Chapter 36: A Demon King With Picky Taste
Chapter 36: A Demon King With Picky Taste
"If you don’t like it, then why did you let them serve it in the first place?" I demanded.
For a moment Zorathys just looked at me. His eyes were half-lidded, like always, and his expression was unreadable.
Then, with the slow confidence of someone who absolutely knew he was about to annoy me, he leaned an inch closer.
"Maybe," he murmured, "I just wanted to watch you eat."
I froze.
He froze.
The room froze.
Even the leftover steam from the broth seemed to hesitate in the air.
I blinked once.
Then twice.
Then I narrowed my eyes into the sharpest glare I could muster. If he thought that line was going to work on me, he needed to think again.
He got the message immediately; there was no need to tell him twice or glare any longer. He cleared his throat and adjusted himself in the chair where he sat.
"Or..." he began, softly twirling his fingers together. "There may be other reasons..." He let the words hang.
"Like?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest, waiting for him to explain these "other reasons."
Silence stretched between us—thick and heavy.
Then, because my brain apparently hated me and wanted me to die of embarrassment, a thought popped in—and I said it out loud like an idiot.
"Wait... you’re a demon, so do you... only eat humans?" I asked, eyes wide.
Zorathys blinked at me, his expression one of utter disbelief.
But I continued, because I had already committed to stupidity and because I absolutely wanted to know. He was a demon, after all. What other reason could there be for him refusing perfectly good food that had been prepared for him?
"Or maybe you just drink their blood? Or absorb their aura? Or"—I leaned back slightly, just in case—"consume their life force or something?"
He gave me the blandest look imaginable, like he could not believe the words coming out of my mouth.
"Firefly," he said slowly, "just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I eat humans."
And it was exactly because he was a demon that I pressed the question again.
"Are you sure? You know, you don’t have to lie to me. I’m already in the demon realm. I’ll find out sooner or later."
"Again," he sighed, "just because I’m a demon doesn’t mean I eat humans. And besides, if I ever did eat humans"—he added calmly—"I’d prefer them cooked a bit. Maybe well done. I don’t think I’d appreciate the taste of human meat cooked rare."
"It’s not steak."
"But it should taste like it, right?" he asked, then smiled as I tried to digest whatever nightmare he had just said.
My mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Nope. I refused to process that. I refused to be traumatized, even if I was the one who asked.
I gave him a very tight smile and decided to move on from the accidental cannibalism discussion.
"Anyway... like I was saying, if you don’t like any of the food here, then why did you let the kitchen staff prepare it in the first place?"
He was quiet for a moment.
Too quiet.
Then he finally said, voice low and entirely too casual:
"Before we left your kingdom... um... what’s the name again?"
"Just call it Aelthryn," I told him.
"Right. Aelthryn. I asked around."
I blinked. "Asked around... about what?"
"About you," he said simply.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
"About me?"
"What kind of food you like," he continued, unbothered. "This—" he gestured at the spread on the table "—is similar to what you eat in your kingdom, right? It suits your taste."
I stared at him, frowning.
"You... made them prepare food you don’t like... because of me?" I whispered.
He nodded once, matter-of-factly.
"As you were more likely to eat it," he said.
I stared at him because whatever charm he was unknowingly using, it was definitely working a bit.
"I see," I managed weakly. "Well. Fine. Good. That’s... thoughtful of you, I suppose. Or something."
Zorathys said nothing. He simply watched me, expression unreadable but eyes annoyingly attentive.
I coughed again—apparently my new coping mechanism.
Then I straightened and said, "Call for Kethra."
Zorathys frowned. "Why?"
"Because I want you to call her."
"Call her yourself, then."
I frowned back. "How? There’s no one here to send."
He lifted a shoulder lazily. "Just call her. Calmly. She’ll come."
"That’s ridiculous," I muttered.
"You can snap your fingers too, if you prefer," he added.
Of course. More finger-snapping. I should just join an acapella group at this point.
But I nodded, inhaled deeply, and called softly:
"Kethra?"
Nothing happened for a full second.
Then—
WHOOSH.
Like flames gathering into a shape, Kethra appeared at the far end of the dining hall, smoothing the front of her scorched apron as if she had merely stepped out from behind an invisible curtain.
"My lady?" she said quickly, bowing her head.
I blinked. "That actually worked."
Zorathys lifted a smug brow.
I ignored him.
"Kethra," I said sternly, "why did you prepare food like this when you know very well that Zorathys doesn’t like it?"
Her eyes widened. She swallowed so visibly it looked painful.
"My lady," she began carefully, "there are... very, very few foods that my lord likes. And after seeing the way you appreciated our cooking, I decided to focus on feeding you instead."
"Kethra, just because Zorathys told you to prepare food that suits my taste doesn’t mean you should neglect him. He is your king after all."
"My lady," Kethra said slowly, "as I said before, my lord is a very picky eater. But I do not understand what you mean by him telling us to prepare food that suits your taste. We didn’t receive any instruction like that from him at all."
I paused as the words sank in.
Oh.
I turned to Zorathys with a glare sharp enough to puncture armor. His eyes widened slightly—just enough to confirm he knew he had messed up.
"Zor," I called sweetly, "I thought you said you told them to prepare these foods because of me? Isn’t that what you said?"