3. The News
552 Words
Wrong. The single word echoed in her head ominously as a small derisive smirk appeared on the handsome face of the supposed demon king.
“There’s nothing to suppose,” he said sharply.
“I beg your pardon?” She went from worried to perplex in less time than it took to say whoa.
“I am the demon king,” he said as he adjusted his shirt nonchalantly.
You don’t look the part, was Amelia’s sarcastic little mind’s reply. She forced herself, however, to drawl a confused “okay.”
“Pray tell, little one, what am I supposed to look like?” His dark grin revealed his pearly white teeth, and Amelia sucked in a sharp breath.
“You can…”
“Read minds, yes,” he confirmed.
Oh boy! She inwardly exclaimed, not liking her position already, and willing her mind to stop it with the silly fantasies.
“You’re trying too much. Just think of something else,” came his teasing.
As he teased her –made fun of her attempts really– in a soft tone, she began to dismiss his familiar’s presence… but it soon came back to her, when this latter said in his guttural voice, “Master, is it really wise…?”
“Are you questioning me?”
The way he said it, the temperature dropped down several notches, and Amelia winced.
“I would never!” Came Arthur’s horrified response.
She didn’t know whether it should be funny that a monster such as Arthur –whatever he might be– was scared shitless of this seemingly inoffensive man, or i***t on her behalf that she found it so.
“Aren’t you an innocent little thing?” She felt the supposed demon king brush the back of his fingers against her right cheek and she startled back. Her heart was thudding loudly in her chest, and her breathing came out ragged. She had not expected that!
She had been staring right at him. When did he come so close? She had neither seen nor heard him move.
She tried to come up with something, anything, but could not utter a single word out, therefore leaving her mouth open, hanging like that of a fish.
“Oh, sweet bride of mine, I’ll have so much fun toying with you,” he declared before cupping her face with a single hand and brushing her lips with his in the simplest peck.
Bride of mine? Her mind echoed, now screeching, in a panicked frenzy.
She dampened her lips, worried her lower one and then began in a weak stuttering, “I– I think you’re…”
“Mistaken?” He scoffed. “As if! You’re my bride to be,” he announced coldly.
“When did that happen?” She mildly heard herself whine, confusion battling it with dismay in her tone.
She was much too confused, too shocked to think clearly and act rationally. Ergo, she barely knew what she was saying.
“You’ve been my betrothed ever since you turned five, although you probably don’t remember much about it.”
Oh boy!
- Writer
