He stalked up to her, yelling, “Do not call me demon!”

She forced herself to hold her ground, then repeated his earlier words: —Sensitive about this, creature?—

“Demons are savage. Vrekeners have grace and a sacred purpose. We are descended from gods!”

—How do you know this?—

“From the Tales of Troth—sanctified knowledge passed on from one Vrekener generation to the next for millennia.”

—I’m going to have to stop you, because you’ve already bored me. In any case, my brother-in-law Rydstrom is no savage. He’s one of the best males I know.—

“Enough of Rydstrom! You sound infatuated with him.”

—He is hot.—

“That’s what you like? Ever superficial, sorceress.”

—And you are ever pathologically jealous.—

“It’s much deeper than jealousy. The males you bedded stole from me. You stole from me.”

—What did I steal?—

“Years and children. I would have killed any other for such a grievous loss.”

—That’s what you’ve wanted from me all this time? Years and children? Even if those years would have been miserable?—

“I accept that our existence together will be bleak. The most I hope for is that we can raise our offspring without killing each other.”

Lanthe’s biological clock—which had no idea Thronos was a kidnapping, judgmental prick—quickened at the words our offspring.

Being a doting auntie to the twins had jump-started Lanthe’s clock. Caring for little Ruby in the prison had put it into overdrive.

That she was at the tail end of her fertile time probably wasn’t helping matters.

But children with Thronos? Never. It would be bad enough if Lanthe was trapped in Skye Hell, being brainwashed; she’d be damned if her children shunned laughter, for gold’s sake.

“You don’t seem averse to the idea of young in general,” he observed.

Not at all. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t been looking for a partner all these years.

Too bad each of her forays had ended poorly. She would either gain a creepy new admirer, have her powers stolen, or get the dreaded brush-off: males wincing at their watches, claiming, “Got a really early morning tomorrow, sweet.” Then they’d blaze.

Hit it and quit it. Nail and bail. Yet never a conceive and leave, because she’d taken precautions whenever she’d been in season.

“How could you not have had children?” Thronos demanded. “Your opportunities for impregnation must have been legion.”

She was making a note of all these slut-shaming comments, vowing to throw his demonic origins in his face at every opportunity. —Each day, I’m going to give you two harlot cards to play. If you play more than your two, then I’m going to retaliate, and you won’t enjoy it.—

“Answer the question.”

—My wanting children is a recent development, one that has come to a screeching halt now that I’m your captive. Once I get free, I might investigate the possibility further.—

“You’ll never be free of me.” The words sounded like a sentencing. Meeting her gaze, he said, “Every second we’re together, I get under your skin as deeply as you’ve scarred mine.”

This was like arguing with a wall. A demonic, flying wall. —What’s your plan now?—

“Avoid the war on the plateau below.” The sound of it filtered upward so unceasingly that already it had become a kind of white noise. “Which means we’ll be staying in this cave until you can create a portal to the mortal realm. From there, I’ll take you to the Skye.”

—You’re not hearing me. Thronos, if you didn’t know about the attacks, then your knights were acting outside your orders. What’s to stop them from pitching me over the side up there?—

“My knights would not have dared harm you.” Had he sounded a touch less smug about that? Less confident?

She had to keep chipping away at his stubborn beliefs. —This sorceress is predicting some big adjustments in your future. You’re going to have to accept that Vrekeners break their word, and that your chivalrous and valiant knights laughed as they dropped a terrified girl to her death. You’re going to have to accept that your men sought to murder your eleven-year-old mate with a pitchfork while she fought not to scream!—

For a moment, Thronos looked almost spooked. As of today, she knew what it was like to have one’s lifelong beliefs called into question. It felt a lot like Portia moving a mountain—in your brain. If Lanthe hadn’t known him so well, she could almost have pitied him.

But she did know him well.

—As I said, you can verify everything with Nïx. For now, your bitterest necessity is too tired to keep arguing. You don’t rate high enough anyway.— She turned from him, looking for a place to curl up for an hour or two. Right now the raised rock shelf in the back looked like the best bed ever.

“What do you mean I don’t rate?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he started talking about that sanctified knowledge again, about being a “sword for right,” so she tuned him out, heading toward the back.

“And you tell me I’m not hearing you?” he said from behind her.

He doesn’t like to be ignored. Good to know. Ignoring him, she swept her arm over the surface. Though the air was warm inside this cave, the slab was freezing cold. Beggars, choosers, blah. She curled up, closing her eyes.