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Penelope left the quarters, mind focusing on her new task. She arrived at one of the court yards, a small one just behind one of the guestrooms, and busied herself by sweeping the yellow leaves that had gathered on the ground.

If Penelope had raised her head from her humming, she might have seen Azriel stride in. His steps were quiet, and he paused, admiring her as she worked.

It didn’t take her long to turn and notice him there. Azriel didn’t miss the visible way she shook from fright and how her hands tightened on the broom.

“Good day, my Lord,” Penelope greeted him and continued her task. Azriel was expecting the cold shoulder already, especially since what happened last with Freya.

“A good day for me or for you, Pen?” Azriel asked.

“It’s only a greeting, my Lord,” even though she tried to hide the clipped tone, she was unsuccessful.

Azriel moved forward and stopped right where she was sweeping. Penelope stopped sweeping, and she moved to another corner of the courtyard to continue. Azriel, again, walked over to the line of her broom and stood there.

Penelope didn’t look up to give him the satisfaction of how much she was getting angry. So she moved to another part of the courtyard, sweeping with more haste and aggression. Again, Azriel stood in her way.

.....

She stopped sweeping but didn’t meet his gaze. “Is there something in particular you want, my Lord?”

Azriel sighed. “I just like the view from here.”

“You can get the view of the court from anywhere you stand, my Lord.”

“I wasn’t talking about the courtyard, Pen,” Azriel said. Penelope raised her eyes to meet him then and found them already resting on her bosoms.

Azriel smiled. “And I get the full view now, amazing.”

Pink tinged Penelope’s face, much to her chagrin. “My Lord, you promised to let me be.”

“I never did, and if there was a promise, it isn’t even in writing.”

“So you are saying you are not a demon of his words?”

“No, I am a demon that would remember if I promised,” his thumb caressed her cheek. “And I remember clearly stating that you can’t ignore this pull between us both.”

Like a brick stoned at her, Penelope woke up from the daze of his touch. She backed away quickly, and the action caused her to tumble backward. Azriel was fast, and in one second, he held her hand and drew her to himself.

Her inhale was sharp, and she was staring right into those formidable eyes of Azriel. He was both intimidating and alluring, both playful and deadly, a wanton cocktail of personalities.

He dipped his head, his lips reaching to meet hers, and Penelope’s grip on his arms tightened, the control over her self-promise fading off as he got even closer.

Raw cactus. The word came into her head, fleeting at first, then repeating till it filled her ears. Her eyes widened, and as Azriel’s lip hovered above hers, Penelope did the one thing that could save her from the situation.

“Ouch!” Azriel cried out, drawing back from her. Penelope’s eyes grew wide, and she slammed a hand on her agape mouth. She didn’t even believe she just did that.

“I...my Lord..I am so sorry,” she apologized.

“Did you just bite me, Pen?” Azriel wiped at his lips with his hand, but there was no bloodstain.

“I wasn’t thinking, my Lord. Please forgive me,” Penelope apologized again.

“Goodness Pen, you’ve got teeth like fangs,” Azriel said.

“I really hope you don’t try to kiss me again, my Lord.”

Azriel stopped rubbing his lips. “I’m going to get back at you, Pen. Not now, but soon.”

Penelope shrunk into herself. She knew demons were not forgiving beings, and if Azriel said he would do so, he meant it. Whatever it was, she was not hoping to find out.

“Might as well treat what you inflicted,” Azriel said. “Follow me.”

But Penelope knew he was okay, and following him would mean he might get his revenge on her. So she did the only thing she could think of.

Penelope raised her gown and darted out of the courtyard.

In a distance, she heard Azriel yell out her name. He was a fast demon, but she knew corners of the house that he did not frequent. And so as she lost herself in the maze of the architecture, losing him in the process, she sure hoped fervently that she never got to see his face ever again.

....

Neera stumbled on a rock, the large boulder shooting pain up her leg. She hissed and cursed at the inanimate object, and drew her cloak down her face, dragging the throbbing leg as her pace slowed down. She raised her head a bit, and she could see the women lining the dark alleys, their wares hidden behind figure-revealing clothing.

Boisterous young men walked past, and she drew the cloak even closer. They yelled profanities and kicked stones on their way, and if they spotted Neera, they avoided her, for she looked like death itself, clothed in dark garments like the night, and the breeches she wore could mistake her for a man, baggy and ill-fitting and belonging to one of the guards, something she had snatched from the line while it was sun-drying.

She tightened the rope around the breeches, wishing she had taken something her size at least. It was too late a worry now, and she had to be faster before Zavian could notice she was gone.

Neera braced herself as a cough tore from her lips, the wheezing punctuating the night. She fell to the ground and held her burning chest, and at that moment, a man stepped out from the stall she was in front of, and shooed her off like a pest.