The King, the King... Rosalyn couldn’t help herself, she closed her eyes. The chat whirred like crazy, but before any donation messages could pop up, Rhizaid hissed at her.

“Eyes open, shoulders back,” she instructed. “You’re a pet but a sentient pet, and if you displease him he will kill you.”

Rosalyn wanted to quip back that death didn’t matter, but refrained. This was her chance to find out what the hell was up with the King, and she had to play nice. Would this be the demon from the cover of the game? Was this the King of Demons that the title boasted? Or was the heir technically the rightful King? Zal had said that the King had wiped out any threat to his crown, save for the heir. Was the King some kind of usurper?

These were questions she wasn’t sure she’d get answers to, but any information would help. And dying and respawning way back in the woods wouldn’t get her anywhere. So she had to be good.

She hoped her viewers were taking careful stock of the situation so they could pick everything apart.

“What displeases him?” Rosalyn whispered, though she wasn’t sure why she was keeping her voice so low. Rhizi had spoken at a normal volume, so that likely meant there was nobody untrustworthy within earshot, but it felt right, somehow.

“Depends on his mood,” the demon replied, which wasn’t comforting at all.

Rosalyn sucked in her cheeks, and then let go with a deep whoosh of breath. She was nervous. She remembered the face on the front of the game cover, the face she didn’t want to admit to staring at for so long. It had been a drawing, for fuck’s sake. Except now she knew that it might not be just pretty cover art. The high cheekbones and strong chin belonged to a real demon. His pouty lips and sly gaze. Four ebony horns cropping up through hair that looked silky soft.

She gritted her teeth. Yes, she’d spent time horning over the drawing. She hoped to hell that this King she was about to meet wasn’t that guy. If he were deranged enough to kill her for having bad posture, then she didn’t need to be distracted by his attractiveness.

“So should I just like, be next to you and say nothing?” she whispered.

“Speak when spoken to,” Rhizaid replied, and ran a hand over the back of her head as if she were petting a dog. “But for the most part, yes, you’re just here to look pretty.”

Rosalyn wrinkled her nose. The demon’s tone almost sounded like she expected her to preen under the praise, like a pet being told they’ve been good. This was a weird dynamic, and she hoped that she could get what she needed out of this interaction and then get the hell out of this museum of insanity.

The doors on the far side of the expansive room opened, and a pack of heavily-armoured men poured in. Not men, demons, she reminded herself, as their hooves clacked on the shining stone floor. Their armour looked mostly for show, gleaming with a purplish shine, covering decoratively more than practically. One of them had an entire arm encased in metal scales, but his chest and opposite arm were open. Based on the muscular physiology, and the physical strength of the demons she’d encountered thus far, she didn’t imagine they particularly needed armour.

By the time they all entered and split into two lines, she counted ten ornately-decorated guards as they stood at attention facing each other on either side of the door, creating a corridor. It seemed like so much pomp and circumstance, and she half-expected them to pull out trumpets or something to herald the arrival of the King.

They didn’t, though she couldn’t say that the royal demon’s entrance wasn’t grand all on its own. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the beast that sauntered in. Relief washed over her that it wasn’t the guy from the game cover, but that immediately swirled away, replaced by cold fear.

He stalked in like a predator, oozing danger like pheromones.

His skin was a light grey with a silvery sheen, a stark contrast to his crimson horns. They looked like ram’s horns that had been soaked in blood and encrusted with rubies. She shuddered, and then his lavender eyes fell on her, the cat’s eye slits widening and his nostrils flaring. The look on his face as he grew closer was one of utter hunger, as if he wanted to tear off a limb and slurp up her flesh.

Rosalyn struggled not to shrink away—she understood now, Rhizaid’s warning. She didn’t doubt for a second that one wrong move could cost her pain. The presence surrounding the King promised it.

“Rhizi, always a pleasure,” he drawled, and the rock-hard muscles of his impossibly large chest rippled as he extended a hand to her.

“Milord,” Rhizaid replied, her voice suddenly almost mousy and demure. She took his hand delicately in hers, and crossed a cloven foot behind her in a graceful curtsey.

Rosalyn almost choked on her breath at the display, fighting the urge to turn and gape at her captor. She’s totally simping, big bad demon bitch is simping!

“And what is this fleshy thing?” He roved his eyes over Rosalyn, probing, appraising. His thin lips curled into a smirk, and she wondered if he could smell her fear. Scent how hard it was not to quiver and wither away from his gaze.

“She claims to be called human,” Rhizi explained. “First of her kind I’ve ever seen.”

He leaned in slightly, nostrils flaring again, eyes darkening a shade as he stared down at her more intensely. “Claims? She speaks?”

“As well as you and me,” Rhizaid replied, and then added quickly, “Or, well, me, milord, I wouldn’t presume—”

The King flicked a glance at her, the movement taking a fraction of a second to shut her up before coming back to Rosalyn. If she hadn’t been like a deer in the headlights, fixated on his face, she wouldn’t have even noticed it, as nothing moved except his eyes, lightning fast.

“Where do you come from?” he asked, and though his lazy drawl could have almost sounded welcoming, there was something beneath, a roiling undertow, subtly threatening, warning her.

She opened her mouth, but realized that she had no fucking clue what she should say to that. She hadn’t known how to explain it to Zalrimith, and she didn’t know how to explain it here. Rhizaid had said something about there being lands she’d never been to, so maybe she could get away with saying that?

Apparently she didn’t speak fast enough, however, because she suddenly couldn’t breathe.

She hadn’t even seen his hand move, but it was massive, fingers curling around her throat.

“I don’t care how rare you are,” he growled, jerking her body forward as if she weighed nothing. “You will obey or I’ll make you beg for death.” While his tone was menacing, his eyes seemed alight with glee, as if he were excited by the prospect.

Rosalyn clutched at his hand, squeaking, and he loosened his grip just enough so she could suck in a bit of oxygen. “Canada,” she gasped.

“Where the fuck is Ca-nada?” he demanded.

“Far.” She didn’t want to keep him waiting, but still didn’t know what to say.

He glanced at Rhizi, arching a thin brow. “Have you heard of this place?”

“No, milord,” she replied, bowing her head. “I don’t know much past the deadlands.”

The King’s lips parted, his tongue darting out to wet them. “You think this fragile thing crossed the deadlands?”

Rhizaid shrugged. “I don’t know. She just told me she came from far away.”

He ran a nail down Rosalyn’s temple, brushing back some of her hair, now slightly damp with fear sweat. “How did you get here?” he cooed as he twirled some of the hair around his finger, his other hand still holding her throat. He wasn’t squeezing, just holding, the threat clear. Her attempts to move his arm while he’d been choking her had done absolutely nothing, her hands locked on to a steel limb.

“I don’t know, and please, I’m not lying, I really don’t know,” Rosalyn gushed. “I got lost, disoriented, I don’t know what happened to me, and then Rhizi found me and now she’s keeping me in a cage, and I—”

“Enough,” he snapped, the gentle tone from the previous question gone completely. “You speak too much.” He released her, and whirled on one hoof, practically leaping onto one of the large pillows and landing gracefully on his side. He leaned on his elbow and plucked a purple berry from one of the bowls on the low table before popping it into his mouth. “How have you been since my last visit, Rhizi?”

His question seemed to diffuse the entire situation, and Rhizaid led Rosalyn to the opposite side of the table, pressing gently on her shoulder to get her to kneel down. Rosalyn sank to her knees almost in a daze, the ghost of the King’s hand lingering on her flesh.

Rhizaid curled up on a poofier pillow, giving her room to cross her legs. “Oh, you know me, same-same,” she said, and chose a long green item that looked almost like a celery stalk, handing it over to Rosalyn before choosing a berry for herself. “Haven’t seen any more bugs, though.”

Bugs? Rosalyn stared down at the food in her hand before remembering that she should be looking around, focusing on the conversation, making sure KC was getting the footage he needed. She hoped he was okay. She didn’t know how long she’d been out in that cage, how long she’d been streaming at this point. Eventually he’d have to sleep, or something. How long would everyone stick around? Especially thinking it wasn’t real? They’d just go back to their lives, brb gotta go to work ttyl and then pop back in eight hours later, watching recap videos to see what they missed while they were gone. She wondered what memes were being created already.

Her stomach growled as if to remind her that there was food in her hand. And also that she should be paying attention.

Rosalyn took a tentative bite of the celery-like food, her tastebuds exploding with sweetness, surprising her. It was like someone had spliced together peach and sugarcane DNA, with a hint of a minty aftertaste. She munched more ravenously on it, savouring the candy-like experience.

“It’s inconsequential, you know, he’s inconsequential,” the King was saying in response to something Rhizi had said. He grabbed another berry, rolling it around between his fingers. “He can’t do anything, and he has no supporters. It’s just the principle of the thing. I’m able to make a show of humiliating his mother whenever I need to remind the people who this kingdom belongs to, and it would just be nice to have the son, too.” He dug a fingernail into the berry, peeling back the skin a little and fidgeting with it before shoving it in his mouth.

The tiny bit of food roiled in Rosalyn’s belly at his words. He had to be talking about the heir, right? That she’d been tasked to find? He had that guy’s mother? She swallowed hard, still thinking about his hand around her throat, trying not to imagine all of the ways that he could humiliate the woman in front of his subjects.

From what she’d experienced so far, these demons were a sadistic folk, and if this so-called King had wiped out the royal family to take over the throne, she didn’t want to think of what horrors were being visited on his prisoner on the daily.

“There’s only so many places he could be,” Rhizaid said. “You’ll find him eventually. If he’s even still alive.”

The King licked his lips. “He’d better still be alive.”

The insinuation hung in the air, and Rosalyn clenched her jaw to keep it shut. It was clear why he wanted the heir to be alive. Was this what her responsibility was? If she found the heir somehow and delivered him to Zalrimith, would she be sealing him to a fate of endless torture?

It’s him or me, and he’s a fucking NPC, she reminded herself, but somehow that didn’t make it easier on her stomach. It was difficult to remember that they weren’t real when they were sitting in front of her, living and breathing. Whatever magic had transported her into what should have been 90s video game graphics had made everything look so true-to-life and it was messing with her head.

She had to find the heir before Zal got bored and decided to fuck with her some more. Or at least try to find the heir while KC and co. tried to get her out of the game. Maybe they could get her out before she had to make difficult life-or-death-or-torture decisions.

“—the pet going to stay for the main event?” the King was saying as Rosalyn tuned back in to the conversation.

Main event? She blinked.

“No, no,” Rhizi replied, raising a hand and snapping her fingers.

A shorter demon in a black robe appeared almost out of nowhere, accepting the handle of Rosalyn’s leash with a stout hand.

“Straight back to her cage, no dallying,” Rhizaid instructed sternly, and the demon didn’t reply, simply bowing low.

What is the main event? Rosalyn wasn’t sure she wanted to know, given what she knew these demons were into, but she was also trying to gain information, so—

“She is unique.” The King cut into her reverie, regarding her with those chilling lavender eyes. “I’m still enjoying that last bug you gifted me, but perhaps when I’m done taking her apart, I’ll come back for this one.”

Rosalyn stiffened, and she expected Rhizaid to react the same way. She’d put so much care into her new pet, surely she wouldn’t hand her off to this sadistic fuck? But if her captor felt such feelings, she wasn’t expressing it in the slightest.

“You’re always welcome to play with my collection, milord,” Rhizaid said.

Rosalyn swallowed bile. She had to get out of here before this bastard decided to pay another visit.

Rhizi flicked her wrist at the servant, and officially dismissed, they silently turned and gave the leash a gentle tug. Rosalyn got up as slowly as she could, lingering and moving as if she had stiffness in her legs, glancing back over her shoulder and hoping she’d catch a glimpse of something useful for KC.

They were halfway across the hall when the King threw the table of food aside with one arm and pounced on Rhizi’s all-too-willing body, tearing her clothes clean off with one hard wrench.

Rosalyn’s jaw dropped as Rhizaid’s throaty moan echoed in the vast room. The main event. Ah.