"Lyla," Valerian drawls coldly, sending a shiver running collectively through the room. That is not a voice of remorse, or one that shows any mercy whatsoever. Whatever tender affection Valerian once had is swiftly wiped away, replaced by the chilling authority of a king with thousands of years of rule strapped to his belt. This is a man who has seen everything. All mortal weaknesses are gone.
This is the power of the true demon king.
At the sound of her name, Lyla's head darts up. In a split second her whole demeanour appears to undergo a transformation: her slouched posture on the ground straightening bolt upright, as though a rod had been stuck up her back. The tears in her eyes cease to gleam, replaced by a curious fondness that is laced with a poisonous smile.
Next to me, Alastor shifts uncomfortably, his hand tightening on my own.
