Lucian stepped into the shadowed corridors of the palace, the moonlight streaking through high arched windows. His coat brushed behind him as he walked, calm and purposeful.
From a nearby hallway, Elias emerged quietly, his gaze sharp and observant.
"You seem to have taken a liking to that lady, brother," Elias said, his tone even.
Lucian didn't turn, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Don't you think getting close to humans will only bring trouble?" Elias asked, stepping forward.
Lucian finally turned to face him, his eyes gleaming under the dim light. "And since when did I care about the consequences of my actions?"
He took a slow step closer, the air between them thickening with the weight of his presence. "I do what I want, brother. It's always been that way."
Elias let out a quiet breath, not in disagreement, but with the knowledge that Lucian's will had always been his own to follow—or defy at great risk.
After a beat, Elias changed the subject. "We've captured Isabel. She's in the dungeon."
Lucian nodded once. "Very well then." With his hands clasped behind his back, he strode past Elias without another word.
———
Far from the grandeur of the palace, in the village of Sarian, the witches' coven was alive with shadowed rites. Lady Maya knelt before a wide, boiling pot. Thick blood bubbled violently within it, steam curling like spirits above the rim. Her voice murmured in a forgotten tongue, her hands casting unseen symbols in the air.
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream tore through the night—raw, female, and filled with torment.
By morning, the forest stirred with unnatural silence. A figure emerged from the underbrush—barefoot, draped in torn, bloodstained clothes. Denee.
She squinted against the sunlight, the warmth stinging her skin. Her limbs moved slowly, as if remembering the motion of walking. The village of Evendale stirred.
"Good gracious!" a woman gasped, dropping her basket.
"Lord, no—she's dead! She died at the princess's wedding!"
Others gathered, whispering in panic.
Denee stepped forward, dazed. "No—wait! It's me! Denee!"
From a distance, Seraphina stood in the market, hearing the uproar. She moved toward it, only to stop short at the sight of the woman. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Impossible," she whispered.
Denee's eyes scanned the crowd and fell upon an old woman. "Madam Aya!" she called, breathless. The old woman turned, hesitant.
"It's me," Denee pleaded. "You took care of me when I was kicked out of the palace. Please, you remember me?"
The woman trembled, eyes wide—then dropped her belongings and rushed to embrace her. "It's really you, my child…"
Denee clutched her tightly, tears sliding down her cheeks. But then—something shifted.
Her gaze fixed on the woman's neck. Her breathing changed. Her pupils dilated. The veins around her eyes darkened, and her irises bloomed crimson.
Seraphina, watching from afar, stumbled back in horror. "What in God's name…"
Denee let out a growl as her control shattered. She lunged—biting into the woman's neck with vicious hunger. The old woman screamed, her body jerking as blood poured.
The crowd screamed. Panic erupted.
Mothers snatched up their children. Farmers abandoned their goods. Chaos surged like wildfire.
Seraphina stood frozen, legs unwilling to move, breath caught in her chest. Someone crashed into her and she tumbled to the ground. Her eyes stared ahead, wide and unseeing, as tears slid down her cheeks.
Suddenly, arms grabbed her, dragging her into a carriage.
The door slammed shut. Confused, Seraphina blinked at the sudden quiet and looked sharply to her left.
A man sat beside her—dangerously handsome, with tousled hair and a bored expression as though rescuing damsels was simply part of a dull routine.
"You're welcome," he said dryly.
Seraphina's lips parted, but words failed.
"Who are you?" she finally breathed, heart pounding.
"I said…" He leaned closer, eyes glittering. "You're welcome."
She made a move to bolt from the carriage, but his voice halted her.
"If you step out now," he said lazily, "you'll be the next meal."
She froze, eyes locked on him. Her hand gripped the edge of the seat. Her mind spun.
Could she trust this strange man?
Soren watched her, tilting his head, as though studying a new stone he'd just turned over. Amusement tugged faintly at his lips.
———