The walk down the hill was surreal. The transition from the silent, oppressive forest to the vibrant, noisy town was jarring, like stepping from a black-and-white film into a Technicolor musical. The smells hit me first: woodsmoke, roasting meat, baking bread, and the unmistakable, earthy scent of too many people in too small a space.
The people of Sylverhaven were, at a glance, more energetic than the people of the swamp town. They were louder, their laughter more boisterous, their movements quicker. They were a river of life, and we were two strange, jagged rocks standing in its current.
I felt horribly out of place. My clothes, though cleaned by Angus's magic, were still the simple, worn things I'd been summoned in. They looked like rags compared to the sturdy, well-made tunics and trousers of the locals. My boots were caked with mud and forest grime. I probably looked like a beggar who had just wandered in from the wilderness.
Which, I suppose, was not entirely inaccurate.
The demon king, of course, did not blend in at all. He was a vision of stark, otherworldly perfection. His golden hair seemed to glow in the sunlight, his skin was flawless, and his physique... well, it was as distracting as always. He drew stares like a magnet drew iron. People stopped in their tracks, their conversations dying on their lips as they watched him pass. Their eyes were wide, a mixture of awe, fear, and outright confusion.
I couldn't blame them. He was a man wearing nothing but a strategically placed loincloth, walking through a bustling town square with the air of an emperor inspecting his conquered lands.
A young woman selling flowers nearly dropped her entire basket when she saw him. A blacksmith paused mid-hammer, his jaw hanging open. A group of children stopped their game of tag to gawk, their faces a picture of open-mouthed wonder. Angus followed us, hovering a few feet above the crowd, a pink, pastel guardian angel who looked about as threatening as a cupcake. The whole scene was utterly absurd.
I felt a flush creep up my neck and settle in my cheeks. I was the center of attention by association, the weird, shabby-looking woman trailing after the demi-god in a loincloth. I wanted to find a hole and crawl into it.
Technically, he was my familiar, not the other way around.
But that.
That didn't help things. Even if it weren't practically a joke to say right now. Even when I manage to get some control back from this man...
It's still a haughty, mostly naked gorgeous man walking through a normal town as if the people fully clothed were the problem.
I couldn't imagine anything I did could ever make him look 'normal'.
And it made things worse for me by association.
The demon king seemed utterly oblivious to the stares, or perhaps he simply didn't care. He walked with his head held high, his gaze fixed on a large, two-story building on the far side of the square. It was built of solid timber, with a sign hanging above the door that depicted a frothing mug of ale. A tavern. Of course. It's always a tavern.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door and strode inside, leaving me to scramble after him, Angus fluttering nervously at my heels.
The inside of the tavern was dim and smoky, filled with the low murmur of conversation and the clinking of tankards. The air was thick with the smell of ale and stew and unwashed bodies. It was the kind of place that felt both cozy and slightly dangerous, a perfect spot both for shady dealings and quiet conversations.
The demon king's entrance brought the room to a standstill. The low chatter died, replaced by a shocked silence. A burly man with a beard that looked like it housed a family of sparrows paused in the middle of wiping down a table, his rag frozen in his hand. A group of rough-looking men by the fire stopped their dice game, watching him with a look of obvious suspicion.
Though, unless they were familiar with world traveling demon lords, I really couldn't imagine what a half naked man could be doing that would earn suspicion from those. If anything, I would have expected laughter.
The demon king ignored them all. He walked to an empty table in the darkest corner of the room, as far from the fire as possible, and sat down with a fluid, graceful motion. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, and looked around the room with a bored, imperious gaze.
I stood awkwardly near the door, feeling like a lost child. Every eye in the room was on me, then on the demon king, then back to me. I could almost hear their thoughts: Who are they? What are they? Why is he naked?
Angus walked up next to me, wringing his hands. [Maybe we should have... I don't know... found you a cloak? Or something? (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)]
"A little late for that, don't you think?" I muttered under my breath. I took a deep breath and walked toward the demon king's table, my head held high, trying to project an air of confidence I absolutely did not feel. I slid into the chair opposite him, my back ramrod straight.
He looked at me, a single, raised eyebrow conveying a universe of scorn. "Sit. And do not speak unless spoken to."
"Don't tell me what to do." I hissed back. "You're not my boss."
His lip curled in a sneer. "I am your king. You would do well to remember it."
I was about to retort, something cutting and witty about his lack of a kingdom, or the necklace around his neck, or the fact that his 'kingship' was currently dependent on my survival, but I was interrupted.
The burly man with the beard approached our table, a wary look on his face. He was holding a wooden tray with two tankards of ale on it. He placed one on the table in front of the demon king, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a wild animal.
"Welcome to the Sly Boar," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He glanced at me, then back at the demon king, his eyes lingering on the golden necklace. "Don't see many... folks like you 'round these parts."
The demon king didn't touch the tankard. He just looked at the man, his purple eyes cold and dismissive. "I am unique in all worlds," he said, the words a simple, arrogant statement of fact.
"Can you not even pretend to be normal?" I whisper, mortified. It's bad enough I'm with a half-naked man, I didn't need him to also admit he was not of the world.
The bartender's eyes narrowed. He looked from the demon king to me, suspicion etched on his weathered face. "You're not from around here, are you? What's your business in Sylverhaven?"
I opened my mouth to answer, to spin some kind of plausible lie, but the demon king spoke first. "We are seeking information."
The bartender's hand drifted to the hilt of the knife tucked into his belt. "Information about what?"
"About the lord of this domain," the demon king said, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "The one who hides in his castle and lets his rot fester in the heart of his lands. I intend to slay him."