrinth of hallways was constantly humming with a flurry of gossip, and the noblemen and women of the court never got used to seeing a half-human, half-demon amongst them. 

A valet ushered us to the great hall, a dank and vaulted room. King Hughes wasn’t on his throne yet, as it was customary for him to come in last. I dreaded the long wait, unsure that I wouldn’t suddenly decide to back out of my plan. Franco and I dutifully took our places standing beside the empty throne. 

After a moment, the doors to the great hall squeaked open. A cold rush of air swept up my dress. I stared ahead, eager to know how many demons were accompanying Spendios for the negotiations. 

My heart stopped. Instead of a delegation, I only saw two demons. And neither of them were Spendios. 

King Luther was walking up the aisle in our direction, followed by a second demon, smaller than the Demon King, and more stout. The both of them were young, probably no older than twenty eight. 

Behind me, Franco drew a sharp breath: he wasn’t expecting to see the Demon King either. Franco and Luther had never met, but the Demon King’s regal presence was hard to ignore. He wore a painted leather vest over his bare, copper skin, and a pair of loose embroidered saffron pants. Next to him, Franco’s fine silks and precious jewels looked like futile ornaments. 

I watched Luther approach, and he returned my gaze with intensity. For an instant, I feared that he might remember that I had murdered him in a past life. But Luther stopped in front of the court intendant, who nodded at him before turning to Franco. 

“King Luther of Voke, and his Dryn of Faraway Lands, Gallen Leno,” the intendant informed the Duke. 

Franco must have known what a Dryn was, because he didn’t bat an eyelid at the introduction. He greeted King Luther and Gallen with a respect I rarely saw him bestow upon demons. Deep down he still despised every demon he had ever encountered, but he was sly enough to know when to hide it. 

The court intendant introduced me next. 

“Tatiana Franco, our court interpreter.”

I saw Luther start to bow, as humans do. In a flash, I decided to still go ahead with my plan. 

Years of working together had led Spendios and I to be comfortable around each other, to build trust despite being on opposite sides. I had none of that with Luther and Gallen, but I had to convince them to help me nonetheless. I had no choice. 

So I swiftly stepped forward and held out my hand. My heart was pounding in my chest. 

“Please,” I told him in Shadowtongue. “I know the way of demons.”

Luther, surprised, stood up straight and plunged his purple eyes into mine. A shudder ran through me as I thought of the first demon greeting we shared, of the needle between our skin. 

“Nice to meet you, King Luther,” I smiled, flicking my wrist and baring my cuts and bruises for him to see, before clasping his forearm with my hand.