Ethan quickly discovered that in the Demon Palace, being alive was not the same as being safe.
After the Queen's council, he had expected—hoped, really—that he'd be allowed to retreat to some dark corner where no one remembered he existed. Instead, the opposite happened. Suddenly, everyone noticed him.
The whispers began first.
Walking through the palace corridors, he felt them at his back: voices that stopped the moment he turned. Red-eyed servants peered from doorways. Armored guards followed his steps a heartbeat too long. Courtiers in black and gold robes bent their heads together as he passed, their words like daggers wrapped in silk.
Mortal.
Why him?
The Queen keeps him close. What does she see?
Ethan kept his head down, clutching the bundle of bread he'd scavenged from the kitchens. He would have killed for peanut butter, or even butter butter, but he wasn't about to complain. He had bigger problems.
Like the way demons looked at him now. Not like prey. Not like amusement. But like… a variable. A piece on the board that might tip the game.
He hated it.
"Do not walk so quickly," Morgana barked from behind him, armored boots clanging on the obsidian tiles. She'd been shadowing him since dawn, insisting he continue his "training," though training so far meant mostly bruises and her telling him how easily he'd die in fifty different scenarios.
Ethan slowed his steps, but muttered, "Sorry. Just trying not to get stabbed by all the side-eye."
Morgana caught up, her golden gaze flicking over the halls with soldier's precision. "They will not touch you while you walk beside me."
"Comforting," Ethan said dryly. "So I'm safe as long as I have my own personal Terminator following me. Great."
She ignored his sarcasm. "The Queen has marked you. That alone keeps blades at bay." Then, softer, almost grudging: "For now."
Before he could ask what she meant, mist seeped from the corners of the hall, chilling the hot air. Selene emerged as though the palace itself had sighed her into existence.
"Morgana," she said smoothly, "you treat him as a soldier. He is not one. You will break him before he bends."
"Better broken than dead," Morgana snapped.
"Or perhaps," Selene countered, "better guided than wasted."
The air between them thickened. Ethan sighed, raising his bread like a peace flag. "Look, can we maybe postpone the 'how best to ruin the mortal' debate until after lunch? Please?"
Neither listened.
Morgana's hand twitched toward her sword. "You coddle him. He will never be more than fragile flesh."
Selene's silver eyes gleamed. "Even fragile flesh can hold the spark of something greater."
"Ladies," Ethan tried again, "sisters, terrifying royalty—hi, still here. Could we not do this in the hallway? People are staring."
They were staring. Demons passing by had slowed to watch, eager for the sight of two princesses sparring over the Queen's newest obsession.
And then, as if summoned by tension itself, the shadows stirred.
Lilith stepped out of them, her smile slow and wicked. "My, my. Already fighting over him in public? Mother will be so pleased."
"Stay out of this," Morgana growled.
"Oh, but why would I?" Lilith purred. She circled Ethan, her crimson eyes flashing amusement. "You parade him like a trophy, and Selene sighs over him like a poet. It would be rude not to play."
Ethan felt his face heat. "Excuse me, I am not a trophy or a poet's sigh. I'm a very confused human who still doesn't have wi-fi."
Lilith ignored him, brushing close enough that her shadows licked against his arm. "The palace shifts because of you, mortal. Doors whisper. Eyes follow. Do you not see? You are more dangerous than you think."
Morgana stepped between them, her blade half-drawn. "Enough."
The corridor froze. Guards stiffened. Courtiers held their breath. Ethan had the sudden, horrifying realization that he was standing in the middle of a potential family brawl that could level half the palace.
So he did the only thing he could.
He shoved the bread into Morgana's hand.
"Snack break!" he blurted. "Nobody fights on an empty stomach. Human rule. Universal law. Very wise."
For a beat, no one moved. Then, impossibly, Selene's lips curved in faint amusement.
Lilith laughed, sharp and delighted. "He has a point. Even pawns need to eat."
Morgana glared at them both, but slid her sword back into its sheath with a metallic hiss. She tossed the bread back to Ethan. "Do not test me, mortal."
Ethan caught it clumsily. "Believe me, testing you is literally the last thing on my to-do list."
The tension broke, but only barely. The sisters dispersed—Morgana storming off toward the training grounds, Selene gliding away in her silver mist, Lilith fading into shadow with a grin that promised she'd return.
Ethan was left alone in the corridor, clutching his bread, heart pounding.
He slumped against the wall. "This is fine. Totally fine. Just casually stuck in a demon Game of Thrones, no big deal."
But even as he joked, the weight pressed heavier on him. The Queen had said let them whisper.
And they were.
Every hallway felt colder. Every glance lingered too long. The palace wasn't just watching him—it was waiting.
Waiting to see if the mortal would rise.
Or if he would break.
---
That night, lying awake on the hard stone bed of his chamber, Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that he was already part of something vast and dangerous.
The Queen's shadow loomed larger than ever.
And the sisters' eyes burned into him, each with a different hunger.
"Yeah," he muttered into the darkness, "this is definitely going to kill me."
But sleep never came.
Because deep down, some part of him wondered if the Queen was right.
What if he was possibility?