To Bewitch a Devil

241 New Wardrobe

She sped to them, and before Azriel could decipher what was going on or stop her, she unsheathed one of them and held it to her palm.

Azriel held up two palms to her. “Pen, don’t.” He said very slowly, yet taken aback by how escalated things became.

“Don’t come near me or I will cut my palms up before you have a chance to read anything,” Penelope warned, shocked at the audacity in her voice, then quickly added, “my Lord.”

“So there is something she actually told you.” Azriel said.

“She didn’t want the King to know, my Lord. I honour my promises with my life.”

“Even if such promises would cause more harm than good? You are making a mountain out of a molehill. Zavian and I are trying to help her.” Azriel said, and took a step toward her.

Penelope pressed the sharp edge of the knife to her palm. “Don’t.”

“Okay,” Azriel returned the step. “Okay. It’s okay, Pen. I won’t force you to tell me anything anymore. Just put that knife down. It is sharper than you think.”

Penelope didn’t withdraw the knife, nor did she take her eyes off Azriel for a second.

.....

“Don’t make me do things I don’t want to do, my Lord,” she said, almost pleading. “You have to trust me. Neera only needs time, she’s fine. She’s only overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed by what?” Azriel poked a try, but Penelope was not falling for it. “Fine, I promise I won’t force you to tell me anything, nor will I read your past. Now can you put that knife down?”

He could sense the hesitation from her. “Pen, I am a demon of my words.”

Penelope put the knife on the table, and something dropped on her feet. She looked at it then and saw the blood drip down from the straight line of cut the blade had made across her palm.

“I didn’t…,” she was confused.

Azriel was in front of her, and he reached for his drawer, pulling out medical essentials like it was a doctor’s aid box.

“Sit,” he ordered, and she did. He crouched before her, and cleaned up the blood from the wound. He worked in silence, holding her hand delicately, his brows furrowed in concentration as he worked with the dexterity of a seasoned physician. In a short while, her hand was cleaned and bandaged.

“I’m sorry,” Penelope apologized. For daring to disobey him, for the troubles of treating her, for everything.

“Silly girl,” Azriel said, his eyes finally meeting hers. He kissed her bandaged palm, his eyes never leaving hers as he stamped kisses like healing patches.

Penelope could not stand the intimacy of a touch she tried to avoid at all cost. “I have to go.” She said.

Azriel rose until he was at eye level with her. Caught unawares, he planted a kiss on Penelope’s lips, a light brush that ignited memories she had tried to bury but kept digging their way out.

“Silly girl,” he whispered against her lips, and pulled back. Penelope took a moment to gather her scrambled thoughts, and when she managed to collect them back in one location, she rose to her feet, and gathered her cleaning supplies.

“Leave that, I’ll have another maid come pick them up,” Azriel said.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And Pen?”

Penelope turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“Throw away all your maid frocks. You’re having a new wardrobe from tomorrow on.”

....

Zavian looked at the mute demon knelt before him, bandage around his throat. He sighed, he had seen way too many bandages these past few days; Neera’s hand, Freya’s unconscious body, Penelope’s hand when she came around (Azriel had told him it was a minor accident), and now, a demon before him who communicated by scribbling his words on parchments of paper, handing it to the guard standing next to him to read out to the King.

So far, Zavian knew what happened. The demon had insulted the Queen one night, and Neera had revenged by piercing a claw deep into his voice box, hoping he would die while not being able to call for help. He had survived due to a customer entering the store a few minutes later, and had come to personally apologize for his misdoings since he was alive, and he wouldn’t know for how long if Neera found out.

“Please, I would like to personally plead with the Queen,” the guard read out to Zavian after the man had scribbled it down on paper.

Zavian rubbed his eyes. “The Queen won’t bother you, and next time, even if it wasn’t the Queen, be watchful of your words. But you wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore.”

The demon’s head hung limp, a pitiful sight. It was at that moment Neera strolled in, her eyes wide and its usual frost glazed over with something undecipherable.

She stopped a few feet from Zavian, and her eyes fell on the lesser demon. “I know you,” she said to the demon. The demon made noises as he threw himself to the ground, hands held up in plea to the Queen, big belly buoying him like a sea lion at a seashore.

“You went shopping and took his speech ability, but it was not for sale. Does it ring a bell?” Zavian asked her.

But Neera wasn’t looking at them. Her eyes bounced around the hall, the images of people made out of reminiscent fog, smoked from a place and time she didn’t remember, passing, talking, laughing, and blurring from one scene to another. She watched them, saw herself, the events that had happened coming to her like a revelation.

“Neera!” A sharp call of her name made the images disappear like mist, and she looked at the troubled face of Zavian.

“What’s wrong?” He had sat up in his throne. Neera shook her head, and addressed the matter in front of her.

“I’ll give you payment for the shoes,” Neera told the man.

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