His orders were simple: interrogate the Demon prince and then kill him. He can't afford to pity the Demon--much less fall for him. *** Fourteen years ago, the Demons conquered the world, decimating the Guardian order and enslaving humanity. Now, the last Guardians live underground, quietly rebuilding and waiting for a chance to strike back. Remgar, a noble Guardian hardened by loss, is honored with a mission of vengeance: interrogate the High Demon Prince and break him. It seems like a dream come true-until he meets the prisoner. Isalio, the younger brother of the Demon High Prince, is sarcastic, disarmingly sweet, and far too human. As forbidden feelings percolate between interrogator and captive, Remgar is forced to confront a truth more terrifying than any Demon: he doesn't want to break Isalio. He wants to save him. Torn between the oath he swore and the heart he never meant to offer, Remgar must decide what kind of Guardian he truly is. Because in a world where evil reigns and love is a death sentence, choosing wrong could doom them both. WARNING: This story contains content that may not be suitable for some readers.

I wish we could sometimes disappear to take a break and come back when we're okay again...

A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.