The floating head hides beneath its dark hair to keep hidden in the shadows. Moonlight can only reach so far past the trees.

Her eyes dart back and forth, but she’s too panicked to tell the difference between a lock of hair and a branch. She doesn’t see the tendril reaching for her until the duke’s blade is next to her ear.

Fear won’t let this body move.

She wants to go home. She wants back into her skin, working her boring job and playing on her phone mindlessly.

“Come out, or I will burn everything you hide behind,” Duke Wulf says menacingly, sword glowing brighter.

“Go ahead.”

The shadows strike out from every angle. She throws herself into the grass, uselessly covering her head as if that will save her.

She doesn’t see the way the duke dances with his sword, doesn’t see how every swing causes something to burst into flames. She can only stay facedown in the grass as the temperature starts rising to uncomfortable levels, and her lungs burn from smoke.

Something heavy falls on her. The feeling of being smothered causes her to flail wildly, and she manages to get the thing off her. The thing, she soon realizes, is heavy red fabric. Specifically, it’s the duke’s cloak.

“Keep that on. It will protect you when the rain comes,” Duke Wulf says, expression lost in the flickering light of the flames.

What rain, she wants to ask. What’s happening are the words stuck in her throat. She wraps the cloak around her like she’s at home, snuggled in a blanket and watching a movie.

The forest burns and burns until there is nothing left.

“Found you!” Duke Wulf dashes forward, sword held high and laughter escaping him.

With nowhere left to hide, the giant head furiously attacks the duke with its hair, half of which has already been burned away. The head’s pale skin is now shiny red, and its shrieks are filled with equal amounts pain and anger.

The tendrils attacking the duke are swatted away like slow, dying flies. In a last-ditch effort, the head attempts to bite the duke in half. Even terrified and in shock, she already knows the head has played its last move.

One quick swipe of the sword, and the head’s lower jaw disappears. While it’s stunned, the duke lines his blade up to its forehead. A heavy thrust, and the sword goes all the way through.

“You demons are all the same,” Duke Wulf says, disgust dripping from every word. With raw strength, the sword slices upwards and out.

What remains of the head falls to the ground. It doesn’t move.

Duke Wulf looks up to the sky once more. She’s so captivated by the sight of the flames flickering behind him that she doesn’t notice it is raining until it has already drenched her exposed face. The blaze of the forest starts dying down.

The duke’s sword bursts into a flurry of red fireflies which causes her a brief moment of panic; her brain is convinced that the weapon is the only thing keeping her alive.

She takes a deep breath. Then she takes another and another. Rain drips down her face, mixing with the blood, sweat, and dirt staining it. She realizes that there are dead eyes staring at her, realizes that there’s another body somewhere behind her.

“These are demons?” she whispers.

When she thinks of a demon, she thinks of cartoon characters with pitchforks, or mostly human people with something off about them. Creatures that appear more evil in nature than appearance.

“Demons can look like anything. They are the nightmares we dream up.” Duke Wulf closes his dim eyes. “I stopped being afraid of nightmares a long time ago.”

The rain continues falling with the sound of it getting louder in her ears. Once the flames fully extinguish, she’s descended back into darkness. The air cools rapidly, and her nose burns in the humid air.

Everything that happened catches up with her. The pure, instinctual terror she’s never felt before, the horror of facing her death, and even the fact that her skin burns with scrapes.

She stares up at the moon and lets the tears drop. Icey, cold water pours from her eyes to her neck. She doesn’t know if this moon is the same one she left back in her world; she’s never thought to memorize its pattern.

She breathes heavy breaths. She’s cold and tired, and for once, so grateful she’s alive to feel it.

“What do we do now?” she asks.

The duke just stands there, and she wonders if he can even feel the rain soaking his head. Her rapid breathing comes back under control as her lungs get colder.

“The palace mages will have noticed our effigies on their map is stationary,” the duke eventually says. “That is how they direct the horses. They should already be sending a carriage with royal seals to this exact spot. When it arrives, we go on.”

The thought of having to keep going to Helmbeck nearly breaks her. She’d rather be back at the cathedral, beaten every day with sticks. She’d rather face lustful men than ever seeing a demon again.

At least when she deals with humans, she can run from them.

“So, we wait,” she says miserably.

“So, we wait,” the duke confirms.

She hugs herself through the fabric of the cloak. She’d do anything to be back home and away from this nightmare. She doesn’t know how long she’ll survive in this world. Thoughts of running away are now the furthest thing in her mind.

With her weak body and lack of knowledge, there is nothing she can do; she can only helplessly let the church and crown use her as a pawn on their chessboard. Her entire life will be moving to their orders as the Goddess’s spokesperson.

Assuming a demon doesn’t eat her first.

There’s only one thing she can do: make the duke fall in love with her.

Seduction isn’t something she’s ever attempted before, but she’s never needed a man to protect her either. There’s a first for everything, and she’ll beg and appease whoever it takes to survive.

Living as herself is only possible if she’s free from being the saintess.

If she can, she’ll incite the duke to go after both the crown and church once he finishes with the demons. If she can’t, she’ll use his name to raise an army herself.

One day, she vows, she’ll be Aira and not Constance.