His warm fingers moved from her hip to her cheek, turning her attention away from the dais and back to him. “I assure you, you do not. Do not concern yourself that I might be unable to sate your hunger for conversation, my beautiful. All my age will mean for our mating is that I am strong enough to keep you and our offspring safe. Age does not work on our minds nor bodies like it does on human men. You will be well tended under my care.”
Perhaps this wasn’t the worst offer she could get. He was polite, he was promising actual conversation, and considering how they were at war, someone strong enough to keep any children she might have with him alive seemed like a solid proposition, considering the circumstances. So long as…
“And if I say ‘no’ to certain parts of this… tending? What will you do?”
His lips curled in a small smile. With a gentle caress to her cheek, he moved his hand back to grip hers so he could swing her around, returning them to the rhythm of the ancient drums. “My beautiful, I know you will ask this of all of us, but courtesy of the courting rules the prince has implemented, we cannot lie to you. I will not mistreat you. I will not savage you. And yet, ‘no’ is not an option for a demon’s mate. In time, you will learn to appreciate this.”
“Appreciate it? Are you nuts?” Georgia dug her heels in, pulling her hand out of his light grasp in the process. “What I appreciate is having a choice! What I appreciate is not having my free will ignored!”
Iye bowed his head lightly, entirely unfazed by her anger. “I understand. A Breeder’s lot is burdensome; but it is necessary for the mating bond that you learn to enjoy the power that lies in submission. If you become mine, I promise that any resistance will be met with gentle insistence, not brutality. You should ask your coming suitors if they can swear to the same.”
Georgia gaped up at him, not managing to make her mouth form any sort of response before he stepped away. He was immediately replaced by another demon—the redhead who’d been so outspoken about her right to choose her own mate.
“Pretty Breeder… aren’t you lovely?” He gave her a slow look from head to toe that immediately made her skin crawl.
“No. I’m not picking you.” She made to turn away from him—toward literally any other male—but his strong hand closed around her biceps, forcing her back around to face him.
“Do not turn your ba?—”
He didn’t manage to get another word out. One second his hand was around her arm; the next it was gone. Fine, wet mist covered her face as she stared at the bloodied stump of his arm.
The redhead let out a pained gasp, but it was drowned out by the rumble echoing through the throne room.
“You dare lay a hand on her? Under my roof?” The prince’s rough voice was barely recognizable, the thunder of it vibrating off the walls. “You paw at a woman under my protection?”
Still in shock, Georgia turned toward the dais—as did the rest of the lords
Kesh was no longer lounging on the throne. No longer looking bored.
He stood at the top of the dais, both hands clenched into fists, and something bordering on insanity flaming in his black eyes. Dark shadows oozed from his hulking form and crept along the floor, slowly filling the hall.
“Lord Ithikan offers his deepest apologies. Does he not?” Kirigan stepped forward from his place next to the throne, placing himself between his son and the rest of the room. His eyes speared into the redheaded lord, who was clutching at his stump to stem the bleeding.
“Yes. My sincere apologies, Your Highness. I meant no disrespect,” he managed to grit out.
Kesh’s nostrils flared in response, but this time Lord Maell stepped in. “Your apologies are noted. Please allow the prince’s men to escort you off the premises. Your presence is no longer required at this courting.”
Ithikan’s face twisted in anger, but another look at Kesh’s darkly shadowed figure, and he bowed his head an inch. “Certainly.”
A soft murmur spread among the other lords as four of the guards stationed along the walls approached the maimed lord to escort him out of the room.
“Please, my lords—don’t let this little, ah, incident ruin the sanctity of such a joyous event. Who is next to court the lovely Georgina?” Governor Maell smiled widely at the room, ignoring the still-simmering prince behind him.
After only a brief hesitation, another male stepped up to Georgia, blocking her view of the dais, though being careful not to touch her.
“My lady. You are even more exquisite covered in blood.”
He made it sound like a compliment, but it wasn’t until then that Georgia realized what the wet mist covering her face was: liquified demon hand.
“Oh, ew! Ew, ew, ew!” She wiped desperately at her face with an arm—it came back smeared in red.
“Servants! Bring the lady a bowl of water and a soft cloth!” her newest suitor demanded at no one in particular, swiftly clocking on that ‘blood’ wasn’t her accessory of choice.
A bowl of warm water and a cloth made from silk arrived in seconds. She grabbed it without fanfare, dunked it, and for a good five minutes, her whole focus was on scrubbing demon off her face and arm. Once she was finally satisfied she wouldn’t accidentally swallow a few drops of Ithikan, she handed the bowl back with a shudder and glared up at the dais, toward the instigator of her impromptu blood shower.
Only he was gone.
As was his father.
