“That you are not,” the demon said. “And the one you call Pritkin is even worse. He has been on his own for so long, he doesn’t remember a time when he had reliable allies. Even in the Corps, he was known as a loner—”

“For good reason.” I turned around and crossed my arms, trying to look less weak than I felt. The dressing table helped by giving me a prop for my butt. “They never trusted him—because of his demon blood. Because of you. And as for allies, when did he ever have any? Rosier’s people tried to kill him!”

“Yes, let’s revisit that, shall we?” the demon said, suddenly vicious. He was back on his feet now, too, and pacing, sending boiling black smoke across the room. “Rosier brings a part human, part fey, half demon hybrid back to court and introduces him as their prince. Naturally, the nobles were going to test him. No demon would follow a weak ruler, and none respected human blood—or trusted fey. He had to be vetted—”

“They tried to kill him!”

“Of course, they did—to see if he was worthy. Before putting their lives in his hands and possibly getting killed themselves! But instead of standing his ground and showing them exactly how powerful he was, what did he do? Ran away to the Shadowlands—oh, boo hoo, poor me, the big, bad demons are being mean to me!”

“Shut up!”

“They didn’t know what to think. Then later, after certain rule-shattering escapades, they worried that he was potentially too strong, with our old enemies’ blood running through his veins. That he might turn on them as the gods once had, since he seemed to hate them so much—”

“So, he couldn’t win.”

“He could have easily won. He didn’t wish to. He hated the hells, but not because they challenged him—how often did the fey do that? Did he ever tell you how many times they beat him up and threw him out of Faerie?”

“Beating him up is not killing him.”

“When the only thing saving him was Nimue’s blood, it isn’t that different,” the demon said dryly. “He was never going to be one of them, never going to be accepted. The human taint was bad enough, in their view, but demon, too? In the hells, on the other hand, power is all that matters, and he has that in spades. But he refuses to use it, to admit what he is, and to make us the allies we need.”

“To let you use him, you mean.”

The smokey head cocked. “Is that what he told you?”

“Don’t you know?”

“I know that he doesn’t accept the truth about himself, any more than you do. ‘Pritkin’.” His lips curled. “A ridiculous, prickly sounding name, so wrong for an incubus. But so right for the mask he was wearing, and wears still.”