She curled her tail, her horns pulsing like a drill to her skull, her nerves a burnt net of pain, her bones groaning under her skin. Hell, it was… well, ‘hell’. It felt as if someone had ripped her apart and glued back the limbs. Each joint refused to give, her muscles telling her to stop.

  And then, with eyes flooding down her cheek, the fresh tear like oil to her rusted ducts, her lashes opened. The light was dim, low, the air warm, rustic. And in an odd beat of her heart. A moment of nostalgia, she watched a shadow work, the tall back just like she had remembered it.

  It felt like home.

  Lorelai pressed her dry lips, her throat too hoarse to speak. Her fingers leaned off the bed sheets, her arm reaching. Call her foolish, call her a stupid girl with a dream, too impossible to be true. But hell, she would reach out every time. She would want her father back.

  However, perhaps sensing her shift or having a sixth sense for bad timing, the man turned. And it was not crimson eyes that regarded her, not the man she wanted so badly to be there again.

  Yet she didn’t lower her hand.

  The man raised a brow, deciphering her gesture. Icy blue eyes, jaded dark features. He tried to make sense of her. His cogs turning, like a machine. A weapon built to be soulless, to kill, to leave nothing left. He was supposed to be all those things. Be an Inquisitor. She saw the slots in his back, saw the diamond that ran under his skin. She’d tasted his blood, mapped the scars, and edited metal and marrow. She knew what he was.

  “Are you thirsty?” he said.

  She watched him move the cups and jug with a clumsy hand, his frown a constant inflexion. This was the great Dragon Slayer, a Valkar like her, a demon knight, a monarch.

  He shifted closer, the cup ready, his fingers not so.

  “Urh.. Can you sit up?” he asked.

  Why did that face bug her so much? Why couldn’t she speak?

  “Lorelai?” he said.

  Her turn swirled at the word, her eyes tracking him like a hawk.

  “What?” Her throat rasped.

  It came out harsher than she meant it. But in the silence, she only continued her stare, the tick of Voltile lanterns, breath, and heart smothering the air.

  Marshal put the cup down and let out an exasperated sigh.

  “I could have asked you the same thing. Sebastian Thorne. A Knight of Lust?” he said.

  The bed creaked under her as she refused to look away.

  “As much as he was a problem,” the man’s eyes flicked a darker shade, glint of the monster she knew he was, surfacing. “You killed a demon general.”

  The words ran like ice along her hair, a snarl breaking her sore throat, her fists knotting into fabric.

  “He deserved to die!” Lore hissed, “I should have done it slowly, more painful, let him scream a little.”

  But the Inquisitor’s glare didn’t let up: “You have a big target on your back.” He paused, “If anyone finds out… even a princess like you—”

  Lore sat up, her nails dragging Marshal into her growl.

  “Princess!” she snapped, “Who are you? How much do you know?”

  Marshal, without even showing a fragment of care, held her glare, dared her to try it.

  And then—

  “Lorelai Violette, daughter of Edric and Coraline Violette, Princess of Fury, I know who you are—and now the entire crew does too.”

  She hesitated, “The crew?”

  “Right after you blew Sebastian’s brains on the deck, you shouted it to the void itself. Screamed it. Even.” Marshal said.

  Then, unexpectedly, the man pulled out a Glass ID. Carved out of Gravium, printed like a scar on crystal. It was not just any ID. It was her ID. The one and only in the realm of deed to ownership, the last mark of who she was.

  “I believe this is your’s.” He said.

  She stared at it, scanning the etched material and the hum of power it still held. This was her. The girl was almost meant to be. The person she couldn’t go back to. She couldn’t take that. She mustn’t.

  “I—” she backed up, flinched at its existence. “No.” She said.

  But Marshal moved closer, pressing the glass into her fingers. Curling her hand around it. And oddly, she let him. She could snap it. She should. But her hand wouldn’t close. Her fingers wouldn’t let go either.

  “The realm thinks you were dead.” He said. “And it’s up to you to prove them wrong or right.”

  She looked at him, watched the wall of secrets weave under those eyes.

  “What kingdom did you reign over again?” she said.

  He frowned, “I can’t tell you.”

  Then, standing up, the chill air replacing his body, he started walking. Walking out that door. Walking like a final goodbye.

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  “Wait,” Lore muttered, too quiet for him to hear, her body fixed in position, her head refusing to watch it happen.

  And then the door closed, and the room faded back to silence.

  “Wait.” She whispered.

  Her fingers curled the card, her hands so close to crushing it.

  “I can’t be her anymore.” She croaked, “I’m not that demon anymore.”

  Meanwhile, the wall, like a fuzzy, distorted reflection, smiled, the image’s tail wagging. Ego’s tail, Ego’s eyes, Ego’s fangs. Like a knife reaching out, the fragment pushed her fingers out. Metal warped and wrapped ghostly fingers.

  “It’s ok,” she whispered.

  Lore wanted to flinch to pull back, but the hand just moved closer. The scent of the woman’s perfume, just like the one she used to wear, her eyes crimson like her father’s.

  Then it was face to face, her nose touching, nose. Fragment and Demon staring at one another. The hunger, the thirst, the craving. Everything she had ever felt, shoved in a single body. The smile so sinister it cracked skin, the touch so invasive it could take her at once.

  And part of her might just let it happen. Let Ego be her, let Lore be the fragment.

  She had no right to call herself a princess.

  Her father would be ashamed.

  And her mother…

  was right.

  Suddenly, in a gust, the door swung open, and Lore, mid-panic panic stuffed her ID away. Wiping her cheeks, as she regarded the new guest.

  “You know, I might have preferred when your broody friend was unconscious,” Serena said. “Blasted man has us moving like a state military, order this, document that.”

  She trailed off as she noticed Lore’s bleary expression. A momentary pause as both women stared at one another, the she-wolf standing at the bottom of the bed frame, Lore looking up, in her seated position. But nothing was said.

  Until fidgeting in her fur, Serena opened her fangs.

  “So… when were you going to tell me?” she asked. “I mean Lorelai fucking Violette,” she massaged her fluffy ears, boots leaning a little closer. “You know the whole realm thinks you’re dead, right?”

  Lore let out a breath, her tail curling under the blanket.

  “So I’m told.” She answered.

  Serena scoffed, ready to break the distance in a single step.

  “Really, is that it? I meet a princess, like The Princess of Fury. Lost royalty, a myth. And you just roll over?”

  Lore’s fangs started to grind. The audacity of this cow.

  “What do you want?” Lore said, punctuating her words. “Me to shine like I’m made of gold? Or should I twirl like a noblewoman afraid of dirt? Sing like I’m some fair maiden.”

  Lore twisted away and dropped her head on the pillow, quietly resigning herself to the covers.

  “Sorry, I disappointed you.” She said.

  Serena lingered, the woman like a ghost at the end of her bed. The ticking of Voltite like a bomb riding her heart, the walls closing in, the covers too small to drown it out.

  She had enough of this. Enough of the screams. Enough of the hands that dragged her back. She was Lore, just Lore, just her. No Ego would change that.

  Then—

  “I’m glad you killed that barstard,” Serena said. “Glad someone was able to.”

  Lore flinched, her skin tucked in more, her body wrapping up like a cocoon, her arms squeezing a pillow. Lore wasn’t strong; she wasn’t powerful, nor was she a ruler. Killing Sebastian was a fluke. An action Lore could never do. Something had never been able to do.

  Meanwhile, the humid air made Serena shudder, her low vibrations making their way up the bed frame. Her movements were skittish, shaky, and in doubt, as if she were not sure what to say.

  The moisture left her lips, and the ring of her voice penetrated her duvet.

  “We’re looting Sebastian’s ship.” She said, “I wanted to wait, but Matthias has already dug in.”

  More silence.

  Serena cleared her throat, “When your ready, I’ll meet you on deck. We want to make sure we split correctly.”

  Lore didn’t move, didn’t dare breathe. And Serena shookly exhaled, her footsteps fading step by step. Until the door closed. But Lore didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to see their faces. Show them what a crap little girl she was.

  However, as the noises ratted above her, the chatting voices of Mutt and Beaumont crawling through loot, Lore’s tail curled, her fangs clenched so hard she might break her teeth.

  Sebastian ship. The man who brought a truckload of assets from her home showered himself in the silks that belonged to her.

  “Share?” Lore growled.

  She threw the sheets off, her feet slamming the plank.

  “I don’t share. Lore doesn’t Share.”