IMPERIAL PALACE – MOUNT CASTLE
The Emperor's private chambers exuded an air of suffocating opulence, the scent of aged parchment, polished mahogany, and something darker lingering beneath—iron and something faintly burnt.
The black velvet curtains, embroidered with silver threads depicting coiled dragons, fluttered violently as the storm outside clawed its way inside. Perseus, Emperor of Wymhold, reclined on his plush sofa, his long black hair spilling over the cushions like spilled ink.
He paid no mind to the wind scattering documents across the room, nor to the way the candle flames trembled, casting erratic shadows across the walls.
His gaze, cold and calculating, settled on his son.
"You gave your word to that girl," Perseus said, his voice low, almost conversational, but beneath it simmered something far more dangerous. "Tell me, Kaelith—whose permission did you seek before making such a promise?"
Kaelith did not lower his eyes. He stood tall, his posture relaxed but his presence unwavering. "Since when does the Crown Prince need permission to honor his word?"
Perseus exhaled a slow, measured breath, his lips curling into something that was not quite a smile. "How very princely of you."
Kaelith didn't rise to the bait. "When will you send the Dragon Heart to Tia?"
The air in the room thickened. Perseus's fingers twitched against the armrest before he tilted his head back, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. His jaw clenched, the only outward sign of his irritation.
"Ah, yes," he murmured. "My… promise." Then, without warning, his voice lashed out like a whip. "VELMORIS!"
The doors swung open, and Duke Dylan Velmoris stepped inside. His crimson hair, the color of freshly spilled blood, contrasted starkly against his pale skin. His robes, deep purple and threaded with gold, draped elegantly over his broad frame, but there was nothing soft about the man. His red eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked between the Emperor and the Crown Prince before he bowed slightly.
"The Dragon Heart has been prepared, Your Majesty," Dylan said smoothly. "I will personally deliver it to Lady Selentia upon your command."
Kaelith's fingers curled slightly at his sides. This was too easy. His father never yielded without a fight.
"What game are you playing?" Kaelith asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Dylan's gaze slid to Perseus, waiting.
Perseus exhaled, then leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His lips stretched into a grin, but there was nothing pleasant about it. His eyes burned with something manic, something unhinged.
"Oh, my son," he said, his voice dripping with mock affection. "You always were too clever for your own good." Outside, lightning split the sky, illuminating his face in stark relief—his sharp features, the cruel twist of his mouth. "It's time Duke Nyxveil learned his place. Permanently."
Kaelith's blood ran cold.
Dylan stepped forward, his voice calm, as if discussing the weather. "Not just the Duke. The entire Nyxveil line must be erased. The Dragon Heart is merely the means to an end."
Perseus threw his head back and laughed, the sound jagged and unhinged. "That heart is drenched in the malice of three hundred thousand souls from Yusk! Let Zaphry gorge himself on its power—let him become the rabid beast we'll slaughter before the Blood Moon!"
Kaelith's mind raced. If this plan succeeded, Selentia would be branded a traitor, a demon's accomplice. The people would tear her apart. His chest tightened, a sharp, unfamiliar pang cutting through him.
"And Selentia?" he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
Perseus's amusement faded. His expression darkened, something ugly flashing in his eyes. "That girl is untouchable. That damned Crimson Abyss inside her would burn Pyrexia to the ground if she were killed. But she'll wish for death once her house falls. The people will make sure of it."
Kaelith smiled then, slow and deliberate. Inside, something vicious and possessive coiled in his gut.
Over my dead body.
---
**Nyxveil Mansion*
Rain lashed against the windows, the sound like a thousand whispering voices. Sylvester stood motionless before the glass, his reflection fractured by the rivulets of water streaking down the panes. His magenta eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, were distant, unfocused.
Twenty of his Earthbound Marionettes had returned to him, their whispers still echoing in his mind.
Perseus's plan. The Dragon Heart. The downfall of House Nyxveil.
He exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the glass. The puppets had cost him. Demonic energy, thick and sluggish, pulsed through his veins, weighing him down. His shadow, usually a steady presence, flickered at the edges, unstable.
"Dogs forget their fangs are borrowed," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the storm.
A knock at the door.
"Enter."
Lucian stepped inside, his expression carefully neutral, but Sylvester didn't miss the tension in his shoulders. The man had been waiting outside for some time.
"Young Lady Selentia and Her Grace had an argument in the rose garden," Lucian said without preamble.
Sylvester didn't turn. "And?"
Lucian hesitated, then said, "She knows about the curse."
For a moment, the world stilled. Sylvester's breath caught in his throat. His fingers, resting against the windowsill, dug into the wood, splintering it.
Slowly, he turned.
Lucian had never seen his master look like this. Sylvester's face, usually so composed, was pale. His eyes, wide and unguarded, held something raw—something painfully human.
"How?" Sylvester's voice was barely a whisper.
Lucian shook his head. "I don't know. But she knows the duchess avoided her because of it. She said… she has no desire for their love. Only to live free."
Sylvester's knees buckled.
He caught himself on the edge of the desk, his breathing ragged. His hand trembled as it rose to clutch at the old, rusted bracelet around his wrist—a child's trinket, worn and fragile.
"I thought…" His voice cracked. "I thought I could protect her this time."
Lucian remained silent. He had served Sylvester for centuries and had seen him as a commander, a strategist, and a demon feared by both mortals and his own kind. But this—this was something else.
Sylvester's shoulders shook. A single tear slipped free, tracing a path down his cheek before it fell.
Where it struck the carpet, the fabric blackened, then disintegrated into nothing, leaving behind a smoldering hole.
Lucian's throat tightened. "Master… the other Great Demons. If they learn Prince Xavier is alive—"
Sylvester's head snapped up. His eyes burned.
"Xavier is dead," he snarled. "And Selentia is no one's concern but mine."
The words were a command, a threat. But Lucian heard the truth beneath them.
He bowed his head and said nothing.
Sylvester turned back to the storm, his fingers tightening around the bracelet.
I'm sorry, he thought, the words tearing at him like claws. I'm sorry I couldn't give you the life you deserved. I'm sorry my blood is your curse. I am sorry, my daughter, that it's me who caused you to live a life full of suffering.
Outside, the rain fell harder.
And for the first time in centuries, the Great Demon Sylvester let his sadness overshadow his perfectly crafted unhinged character.