The Devil and a Demon

My name is Alexandria Baniu, though I was born with no such name in the slums of Novenia's capital city Bolchest. Orphans like me, stained by the demons that lurk in the sewers, do not deserve to be given a name when it would waste away with our short life more often than not. But from the moment I clawed my way out of my mother's torn womb, from the moment I opened my eyes, I've made the resolve to survive even when the world was out to get people like me.

My father looked after me until I was six years old, though his care was questionable. At some point I was handed off to the madam of the red district where I would be groomed to give pleasure to men with enough money on their hands to spare. Most women there give themselves up to the hands of the devil, sealing their mind away for the tiniest semblance of peace they can get in their painful existence—but I was not weak and I planned. I planned and planned and planned.

The king saw me on a summer day, dressed up modestly but intentionally seductive. My straight ebony hair stopped at my shoulder, strands of it strategically placed so the wind would carry it like flowing water. I had worn small amounts of paint that accentuated my best features: my strong hooked nose, my dark eyes lined with wings of kol, my cheeks that would've been sallow in any other lighting instead appeared high; I had starved myself the weeks prior to this meeting as I knew that other than a bountiful chest (for that I wore my dress low-cut, teasing), the king preferred a small woman. It had always been hard for me to stay thin, but I was determined and I worked hard so that I could wrap my fingers around my wrist, even at the expense of my health.

The king, lustful and twice my age at the time, took one look at my young body and swept me off to his palace and his room where he ravished me and took me as his wife. A perfect life awaited me.

That is until now, where I'm sitting on my bed and sliding out of my children's grasp after I made sure they were fast asleep. Valerian had taken up residence in the small servant's room next to mine for the night, telling me to get some rest before tomorrow. In the dark of the night, I wrap my arms around my frail body, the cold seeping in through the thin silk of my nightgown as I walk barefoot across the cold floor to where my desk stands. I light a candle and sit, staring at the pieces of paper I had laid out earlier.

Before, during the panic of being on the brink of death I didn't have time to think much about my situation, but now in the silence of my own mind I can give myself time to do just that. I need to plan, I tell myself as I reach for a quill.

The exact trade the king made was to exchange me for his family's life—that would be my three children and his cousins the dukes. The implications of that could mean many things; I would be a servant or a slave to the general—sir Adonis—or I could be married to him; I could be spoils of war; I could be just a trophy he brings back to showcase his victory. Valerian had said they will decide what to do with me in due time, which means it isn't set in stone, which means I have time to negotiate. I have but a small inkling of how they treat women over in their Republic of Mureke, but from the many diverse faces in the military I'm willing to gamble on it being better than how women are usually regarded here.

I sigh, scrawling out a title: negotiate. To plan for that I need to know about my enemy but I'm stuck in this room with no way to get to the library right now. Leaning back in my chair, I search every corner of my chambers with my eyes—past-me would never leave future-me in such a predicament and there's a good chance that she left something useful in the crevices. Pushing my chair back slowly so to not wake the kids, I move across the room to feel against the wall until I stop at a slight depression on the surface and press against it. When I release my hand, the compartment slides forward, revealing the stacks of documents I had stuffed in there at some point. It's been years since I even accessed this tiny space, but I quietly thank past-me under my breath as I reach in and rifle through the sheets and folders, scanning the titles until I find something even slightly useful; my gaze almost skips over it but I catch it just in time to pull out the folder titled in neat penmanship, "WAR".

When I open it, maps and notes fall out onto the floor and rather than gathering them all up, I just make myself comfortable on the cold tiling, spreading the sheets out so I can take them all in at the same time. At the very beginning of my time in this castle, I had spent weeks laying out plans and possibilities and written them all down in careful methodical notes before deciding on one and putting the rest in the hidden compartment. This one specific folder is one I had written on the political climate of the continent at the time, and although it would have changed plenty by now, it would still be useful to grasp what is going on. I single out the Republic of Mureke on the map and isolate all the papers on it:

Mureke, once considered a powerful empire, went through multiple revolutions, civil wars, and coups in the past century, but only two decades ago did it start pulling itself together and invading other countries. I ink a line onto the map to show the newly instated borders since I last edited it, and I have to be impressed at the considerable growth. They've taken over all of the eastern side of the continent and slaughtered all the aristocracy and erased any trace of a monarchy in those countries, now self-determined by their own elected officials. But still, these acts of supposed goodwill do not make me forget the reports of casualties Novenia suffered on the eastern front when we were still under siege. However, our country is the first one which didn't have their entire royal family murdered in cold blood, so that might count for something in the negotiations.

I knock my head back against the wall in frustration just in time as I hear my son's whimpering from the bed. I hold back a sigh as I gather up the paper to slide it into the folder and proceed to fit it into a suitcase I had laid out earlier. I scoop out the folders in the compartment and dump the rest into the case, pulling it closed. I didn't take anything else any other noble lady might—none of the jewellery or clothing or souvenirs I've amassed over the years—after all, material things don't matter to me as much as knowledge and the survival of my own flesh does.

Just as I make to go over to the bed, a knock startles me out of my own skin. Frantically, I grab a robe that covers my bare arms before opening a crack in the door.

"I'm sorry for bothering you this late, ma'am," Valerian says apologetically.

"It's fine," I find myself saying, "I was awake anyways."

"Then would you come with me?" they ask and I frown at that.

"Pardon?" I furrow my brows.

"Ah, that might be too straightforward," they breath out a laugh before gesturing with their shoulder towards the servant's room, "it's not far so you don't have to cover yourself much."

Immediately my guard goes up and I wrap the robe tighter around my arms. Questions run through my head at the same time an alarm bell goes off there—are they going to take advantage of me? Are they going to hurt me? Do they need my help somewhere? Something must've shown on my face because Valerian's eyes blow open wide for a moment.

"Oh, ma'am I don't mean any harm," they assure me, but I'm not convinced. "We need to talk and since your kids are still in there we don't want to disturb them."

'We', they said. I'm still hesitant to leave, but standing out here is cold and the question is thrown on me so abruptly that I don't know what to do. Instead, I just nod and open the door wider in an indication that they can lead the way.

When we get there, I don't expect him. Sitting on a couch, a man with brown hair and bronze skin looks over to me and I immediately recognise him as the very same general—sir Adonis.

I swallow and curtsy, ignoring the trembling in my hands. When I look back up I press them to my stomach in an attempt to stop the shaking from being spotted as a weakness. I take the initiative, "Sir Adonis, I presume?"

Adonis blinks once and looks away in disinterest. I feel shame bubble in my stomach and I glance at Valerian for help. The soldier, bless their heart, takes me to sit on a seat opposite the general and leads the conversation.

"The price for your family's safety is you," they say, not coating over anything.

I nod. "I'm aware."

"But we haven't decided what exactly that meant just yet."

I measure the second of silence between the end of their statement and the beginning of mine making sure with needle-precision that I don't appear indecisive or too desperate. I speak, raising a hand to my chest in a facade of earnest, "As his majesty has stated, I can be your wife, sir Adonis."

Adonis looks over to me once again, pinning me with his unreadable gaze. "Do you want that?"

I freeze. What is that question? The answer could be the difference between living and dying and I hate that I don't know if what I answer is important to my survival or not. I tighten my lips into a thin line and try to provoke a reaction so I can gauge whether he wants me to say yes or no, "You are a desirable man, sir Adonis. I don't see why anyone would refuse to be wed to you."

Adonis sighs and his frozen exterior melts into one of irritation as he slides down his seat on the couch slightly, throwing his head back in what I can only describe as exasperation. He asks again, "Do you, lady Alexandra, want to marry me?"

I frown. Does he want the satisfaction of hearing me say that? "Do you not want me, sir Adonis? You agreed to take me as your wife did you not?"

He throws his hands up in a 'I guess' action and snaps his head to face Valerian, "Is she playing games with me?"

I want to tell him that I'm right here, but I know better than to interrupt a man when I'm in such a disadvantageous position. Instead I stay silent.

Valerian's lips tighten in somewhat terrifying grin before they say, "Can we please talk outside, Don?" And then, turning to speak to me, "Please excuse us for a moment, ma'am."

As they make their way out, I hear a snippet of their conversation.

"Is she a politician? She speaks like one."

"You are being exceptionally difficult today, Don."

The door clicks shut behind them and I'm left in a dark room lit only by the oil lamp on the table that sat between me and the general, the complete silence ringing in my ears. I'm sat back ram-rod straight staring off into nothing, gathering my thoughts and trying desperately to ignore the tickle at my heel.

I feel it then, a cold hand reaching out from under the seat and wrapping its spindly fingers around my ankle. A soft giggle echoes in the small room and I close my eyes.

"Look at you." Its voice is like ink, sliding disgustingly over my skin and licking wet against my ear. I shiver as I feel its breath against my nape, a soft laugh pressing fleeting kisses against my earlobe.

"I see you're in a predicament, my dearest Alex." The way it says my name makes me sick to my stomach, but I don't retort. "You know," it continues, "if you ever need my help, all you have to do is ask."

I scoff, slowly opening my eyes but still not looking to the weight leaning on my side. "Yeah right," I say as bold as I can, "and how can you help me?"

A laugh rings out, harsh and grating against me. "You know exactly how," as it says that, its claws trail over me, inching slowly across my chest and I feel it picking at the hem of my way-too-thin nightgown and I hold back a whimper. I hate it, I hate the violating way it touches me, the violating way it says the next words, "my petal."

"You need me," it tells me.

"You have no power on your own, petal."

"My dearest if only you give me what I want—"

"I can give you power over everyone."

"You want that don't you, my dearest?"

"So you won't have to rely on powerful men, sucking on them like the leech you are."

"Isn't that a wonderful thought, petal?"

"Wouldn't you like to know what power feels—"

The door opens and the darkness disintegrates around me, my eyes that have been unintentionally squeezing shut opening to make sure there is nothing around anymore. As Adonis and Valerian walk over, I pull up the parts of nightgown that have been dragged down scandalously, hiding my face so as to not show the red of shame dusting my cheeks.

"Alright, lady Alexandra," the general starts, plopping down in the same spot as before, "we've decided. We'll be wed as husband and wife."

I take a moment to process that. Suppressing a relieved sigh, I pull up a smile as best I can, ignoring the phantom touch of fingers ghosting over my bare skin, "That was the deal."

Adonis grimaces while Valerian, who's still standing, informs me, "We have to depart as soon as possible, ma'am."

I tilt my head. "How early?"

"Before dawn if possible."

My heart stutters. That would be in a good few hours and it's unlikely my children would even be awake to say goodbye. Speaking of—

"And my children?" I ask, alarmed. "What would happen to them?"

The two soldiers look at each other, trading in that silent conversation once again before looking back to me. "They'll stay with their father," Valerian answers, "it is not within the agreement that they would be coming with you."

My eyes slip shut. That's fine. That doesn't bother me. When I open them again Adonis is studying me, but his eyes dart away the moment I meet his gaze. I nod towards Valerian.

"Then," they say once they have the acknowledgement that I understand, smiling as gently as they can, "shall we leave?"