"Please, have mer—"
The words stopped with a sick crack.
Severa's sword cut his throat so clean the rest of the word never came out. Blood sprayed across the floor and wall. His body shook once, twice, then fell forward in the chair, head bent at a strange angle.
Silence filled the room.
Severa Cromwell let out a slow breath and lowered her sword. The anger in her chest did not fade. One hour of questions. One hour of the same lies, the same crying, the same excuses.
She hated wasted time.
"Useless," she said, wiping her sword on his tunic. "I gave him every chance."
Two demon soldiers stood near the door, stiff and quiet. One swallowed hard; the other stared at the body, not daring to meet her eyes.
"Clean this up," she ordered, sliding her sword back into its sheath. "Burn the body with the others. I want this room ready within the hour."
"Yes, General," they said together.
She walked to the door, boots leaving dark marks in the blood before the stone wiped them away. Behind her, the soldiers untied the limp body, careful not to step in the pool of blood.
The door shut with a heavy thud.
The hall outside was cooler, lit by torches on the walls. Severa rolled her shoulders, trying to ease her anger. She had wanted names. Routes. Hidden weapons in human towns. Instead, she got sobbing, weak half-truths, and a man too scared of his king to speak.
Fear was fine in soldiers, not in cowards.
"General Cromwell!"
A young guard almost slipped as he ran around the corner, helmet crooked. He stopped and stood straight so fast his armor clanked.
Severa raised one brow. "If you're going to run in my halls, do it without falling."
"Y-yes, General. Sorry." He bowed quickly. "His Majesty is calling. Through the mirror."
Her anger cooled a little. The King rarely used the mirror unless it was important.
"Now?" she asked.
"Yes, General. The war-room channel. Steward said it was urgent."
Of course it was. It always was.
"Very well," she said. "You may breathe again, soldier. And fix that strap before it chokes you."
He grabbed his helmet in panic. "Yes, General!"
She left him, walking with long, sure steps. The fortress around her was busy: boots in the distance, shouts from the yard, steel clashing. Her steel. Her army.
Not babysitting, she thought. Not politics. Let it be something clean.
The war room sat at the center of the keep, behind thick doors carved with flame and shadow. The wards hummed, then faded as she pushed them open.
Inside, the long table was covered with maps and markers showing troop lines at the human–demon border. Candles burned low, wax dripping. At the far end stood a tall mirror in a black iron frame.
As she entered, the mirror was waking.
Red light spread across the glass, glowing lines forming circles and marks. The surface rippled like liquid. A face appeared.
Severa stepped in front of it and pressed her fist to her chest, her closest thing to a bow.
"Your Majesty."
The image sharpened.
The Demon King looked at her from his palace, eyes red, crown shining, face pleased. Blood stained his armor and jaw, as if he hadn't bothered to clean it.
"Severa," he said. "Good. You're not in the field."
"Not now, sire." Her voice was calm. "I was questioning a human. He gave nothing."
"Then he is nothing," the King said with a flick of his hand. "No matter. We have better leverage now."
Severa glanced at the maps, then back. "Something changed at the front?"
"Yes." His mouth curved. "We caught the princess."
The words hit like stone.
Severa's fingers twitched. "Elowen Daralei."
"Of course you know her name," he said, amused. "You study the board. Good. Yes, that one. She tried to run. Almost admirable."
Almost. From him, that was praise.
"That will shake the humans," Severa said. "Her capture will break their spirit."
"It already has," he said. "Reports say their line fell when word spread. Their king has not answered yet, but he will."
Severa thought. "You plan to show her publicly."
"Later." He steepled his fingers. "Not yet. She has a sharp tongue and a mind sharper than her father. Leaving her in my dungeon would waste her."
"What use then?" Severa asked.
The King smiled thinly. "You."
The word cut like a blade.
Severa's face stayed calm, but she felt distaste. "I serve as your general, sire. Not your babysitter."
"And yet you guard my stronghold," he said. "You are disciplined. Patient. Fearsome when you choose. You make men talk. You know pressure."
"I break enemies," she said. "I don't keep them."
He chuckled. "She is not a guest, Severa. She is a weapon. And weapons must be handled before they are useful."
A human weapon, Severa thought. Weak. Emotional. Loud.
"It would be faster to bleed her for secrets and throw her away," she said. "Princes and princesses break quicker than soldiers."
"This one doesn't," the King cut in. "She wouldn't stop talking, even in chains." His eyes darkened, then lightened again with amusement. "It was…refreshing."
Severa almost smiled. Almost. "I see."
"And she has healing magic," he added. "Annoying, but useful."
He lifted a chain, dark and heavy, marks carved deep.
"I can hold her power," he said, "but I have no patience for her noise. If she stays here, I'll kill her. That would ruin my plans."
"You want me to keep her alive," Severa said.
"Alive," he agreed. "Unbroken. Talking."
Her jaw tightened. Unbroken was not her way.
"She will come to your fortress," the King said. "My mages will send her with the next circle."
Severa's mind raced—guards, wards, food, whispers, risk of escape.
"And once she arrives?" she asked. "What do you expect?"
His smile sharpened.
"I want you to earn her trust," he said. "Enough that she gives you secrets about the human king. His fears. His councils. His weak points. I want it all, not torn out in screams, but given piece by piece, because she thinks you are safer than him."
Severa held his gaze.
Not torture. Not threats. A new kind of war.
"Trust," she repeated, the word strange.
"Yes." His eyes gleamed. "Be whatever she needs. Captor, confessor, blade, shield. I don't care how. In the end, she will talk. And when she does, we will cut the human kingdom apart."
He leaned closer, eyes burning.
"Think of it as a campaign," he said softly. "Not of steel and fire. Of patience."
Severa pressed her hands behind her back until her bones ached. A campaign. With one human woman at the center.
"I obey," she said. "I will hold the princess and get what you want."
"Good." His tone warmed. "She arrives today. Prepare your castle."
The red light faded as the mirror went dark.
Just before it died, his voice came again, cruel.
"And, Severa?"
"Your Majesty?"
"Try not to kill this one too fast."
The link broke.
Severa stood alone in the war room, maps quiet, mirror showing only her own face: tall, dark-haired, eyes hard, jaw tight.
Earn her trust.
She turned away, already planning—extra guards, a chamber with wards, chains hidden, food fit for a human.
A new battlefield, she thought.
Fine.
She would win this one too.