The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets as Jacobi's carriage pulled to a stop at the edge of Westbrook Market. I smoothed the fabric of my dress, finer than my usual training attire, though still modest enough to be appropriate for a demon in service. The collar around my neck felt heavier today, the Velez crest pendant cool against my skin. A reminder of my status, my place, my role.

  And the very thing I intended to use to unsettle the man who had placed it there.

  Jacobi's hand rested on the carriage door handle, his eyes scanning the market square with the practiced assessment of a businessman. "Remember why we're here. You're to assist with evaluating equipment quality, nothing more."

  His tone carried the same cool detachment he'd maintained since that night at the Thornhill Inn when Marcelo Levanth had appeared and everything between us had changed.

  I lowered my eyes in a show of obedience that would satisfy any observers.

  "Of course, Master Velez."

  The formality of the address, one I used only in public, seemed to please him. A small nod, then he descended from the carriage.

  He extended a hand to assist me down with the practiced courtesy he showed all his possessions, animate or otherwise.

  I took his hand, using the brief contact to establish the first ripple in his composure. My fingers lingered against his palm a moment longer than necessary, my thumb brushing the sensitive skin of his inner wrist as I stepped down. A touch so subtle it could be dismissed as accidental, yet the momentary tension in his shoulders told me he'd registered it exactly as intended.

  The game had begun.

  Westbrook Market sprawled before us, a maze of colorful stalls and shops arranged around a central square. Merchants called their wares, the air rich with scents of spices, fresh bread, and tanned leather. Jacobi was known here. I noticed the respectful nods, the straightened postures as we passed. His family name carried weight, opened doors, commanded respect.

  And ownership of me, marked clearly by the collar at my throat, added to his status. A rare fighting demon, an exotic possession that enhanced his reputation as a man of means and influence.

  "We'll start with Farrell's weapons shop."

  Jacobi gestured toward a stone building at the far end of the square, his stride purposeful as he navigated the crowded marketplace.

  "I want your assessment of his new shipment of training blades."

  "As you wish." I matched my stride to his, walking neither ahead nor behind, but alongside, a small liberty he allowed in public, perhaps to demonstrate his progressive attitudes toward his property.

  Farrell's shop smelled of oil and metal, the walls lined with weapons of various styles and origins. The merchant himself, a burly man with arms thick from years at the forge, looked up from his workbench as the bell above the door announced our arrival.

  His face brightened with recognition. "Lord Velez! An honor, as always."

  His eyes flickered to me, curiosity evident as he set aside the blade he'd been polishing.

  "And this must be the fighter I've heard about. Your newest acquisition."

  Jacobi nodded. "Indeed. Joy will be evaluating your blades today."

  He moved toward a display of freshly forged weapons, running a finger along the flat of one blade.

  "Her experience in the Naerith fighting pits makes her assessment valuable."

  Farrell approached me, eyebrows rising in genuine interest. "A northern demon? Remarkable."

  He turned to me with unexpected directness, leaning slightly forward with the eagerness of a craftsman discussing his trade.

  "I've heard your kind favor curved blades with fuller blood channels. Is that accurate?"

  The question contained no condescension, only professional curiosity. I glanced at Jacobi, receiving his slight nod of permission to engage directly.

  "Some northern clans do."

  I stepped toward the displayed weapons, my eyes assessing each piece with practiced efficiency.

  "Though mine preferred straight blades with double edges for versatility in combat styles."

  I selected a training sword from the rack, testing its weight and balance with practiced movements. The blade was well-crafted, the weight distributed properly for training purposes without the danger of a sharpened edge.

  My eyes found Farrell's. "May I?"

  I gestured toward the open space in the center of the shop.

  Farrell stepped back to give me room, his professional interest evident in his focused gaze. "Please."

  I moved into the familiar patterns of a basic form, the blade cutting air with quiet precision. Every movement deliberate, controlled, yet with an underlying grace that transformed the simple demonstration into something more akin to dance. I made each stance more fluid than necessary, allowing my body to flow in ways that emphasized the curves beneath my dress, my breath quickening just enough to make my chest rise and fall noticeably.

  I was aware of both men watching, Farrell with professional assessment mixed with obvious male appreciation, Jacobi with something more complex in his gaze. His jaw had tightened slightly, a muscle working beneath the skin as his eyes tracked my movements with increasing intensity.

  Time to push the first boundary.

  I completed the form and approached Farrell, extending the hilt toward him but deliberately angling my body to brush against his as I did so.

  "The balance is excellent, but the grip would benefit from adjustment."

  My eyes met his, holding his gaze a moment longer than necessary.

  "May I show you?"

  Before Jacobi could intervene, I had taken Farrell's calloused hand in mine, positioning his fingers on the hilt and standing close enough that my breast pressed lightly against his arm.

  "Feel how the weight sits here?"

  I guided his hand through a partial movement, my body moving with his in a way that mimicked more intimate motions.

  "If the leather were wrapped with slightly more tension at this point, it would provide better... control."

  I let the word hang between us, meeting Farrell's eyes with a slight smile that suggested meanings beyond weapon handling. The merchant's face had flushed slightly, though to his credit, he maintained professional focus on the blade itself.

  "I see what you mean." His voice emerged slightly rougher than before as he cleared his throat. "A clever observation."

  I glanced toward Jacobi. He was no longer attempting to hide his reaction. His eyes had darkened noticeably, hands clasped behind his back in a posture so rigid it must have been painful. The careful neutrality of his expression had given way to something harder, a tightness around his mouth that spoke volumes about his internal state.

  "Perhaps you'd like to try the grip yourself, Master Velez?"

  I continued holding the blade with Farrell, my finger tracing the leather binding in a slow, deliberate caress.

  "To feel the... inadequacy I mentioned."

  "That won't be necessary."

  Jacobi shifted his weight, his stance widening slightly as if bracing himself. The words came out clipped and cold.

  "We're here to make purchases, not spend the day on demonstrations."

  Farrell finally stepped back from our close proximity, smoothing his apron with nervous hands.

  "She knows her weapons. You made a sound investment, Lord Velez."

  "Indeed."

  Jacobi's tone turned glacial as he straightened his already immaculate cuffs.

  "We'll take a dozen of the training blades and two of the ceremonial daggers."

  Business concluded with unusual brevity, we moved on to our next destination. As we stepped back into the sunlight, Jacobi's hand found the small of my back, not the casual gesture he usually employed, but a grip just shy of painful that steered me precisely where he wanted.

  "That was completely inappropriate."

  For my ears alone, his fingers dug slightly into my flesh through the fabric of my dress.

  I kept my expression appropriately deferential though satisfaction curled within me at this first glimpse of his cracking facade.

  "I was merely demonstrating the blade's properties, Master Velez. As instructed."

  His fingers pressed harder for just a moment before he caught himself, relaxing his grip with visible effort.

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  "You know very well what you were doing."

  A small smile formed on my lips, one he couldn't see from his position slightly behind me.

  "I'm afraid I don't, sir. But I'll endeavor to be more... reserved in my demonstrations if that pleases you."

  The quick intake of breath behind me was reward enough for this opening gambit. The day stretched before us, filled with opportunities to push further, to test the limits of his control, to force him to acknowledge what simmered beneath his businessman's facade.

  The spice merchant's stall erupted in a riot of color and scent, small mountains of powdered pigments in vivid yellows, reds, and browns arranged in precise cones across the counter. The merchant himself, a slender man with skin darkened by sun and age, gestured animatedly to a small gathering around his display.

  "From the far southern deserts."

  He indicated a bright orange powder with a flourish of his hand, pride evident in his bearing.

  "Harvested at dawn for maximum potency. The flavor is incomparable."

  We had stopped at the stall while waiting for Jacobi's business associates to arrive at the nearby café. A diversion, nothing more, yet perfect for my purposes. Jacobi stood beside me now, no longer maintaining any distance, his body angled to keep me partially shielded from other market-goers. A protective gesture, perhaps, or more likely an attempt to minimize whatever my next performance might be.

  I leaned forward, pointing to a deep red spice with an intoxicating aroma. The movement caused my dress to pull tighter across my backside, pressing briefly against Jacobi who stood close behind.

  "What is this one?"

  The merchant's eyes brightened with pleasure at my interest, his smile widening beneath his neatly trimmed beard.

  "Ah, the desert fire! A rare capsicum that grows only in the volcanic soils beyond the eastern mountains."

  His hands hovered reverently above the vivid red powder.

  "Very precious, very potent."

  "May I?"

  I gestured toward the small sampling plate where tiny portions of various spices were arranged for customers to taste.

  The merchant nodded enthusiastically, his silk cap sliding slightly forward on his head. He selected a minuscule amount of the red powder with a bone spoon, his movements precise and practiced.

  "Just a touch on the tongue. It's quite intense."

  I was acutely aware of Jacobi watching as the merchant extended the spoon toward me. Rather than taking it from him, I leaned forward, parting my lips in a way that transformed the simple act into something unmistakably suggestive. I held the merchant's gaze as I closed my mouth around the spoon, letting my lips linger longer than necessary before drawing back slowly.

  The spice touched my tongue, a burst of heat and complex flavor that was genuinely impressive. I closed my eyes and made a sound that could easily be mistaken for pleasure of a different kind, a soft moan that carried to those standing nearby.

  "Oh..."

  My eyes opened to find both the merchant and Jacobi staring with very different expressions.

  "That is... extraordinary."

  Behind me, Jacobi's sharp intake of breath and the slight tremor in his body betrayed his struggle to maintain composure. The merchant, for his part, seemed caught between professional pride and unexpected arousal at my display.

  "Few appreciate the subtleties beneath the heat."

  His voice had grown slightly unsteady, his gaze now fixed on my lips.

  "Most only feel the burn."

  "The complexity is remarkable."

  I deliberately licked my lips slowly to capture any remaining spice, turning slightly toward Jacobi as I did this to ensure he caught the full effect of the gesture.

  "What else would you recommend for someone who appreciates... intensity?"

  Jacobi's hand suddenly closed around my upper arm, his grip just shy of painful. His eyes had darkened to near black, pupils expanded with a mixture of anger and something far more primal.

  "I believe we've sampled enough. My associates will be waiting."

  The merchant began to protest, but Jacobi was already steering me away from the stall, his movements quick and decisive. Instead of heading directly to the café, however, he guided me into a narrow alley between two buildings, away from the crowded market square.

  The moment we were out of sight, he backed me against the rough stone wall, his body caging mine with unexpected forcefulness. His face was inches from mine, eyes dark with a combination of anger and desire that sent heat pooling low in my belly.

  "Enough."

  One hand braced beside my head, the other still gripping my arm as his breath came faster than normal.

  "Whatever game you're playing ends now."

  I met his gaze without flinching, though my heart raced at this unexpected development.

  "I don't know what you mean, Master Velez. I was merely sampling the merchant's wares."

  "You know exactly what I mean."

  His voice dropped lower, rougher, the careful articulation he prided himself on fracturing around the edges.

  "You've been deliberately provoking me all day. Testing my limits. Pushing boundaries."

  I tilted my head slightly, affecting an expression of innocent confusion despite our compromising position.

  "And have I succeeded? In pushing your boundaries?"

  For a moment, I thought he might kiss me. His gaze dropped to my lips, his body leaned fractionally closer. The air between us seemed to crackle with tension, the sounds of the market fading into insignificance compared to the thunder of my pulse in my ears.

  Then, with visible effort, he stepped back. His hands released me as he straightened his jacket with short, jerky movements that betrayed his agitation.

  "This conversation isn't over."

  His voice had steadied somewhat, though tension still undercut each word.

  "But now is neither the time nor place. We have business to attend to."

  I smoothed my dress, watching him struggle to reassemble his businessman's facade. The cracks were widening, his control fraying visibly with each new provocation. One more push might be all it took to shatter it completely.

  "Of course."

  I moved past him toward the market square once more. As I passed, I allowed my body to brush against his, a fleeting contact that nevertheless drew a small, involuntary sound from his throat.

  "Your business always comes first, doesn't it?"

  The double meaning hung between us as we rejoined the flow of market-goers, making our way toward the café where his associates waited. Jacobi maintained a careful distance now, as if no longer trusting himself to walk too close beside me. The realization sent a thrill of triumph through me. The careful, controlled demon trader was rapidly losing his legendary composure.

  The café had claimed a prime location in the market square, its open-air seating allowing patrons to see and be seen by passersby. Jacobi's business associates, three well-dressed men whose names I noted and promptly dismissed as unimportant to my purpose, rose as we approached.

  The eldest of the three extended his hand toward Jacobi.

  "Lord Velez, delighted you could join us on such short notice."

  Polite greetings and practiced pleasantries flowed with the ease of the merchant class.

  I was positioned slightly behind Jacobi's chair, present but not part of the conversation, the perfect vantage point from which to observe and plan my final move. The men discussed trade routes, import taxes, and potential investments, the usual business that occupied Jacobi's attention. I remained silent, the model of propriety, biding my time.

  My opportunity arrived with unexpected perfection when a new figure approached the table.

  "Lord Velez."

  The newcomer's clothing marked him as nobility rather than merchant class, the quality understated but unmistakable. He appeared perhaps a few years younger than Jacobi himself, with the confident bearing of inherited privilege.

  "What a pleasant surprise."

  Jacobi rose, his spine straightening imperceptibly as he extended his hand with the practiced courtesy required when addressing someone of higher social standing.

  "Lord Harwick. I wasn't aware you were in Westbrook."

  "Just passing through."

  Lord Harwick's gaze slid to me with undisguised interest. Despite his youth, his eyes held the calculating assessment of someone accustomed to evaluating others' possessions.

  "And who might this be?"

  "My newest acquisition."

  Jacobi's words came out clipped, tension evident in the set of his shoulders.

  "A fighter from the northern demon clans."

  Lord Harwick circled around the table, approaching me with the casual entitlement of nobility. His gaze lingered on my horns, then moved deliberately down my body in an assessment that stopped just short of being openly offensive.

  "Truly remarkable."

  He stopped close enough that I could smell the expensive cologne he wore, the scent of bergamot and sandalwood underlying the natural musk of privilege.

  "They say northern demons possess... unique abilities. Beyond mere fighting skills."

  The implication hung clear in his tone, suggesting intimate knowledge he couldn't possibly possess. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jacobi stiffen, his knuckles whitening around the stem of his wine glass.

  I turned slightly toward Harwick, allowing my body to angle toward him in a way that could be read as interest rather than mere politeness.

  His gaze dropped to the collar at my throat, noting the Velez crest with the assessing eye of someone familiar with the symbols of ownership and status.

  "The craftsmanship of that pendant is exceptional. House Velez has always had an eye for quality."

  The opening was perfect, so perfect I almost suspected a divine hand in its arrangement. I reached up, touching the pendant at my throat with deliberate care.

  "Lord Velez ensures all his possessions reflect his discerning taste."

  My fingers traced the outline of the crest in a caress that mimicked more intimate touches.

  "The collar was specially commissioned for me."

  Jacobi's body had gone rigid with tension visible even from across the table. His eyes hadn't left me since Harwick's arrival, dark and unblinking in his suddenly pale face. The other businessmen at the table had fallen silent, watching the interaction with barely concealed interest.

  Lord Harwick reached toward me, one eyebrow raised in polite inquiry.

  "The crest is particularly fine. May I?"

  The question hung in the air, weighted with implications. To allow another to touch the symbol of Jacobi's ownership was to suggest a liberty no properly trained demon would permit. Yet to refuse would seem uncouth, particularly to a young lord whose family connections likely intersected with Jacobi's business interests.

  I hesitated just long enough for Jacobi to intervene if he chose. When he remained silent, perhaps constrained by social propriety or frozen in disbelief at my audacity, I inclined my head.

  "Of course, my lord."

  Harwick's fingers brushed the pendant at my throat. The touch lingered, his fingertips grazing the exposed skin of my collarbone as he examined the crest. His body moved closer to mine, close enough that Jacobi could no longer pretend this was merely appreciation of metalwork.

  "Remarkable detail."

  His eyes met mine with interest that went beyond appreciation of craftsmanship, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur.

  "House Velez is fortunate to have acquired such an... exceptional specimen."

  I allowed my lips to curve in a smile that suggested secrets shared.

  "I serve in several capacities."

  The deliberate ambiguity in my words was calculated for maximum effect.

  "Lord Velez finds my skills... versatile."

  Harwick's eyebrows rose slightly, his fingers still resting near the pendant.

  "I can well imagine. Perhaps—"

  The sound of glass shattering cut through whatever proposition he had been about to make. Jacobi had risen from his chair with such force that his wine glass had overturned, red liquid spreading across the white tablecloth like blood. His expression was thunderous, control completely abandoned in a way I had never witnessed before.

  "I'm afraid we must cut our visit short."

  The words emerged strained through clenched teeth, his voice tight with barely suppressed fury.

  "Business at the estate requires my immediate attention."

  Within moments, we were moving through the market toward the waiting carriage, Jacobi's hand at the small of my back now a grip of iron that brooked no resistance.

  "The carriage. Now."

  The words were barely audible, meant for my ears alone, his breath hot against my neck as he leaned close.

  I allowed myself to be guided, the sense of triumph carefully hidden beneath an expression of mild confusion. The game had played out exactly as I'd intended, each provocation building upon the last until Jacobi's carefully maintained control had fractured visibly, publicly.

  The hand at my spine said control. The shake in it said he’d lost it.