The throne room gleamed with an unnatural brilliance, every polished surface reflecting firelight and faces Nate didn't trust.
Nobles stood in ceremonial robes, draped in silk and suspicion. Foreign envoys flanked the edges, smiling with eyes that measured kingdoms in coin and blood. The royal guards lined the walls like statues, motionless. Watching.
At the far end, raised on an obsidian dais veined with silver, stood the throne.
His throne.
Prince—no—King Nate of Velisya.
The name tasted like ash on his tongue.
He took his steps slowly, measured. The weight of the crown had settled onto his brow only hours ago, but it already felt like an anchor dragging at the edges of his spine.
> "Mmm… you wear the crown well," Jake purred, curling into Nate's thoughts like warm smoke. "But you walk like a man heading to the gallows. So stiff. So proper. It's… adorable."
Nate didn't respond. His face was set in regal stone, unreadable, forged for courtly games.
But inside, his pulse jumped—because he felt Jake.
Not just in his head. In his blood. In the subtle ache in his chest from the mark. In the flicker of heat that coiled low when Jake whispered.
He hated it.
He hated how alive it made him feel.
He reached the throne, turning to face the court. The High Chancellor stepped forward, robes dragging like judgment.
"People of Velisya," the old man announced, voice heavy with ceremonial gravity, "the crown has found its new bearer. By blood and binding, by death and duty, we now recognize His Majesty, King Nate of House Itharia."
The nobles bowed.
Nate's gaze swept the room.
Not a soul looked truly loyal.
> "A room of snakes," Jake murmured. "All of them thinking about how soft your throat looks. Should I snap a few necks for you? Just say the word."
"Behave," Nate replied silently, jaw tight.
> "But your Highness," Jake purred, "you're so tense. Let me… loosen something."
A flash of heat spread across Nate's spine, and he nearly—nearly—shifted where he stood. He forced his hands to remain steady, folded neatly before him. The court saw stillness. Inside, he was burning.
A noblewoman approached—a widow draped in dark violet.
"Your Majesty," she said, bowing deeply. "May I express my condolences. Your brother was beloved."
> "Was he?" Jake said darkly. "I think she's lying. Her scent's too sweet. Too clean. Did you bed her, Nate? Was she hoping you'd inherit? Tsk. Now I'm jealous."
"I never touched her," Nate shot back in his mind, his smile polite as he gave the woman a nod.
> "Good. I'd have torn her apart."
He could feel Jake's smirk blooming deep inside him, as if the demon was reclining in his ribcage like a smug king of his own.
A young foreign diplomat stepped forward next—handsome, with a sly mouth and sharp cheekbones. He bowed lower than necessary.
"I hope we'll have time to discuss trade policies privately, Your Majesty. I find newly crowned kings are often quite… flexible in negotiations."
Nate's brow arched slightly.
> "No," Jake growled, voice low and poisonous. "This one dies first."
"He's flirting, not proposing treason."
> "He looked at your mouth. And he thinks you're alone. Let me out for one minute, Nate. I'll smile while I pull out his spine."
Nate bit the inside of his cheek to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching.
He could feel Jake bristling, pacing inside him like a jealous beast. Possessive. Furious. Watching every glance that lingered too long, every breath near Nate's skin.
A chill slid down Nate's back—not from fear.
From awareness.
"Do all demon bonds come with such… commentary?" he asked silently, accepting a scroll from a duke.
> "No. Most demons don't care. I do." Jake's voice dropped into something low, dangerous. "Because you're mine, and I don't share what's mine."
Nate's breath hitched.
He could feel Jake tracing over his skin with that voice. Not with fingers—just presence. Just intention. It was maddening. And addictive.
The High Chancellor leaned closer as the final bows were offered. "You held yourself well, Majesty. The court is watching. They are unsure. But you stood tall."
"I always will," Nate said, his voice calm.
> "Not always," Jake whispered, almost tender now. "One day, you'll fall. And I'll be the only one waiting to catch you."
Nate turned toward the throne at last, lowering himself into it.
The weight of the kingdom sank into his shoulders. He was alone now. No brother. No mother. No soul who saw him as more than a title.
Except Jake.
Even if he was unholy. Dangerous. Caged by magic.
He saw Nate.
And as Nate sat there, his hands resting on the gilded arms of a throne older than memory, he felt Jake settle deeper inside him like he belonged there.
And maybe—just maybe—he did