2. Enoch

2

ENOCH

I wake, the cold stone of my chamber pressing into my back. Shadows dance across the walls, flickering from the torchlight.

I stretch my body and sit up, pulling a robe around me.

My mind goes to the new human servant, that little creature named Lily.

It annoys me that she is the first thing I think about after I wake up. She shouldn’t matter enough to even warrant thought.

I scoff at the idea of a human having any sort of worth and rub a hand over my jaw.

The human’s just another toy for my mother to play with, an opportunity for her to encourage me to flex my power and gain knowledge about how we can fully utilize the human species.

I push myself up and stride through the dim corridors of the castle, intent on finding the new human and seeing her worthlessness so that she will leave my mind.

The castle’s chill stimulates me and I enjoy it cooling my naturally warm skin.I round corners and descend into the bowels of the castle. With every step, my claws protract slightly, anticipating the fun I’ll have tormenting her.

The lower levels are dank, filled with an earthy scent that makes my skin crawl.

Humans.

She must be here somewhere, tucked away in those miserable cells my mother keeps for her human playthings. A smile creeps onto my lips at the thought of scaring this one. She had been so spooked by the wraith guards.

As I reach her quarters, I shove open the heavy door with a swift kick.

“Wake up, human,” I growl, feigning amusement as I lean against the doorframe.

Something shifts in me when I see her sitting cross-legged on the damp floor, hair falling around her face like a wild halo. She meets my gaze head-on, green eyes glimmering with something that cuts through my bravado.

It's defiance.

“I'm awake.”

Her voice is steady.

I blink, caught off guard by how long she holds my stare. Most humans quiver in fear or beg for mercy at this point. Not her.

Eventually she looks away, but it takes an unnerving amount of time.

“Shouldn’t you be groveling?” I take a step closer, allowing myself to loom over her, testing the unexpected spark she has ignited.

She brushes back some loose strands of hair from her face, and looks back up at me.

“Groveling won’t change anything.”

My blood boils at the insolence, and yet it stirs something, a dark thrill that mixes with curiosity.

"You know what will change things?" I say. "A long, miserable day of toil."

I find excuses during the day to watch as she moves through the tasks Griselda assigns her.

Her fingers dance over tattered fabric, deftly stitching together a torn cloak for one of the lesser demons. I lean against a doorframe, arms crossed, feigning disinterest, but my gaze tracks her every movement. She navigates the intricate needlework with an ease that belies the difficulty of the task.

I catch myself leaning in slightly and I straighten, shaking off the feeling.

Admiration? No. That’s absurd.

She pauses, glancing at me from beneath those wild auburn waves. Her expression remains steady, no hint of fear, just a spark of defiance.

“Need something?” she asks. And as if it were an afterthought adds on, "My lord."

“Just keeping an eye on the new work,” I say, attempting to keep my tone sharp and dismissive.

There’s a grace in her movements that gnaws at me. The way she bends over her task, focused yet fluid. It draws me in despite my best efforts to remain aloof. Each stitch seems deliberate and precise. She transforms what should be drudgery into an art form.

My fists clench unconsciously as I wrestle with this unfamiliar admiration bubbling up inside me. It feels wrong, like I’m betraying everything I’ve ever known about our kind and their supposed superiority over humans. She is creating something almost beautiful despite her situation.

She looks up again and catches me staring this time.

“Have you never seen humans work before?”

The insolence of her daring to speak to me jolts me back to reality.

“I've never had the impulse to be bored out of my mind until today,” I retort quickly, masking any hint of respect behind bravado.

She raises an eyebrow and tilts her head, as if to agree with me about the tedious nature of the work, as if we were able to relate to one another.

I step back into the shadows of the corridor, my mind racing. The flicker of intrigue she ignited refuses to die down.

“Enoch!”

My mother is waiting by a massive wooden door, her golden eyes sharp as daggers.

“We have work to do.”

I follow her into a chamber filled with ancient tomes and scrolls. The air is thick with the smell of parchment and power. We go over the plans to subjugate the demons to the north further through limiting sustenance supplies.

"How's the new slave doing?" Bethana asks.

"Seems miserable enough."

"Griselda has her on scrap duty, I hear."

"Perfect." Somehow, I don't mean it.

When Bethana leaves to attend another meeting, I linger in the dimly lit chamber, wrestling with what’s right and wrong.

My resolve snaps when I hear footsteps echoing down the hall. Another slave moves past with a heavy sack slung over his shoulder. It’s full of discarded items meant for the trash heap.

I wait an appropriate amount of time, and then, as if drawn by an invisible force, I make my way to the lower section of the castle where I'm sure she'll be working with the garbage.

The door to the dump rooms creaks open under my touch. I step inside and catch sight of Lily again, lost in sorting through the rotten food, unaware of my presence.

I watch her, the way she bends over her work, the faint flicker of determination in her green eyes. It captivates me.

I move and she looks up, her eyes fierce, ready to fight. That defiance stirs something primal within me, a hunger for more than just power or status.

“Going to attack me?” I ask, the words spilling out before I can think better of it.

“Not today, Lord Enoch.”

I am surprised and amused.

“Indeed?” I step inside.

I should enjoy the way she flinches back as I approach. Instead, it makes me hurt. I stop advancing and she relaxes.

She continues to sort through the rubbish, occasionally trying to hide a gag or dry heave.

“How's the work going?”

“Fine,” she replies dryly.

I watch as she continues sorting, deft fingers moving quickly even as she fights repulsion.

I step closer. She shrinks back when I raise my hand but then gasps when the piles she has been painfully building sort themselves out.

She looks at me, her eyes both confused and fierce.

“What game are you playing?”

"Game?"

"This looks strangely like you're helping me."

I feel compelled to cover my actions. I sneer. "And what if I am?"

"Oh, I see. This is some sort of psychological game, isn’t it?"

"Maybe."

She focuses on the piles in front of her, but then looks around, uncertain of what to do now.

"What do you think about this castle?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really. But I'm curious."

“Curious? About what? How a human survives in a demon castle?” She scoffs softly and rolls her eyes, then begins to pick up the empty bags and roll them up.

This only ignites my interest more. There’s bravado there, a fire that refuses to be extinguished by the darkness surrounding us.

“What do you want?” she asks, looking into my eyes. It sends a jolt down my body.

“I can ask you the same thing?” I press again, intrigued by the way she looks at me, not with fear but with an ember of challenge that makes my heart race.

She shrugs again but doesn’t break eye contact. “That’s easy. To survive.”

The simplicity of her answer cuts through all the layers of deceit and hierarchy I've grown accustomed to. It’s raw and real, nothing like the games played among demons.

“Why are you different?” I ask before thinking it through.

She stops moving altogether now and tilts her head as if pondering my question seriously for once.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she says slowly.

That hits harder than I expect. I frown at her bluntness, but she has asked something I've been hardly daring to think myself because deep down I know it to be true. Somehow, I am different.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I deflect even as part of me aches for understanding.

Her lips twitch into a knowing smile as if she sees right through my facade. It frustrates me how easily she strips away my armor with just a glance or a word.

I spin on my heel and storm out, relishing the booming that emanates from my footsteps and the way the castle shakes with my fury.

And yet it's not anger at her as it's frustration with me. Frustration because what I really want is to know more about this intriguing human, a desire I absolutely should not be having.