The Demon King Davian

She said, “In the long run, they’re devoted to their friendship—a true brotherhood. They’re committed in a way that pushes them to help each other through the horror of war, even teetering on the verge of sedition in some instances. The disjointed politics of that period in our history tore apart an entire nation and many families—but these two men inevitably refused to let their bond become a victim of circumstance.”

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nbsp; Davian set his glass aside. “Studies vary, but later accounts indicated nearly eight hundred and fifty thousand soldiers died…as well as countless civilians.”

“That’s huge,” she said. Not as high in casualties as the Demon War, but still. It was an exorbitant number. Percentage-wise, given the population in the late 1800s, there had to be a close correlation to the death tolls.

“The war didn’t just come about because of opposing attitudes regarding slavery,” Davian added, “but also because the north felt it necessary to advocate for the Union—to keep the states intact, as instituted by the Declaration of Independence. Secession by the south was considered treason against the country.”

“In the end,” she reminded him, “relations between the north and south were restored.”

Davian’s finger and thumb curled around the stem of his champagne glass. He’d brought both of them with him, since she didn’t own anything so elegant. He swiveled the crystal flute as he inquired, “Are you hinting we should engage in our own Reconstruction Era?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I think an honest evaluation of the state of affairs is in order first. After all, when the Demon War broke out, this country was already in a fit of unrest—ironically over things like racial differences and the Confederate flag.”

There’d been more to it than that, though. She said, “Terrorism ran rampant so that even attending a concert or a sporting event—or just going to work—put one’s life at risk. A decade before the Demon War, the economy had suffered horrifically. People suffered,” she amended. “Lisette said it’d been a dire situation with the real estate, financial and job markets, so much so, there were quite a number of suicides and the homeless rate escalated. Apparently, there was a lot of despair and division of political, social and cultural opinions even after the recession—which increased tensions amongst humans, no need to even factor in the demons at that point.”

He leaned forward and gazed at her. “What is it that you want, Jade? Common ground across the board?”

“Is that asking so much?”

“Someone has to hold more power.”

“I don’t disagree. But shouldn’t the entity in power hold the entire territory in its best interest?”

One corner of the Demon King’s mouth dipped.

Jade pushed a little harder. “What pisses you off more—that I challenge you, or that you’ve already contemplated everything I suggest?”

He didn’t answer her question. Instead, he lifted his fork and simply said, “Eat.”

After dinner, they finished their champagne while snuggling before the fire, something she’d told Michael she’d longed for way back when, at the onset of autumn. That conversation seemed as though it had taken place years ago.

Later, Davian took her to bed and made love to her.

As they nestled in the sheets and gazed at one another while lying on their sides, facing each other, he said, “I have a gift for you.”

“I got it already.” She’d completely forgotten about the typewriter. “Not sure what I’m supposed to compose on that thing, since I don’t know anyone outside the village to correspond with, but I was instantly enthralled by it. Lisette thinks I should write a book.”

Her resultant snicker seemed to trigger his furrowed brow.

“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked.

“What would I write about?”

Davian kissed her and murmured, “You’ll figure it out.” Then he rolled away.

“You’re not leaving so soon?” Her tone was a bit on the panicked side, because Jade had missed him while he’d been gone. Clearing her throat in hopes of sounding a little more collected, she said, “I mean, you only returned this evening. And you haven’t even told me about your scouting trip with Morgan.”

“Give me a moment.” He walked out of the room. Since he only wore his briefs, and his clothes were strewn all over her bedroom floor, she took solace in that he wasn’t on his way out of the cottage, back to the castle.

When he reappeared, he climbed into bed, resuming his previous position. They cuddled under the covers, though a low fire burned in the hearth, keeping the chill from the air.

Davian handed her a small, black velvet bag. She worked the drawstring opening as her curiosity mounted. Dumping the contents into the palm of her hand, she stared in shock at her real present.

A ring.

“It’s mother of pearl,” he told her. “Comes from oysters and abalones.”