The purple sky turned even darker. The red clouds high above glowed like dying coals. Athan raised his hand, and the entire line of soldiers stopped. They were in a valley now. The ground was covered in dark red dust that looked like crushed bricks.
"We camp here," Athan said.
It was a command, not a suggestion. Celeste watched him jump down from his horse. He did it with so much power that the ground seemed to thud. She stayed on her mare, her legs feeling like jelly. Her inner thighs burned from gripping the saddle for hours. She wanted to get down, but she was afraid her legs would simply give out and she would flop into the red dust. That would be embarrassing. She didn't want the demon soldiers to see her fall.
Athan walked over to her. He didn't ask if she needed help. He just reached up, grabbed her waist, and swung her down. When her feet hit the ground, a sharp pain shot up her legs. She stumbled into his chest. His armor was cold and hard, smelling of metal and old smoke.
For a second, she stayed there, leaning against him. She thought he might push her away. Instead, his hand stayed on her arm for a moment longer than necessary.
"Sit," he said, pointing to a flat rock near a small circle of stones.
Celeste sat. She felt small and messy. Her silver hair was tangled from the wind. Her black leather dress was covered in dust. She looked at her hands and saw dirt under her fingernails. In the palace, she was washed three times a day. Now, she felt like a stray cat.
The demon soldiers worked fast. They didn't talk much. They gathered wood that looked like bleached bones and piled it in the center of the stones. One soldier snapped his fingers, and a spark of red fire jumped from his hand into the wood. The flames grew quickly. They weren't orange like the fires in Aetheria. These flames were deep crimson and dark purple.
As the sun..or whatever gave light to this place…..disappeared completely, the temperature dropped. In the sky kingdom, it was always the same temperature. Here, the air became biting. It was a dry, mean kind of cold.
Celeste began to shake. She hugged her arms across her chest. The leather of her dress was thick, but it wasn't warm. It was meant to look good, not to keep her safe from the night. She watched the fire, but she was sitting too far away to feel it. She didn't want to move closer because Athan was standing right by the flames, looking out into the dark.
Athan turned around. He saw her shivering. His gold eyes tracked the way her shoulders jumped. He walked toward her. His shadow stretched out long and scary in the firelight.
"You are cold," he said. It wasn't a question.
"I am fine," Celeste lied. Her teeth chattered right after she said it. She felt stupid. Why was she lying? He could clearly see her shaking.
Athan didn't argue. He just reached down and grabbed her hand. He pulled her up from the rock. He led her toward the fire and sat down on a large fallen log. Then, he pulled her down right next to him.
"Better?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered.
But the wind shifted. A cold breeze blew through the valley, hitting her back. Celeste let out a small gasp and curled into herself. She felt a sudden, heavy weight on her shoulders. Athan had wrapped his arm around her. He pulled her flush against his side.
Being this close to him was confusing. His armor was cold, but his body underneath was like a furnace. The heat coming off him was incredible. It felt like standing next to a wall that had been baking in the sun all day.
Celeste froze. She didn't know where to put her hands. Should she push him away? No, she was too cold. Should she lean into him? That felt too bold. She settled for sitting very still, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Athan shifted his weight. His large hand moved up her back. He wasn't being romantic. He was just moving his arm to get comfortable. But then, his fingers brushed against the thin fabric at the top of her dress. He felt the ridges of her skin.
He stopped moving.
Celeste felt her stomach flip. She knew what he was feeling. He was feeling the scars. The jagged, ugly lumps of skin where her wings should have grown. She felt a deep sense of shame. She wanted to pull away and hide in the dark. She didn't want the King of the Underworld to touch her "defect."
"Don't," she whispered.
Athan didn't listen. He moved his other hand, pulling the hair away from her neck so he could see better. The firelight was bright. It showed everything. It showed the red marks from the maid's scrubbing and the white, uneven lines of the wing-scars.
Celeste waited for him to say something mean. She waited for him to call her a freak or ask why she was so broken. That was what Caelum did. That was what her father did. They looked at her back and saw a failure.
Athan's hand was hot. His palm was calloused and rough. He ran his thumb over the longest scar. He did it slowly. He wasn't poking at it. He was touching it like it was something important.
"Does it hurt?" he asked. His voice was a low growl.
"No," Celeste said. "It just... it is just ugly."
Athan gripped her shoulder, turning her slightly so she had to look at him. His face was inches from hers. The gold in his eyes was spinning like liquid metal. He looked angry, but the anger wasn't aimed at her. It was aimed at the world.
"They did this to you," he said. It wasn't a question.
"I was born this way," she said, her voice shaking. "I am defective."
Athan's eyes narrowed. He looked at the scars again, then back at her silver eyes.
"No," Athan whispered. "They carved the flight out of you because they were afraid of what you would become."
He leaned in closer. His breath smelled like the dark fruit he had given her earlier. He reached out and touched the scars one more time. His touch was so warm it almost felt like it was healing the old pain.
"They didn't deserve you," he said.
Celeste felt a lump in her throat. No one had ever said that. They always said she didn't deserve the palace. They said she didn't deserve her name.
Athan didn't wait for her to cry. He wasn't the kind of man to offer a shoulder for tears. He simply pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. He held her tight against his chest.
"Sleep," he ordered.
Celeste closed her eyes. She felt the steady thump of his heart against her ear. It was slow and heavy. She thought about the Angel Kingdom. She thought about the white towers and the cold wings. Then she thought about the rough, hot hand of the Demon King.
She wasn't a princess there. She was a defect.
Here, she was something else. She didn't know what yet. But as the fire crackled and the cold wind hissed through the valley, she stopped shaking. She leaned into the heat of the monster and, for the first time in eighteen years, she fell into a deep.