Chapter Text
He was sitting in an ornate chair on a dais, lazily reclined in boredom as his men gave their daily reports. It was not quite a throne, but it had the same effect. When they announced her presence, the boredom disappeared and he sat upright, looking around until he spotted her entering the room.
Her legs felt weak as she carefully maneuvered around the goons in the room, each with the signature lapel of a dragon with a robin perched inside its fanged maw. When she finally stood in front of him, she shook slightly, but stood nonetheless, belying the confidence she did not feel.
Marinette felt her cheeks warm as he stared at her, bright green eyes flashing with interest as she ducked her head to avoid his searching eyes.
Everyone knew stepping into the Demon Heir’s lair without an invitation was a death sentence. No one braved the gates of this hell without his express permission.
She was now one of the damned.
“Well. What do we have here?” he drawled, and she flinched when he was suddenly in front of her, grasping her chin to tilt her head up. “Ma-Ma-Marinette.”
She flinched. No one had called her that name since Luka. Judging from his satisfied look at her reaction, he knew that.
His lips curled into a smirk. “Cat got your tongue, my lady?”
Her own lips curled–not into a smirk, but a snarl–before she remembered why she was here and what was on the line.
“I have come, Demon’s Heir, to offer you a trade.”
“Oh? And what would that be?” He still held her chin, gazing deep into her eyes.
She closed them, taking a shuddering breath. Eyes were the windows to the soul. She would not give him the honor of seeing into hers at this most vulnerable moment. Not here. Not now.
“I offer myself, as an exchange for the protection of my own.”
If the Marinette of six years ago, or even six months ago had seen her now, she would have killed herself while she had had the chance.
But she was not the Marinette of six years or even six months ago. That Marinette was dead.
And the fault laid with him.