Imeena had been many things in her life: mercenary, fugitive, weapon, shadow but never a liar. And she wasn't about to start now.
So, fine.
She would admit it.
The demon princess looked good.
No—worse. She looked great.
Kaelith Daemara stood at the edge of the teleportation circle like she'd just stepped off a recruitment poster and was entirely unimpressed with being alive.
Her white hair, streaked with molten crimson, was gathered in a half-up style that somehow looked both imperial and feral.
It caught the light like spun war banners. Her grey eyes cold, unyielding, and just a little too amused—swept the chamber with a quiet calculation that made Imeena's skin itch.
She wore a high-collared black combat coat trimmed in silver embroidery, split at the sides to show the soft glint of crimson armor beneath.
Her boots were polished but scuffed at the tips, like she'd kicked her way through some diplomatic nonsense recently and hadn't regretted it. A slim blade rested at her hip, ceremonial but sharp. And the way she held herself....
Imeena exhaled sharply through her nose.
Princess or not, this was not some breakable doll playing dress-up in a soldier's uniform.
Kaelith looked like a problem wrapped in charisma.
Which, fine. Wouldn't be the first time.
Imeena took in the high cheekbones, the full lips pulled into the slightest smirk, the perfectly tailored belt cinched just right above her hips.
Not to mention the hint of muscle beneath her sleeves and the tiny notch in her left horn—like something had tried to break her, and failed.
And still—
Enemy.
No matter how good she looked in armor, she was the daughter of the woman who'd destroyed Imeena's life. Raised by a queen whose hands were stained with Vel blood. Coated in legacy. Born from power and privilege and war.
Imeena narrowed her eyes.
Probably a virgin, she thought darkly, just to spite herself. Celestian academy girls always are.
Not that it mattered. She wasn't here to look.
She was here to protect.
Gods help her.
Lara was still smirking like a cat who'd gift-wrapped a mouse.
"Kaelith," she said, in that infuriatingly lazy drawl. "Imeena Cromwell. Imeena—Kaelith. Please don't kill each other."
Kaelith raised a brow. "No promises."
Imeena said nothing.
She didn't need to.
Lara clapped her hands once, far too cheerfully. "Well, now that the introductions are out of the way, I'll be off. Political nonsense to ignore. Bored generals to offend. You know how it is."
She winked and stepped out of the chamber without waiting for a response, leaving the air taut and hot in her wake.
The doors slid shut behind her with a hum.
Silence.
Kaelith turned to her.
Imeena didn't flinch.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, slowly, Imeena crossed her arms and took one step forward, her voice cold and even.
"Let's get a few things straight."
Kaelith blinked, just once.
Imeena continued, tone clipped with the edge of someone who'd repeated this speech too many times in too many places.
"I'm not here to be your friend. I'm not here to flatter you. I don't care about your title, your lineage, your hair, or what the bards sing about your birth. I'm not impressed. I'm not ever going to be impressed."
Kaelith's smile flickered just slightly.
Imeena pressed on.
"My job is to keep you alive. That's it. You breathe. You stay in one piece. And I get to walk away when this is over."
She stepped closer, letting her chains pulse faintly beneath her gloves just enough for Kaelith to feel it. Not a threat. A promise.
"So here's how this works."
One finger pointed at Kaelith's chest.
"You do not wander off alone. You do not start fights you can't finish. You do not flirt with diplomats if you don't know what kingdom they belong to. You do not give interviews, lectures, or dramatic monologues to anyone who looks like they might sell your name to a rebellion."
Kaelith opened her mouth.
Imeena cut her off with a raised hand.
"And above all," she said, voice lowering, "you do not get yourself killed trying to prove a point."
Silence again.
Imeena dropped her hand.
"I don't care what you think about me," she added.
"But I will do this job. So if I tell you to move, you move. If I tell you to shut up, you shut up. If I tell you to duck, and you don't—well. You better pray whatever hits you kills you. Because if it doesn't, I'll finish the job."
Kaelith stared at her, unmoving.
Then tilted her head.
"Well," she said at last, voice light and full of mockery. "Aren't you delightful."
Imeena didn't blink.
Kaelith took a slow step forward. "Let me get my part straight now."
"I don't need a guard. I didn't ask for a guard. And I certainly didn't expect them to send me a walking thundercloud with boundary issues and the personality of a locked door."
Imeena's fingers twitched.
Kaelith leaned in slightly, her voice still cool. "I've trained with demons. I've fought in skirmishes. I've passed trials half your soldiers faint at. You're not the first mercenary with a tragic past and a superiority complex."
Imeena's jaw clenched.
Kaelith smiled, too sharp to be sweet. "So no. I'm not following your little list of commandments. I'm not shutting up. I'm not ducking. I'm not doing anything you say just because you say it."
She straightened, folding her arms across her chest.
"You got your rules?"
Imeena's eyes narrowed.
Kaelith's smirk widened.
"Heck no."