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That morning, she carried a tray of wine into the west hall, where she knew the king's elite would be gathering. They were the most feared among demons: Hades' chosen men, battle-hardened, unwavering in loyalty. Yet, to Miriam, they were also… human, in their own twisted ways.
Her Queen, Hazel had pleaded with her to keep an eye on Gavriel. For some reason she couldn't fathom she suspected Gavriel of doing something vile. And ever since she saw him sneaking out of Lady Velia's window she also suspected him.
But on the other hand she had begun to notice Stefan most of all.
Stefan was unlike the others. Where Gavriel was sharp and calculating, Matthew brutal and cold, or Darius brash and quick to anger, Stefan had a quiet restraint. His eyes—deep green, like moonlight against the forest—always seemed to be observing rather than dominating. His movements were precise, fluid, as though every step was calculated yet effortless.
Miriam felt the weight of his gaze sometimes, though he never said much. That restraint made him dangerous, but it also stirred something in her she couldn't quite put into words.
When she entered the hall, she found them already gathered around the obsidian table.
Darius was laughing loudly, his crimson hair wild as he slammed a fist on the table. "I swear, if Hades lets that witch Alissa have the final say one more time, I'll toss her into the lava pits myself!"
Luke leaned back, expression impassive. His black eyes gave away nothing. "You wouldn't survive two seconds against her magic. Besides, Hades trusts her counsel for good reason."
"Oh, you'd defend her," Darius snapped, glaring. "You're half stone, half shadow. No wonder you side with the witch."
Stefan finally spoke, voice even, calm. "Enough. Hades has no need of our squabbling. He chose Alissa as an ally. If you can't accept that, take it up with him directly. Or do you lack the courage?"
Darius bristled but fell silent. The weight of Stefan's words seemed to settle the tension in the hall like a blade pressed against skin.
Miriam lowered her tray onto the table, trying to stay unnoticed, but Stefan's eyes found her. For a moment, her breath caught. There was something piercing in that gaze—something that stripped her bare, as though he could see through her very skin into her heartbeat.
"Wine?" she asked, her voice a little too soft.
Luke reached first, nodding at her politely. Darius grabbed his goblet with a grunt. Stefan waited until she brought the tray closer, then took his cup without looking away. Their fingers brushed, a faint spark in the air.
She almost dropped the tray.
When she pulled back, heat rose to her cheeks. She hurried away before she made a fool of herself, but even as she left the hall, she felt Stefan's eyes still on her.
That night, she couldn't sleep. She lay awake in her chamber, thinking about the moment. About how steady his hand had been, how sharp his voice when he silenced Darius. She shouldn't be thinking of him this way. He was one of Hades' elite—an immortal warrior, forged in blood and flame. And she? Just a maid, barely tolerated in this world.
But her heart didn't listen to reason.
The next day, fate seemed to conspire against her. Hazel had requested that Miriam deliver a set of garments to the training yard—garments that had been mended and tailored after their latest skirmish. Miriam carried the bundle, nerves buzzing, as she entered the wide stone courtyard.
The elite were training.
Blades clashed, sparks flew, and the air hummed with raw demonic energy. Lucien moved like a shadow, his blade striking with eerie silence. Darius fought with reckless fire, every strike booming like thunder. Gavriel wasn't there, Artemis a tall figure with eyes that glowed faintly, and Matthew, a scarred demon whose grin was more frightening than any snarl.
And then there was Stefan.
He moved with grace that stole her breath. Every swing of his blade was a dance, every step calculated yet natural, as though the weapon was an extension of his body. He didn't waste energy—no wild flares like Darius, no haunting illusions like Luke. Just clean, precise, devastating control.
She froze, watching longer than she should have, until Darius noticed her.
"Well, look what we have here," he called, grinning wickedly. "The little maid. Did you come to watch us fight, sweetheart?"
The others chuckled, though Luke merely glanced her way and returned to practice.
Miriam's cheeks burned. "I—I came to deliver these," she stammered, holding up the garments.
Darius stalked toward her, towering over her, his grin sharp. "Careful. A place like this isn't for fragile little things. Unless, of course, you want one of us to show you how demons play."
Before Miriam could shrink back, Stefan's voice cut through.
"Darius."
The red-haired demon turned, annoyed. "What?"
"Enough." Stefan's green eyes were colder than steel. "She's here on duty. If you're so desperate for attention, spar with Matthew. At least he won't break so easily."
Darius growled but turned away, muttering under his breath.
Miriam swallowed, her heart pounding. Stefan had stepped closer, not too near, but enough that she felt his presence like a shield. His gaze softened slightly when it landed on her.
"Leave the garments there," he said. "I'll see they're taken."
She obeyed, placing them on a nearby bench, then glanced up at him. For a second, the air between them thickened with unspoken words.
"Thank you," she whispered.
His eyes lingered on her face, then dipped almost imperceptibly lower, before snapping back to her gaze. "Be careful where you wander, Miriam," he said quietly. "This world devours the unguarded."
Her lips parted, but she couldn't find words. She turned quickly and walked away, though every step felt heavy with the weight of his warning—and something else.
That evening, while fetching water near the lower courtyard, Miriam found herself once again in Stefan's orbit. He was alone this time, sharpening his blade against a whetstone. The scrape of steel echoed in the silence.
She hesitated, then spoke. "You… you didn't have to defend me earlier."
His hand paused. Forest Green eyes lifted to hers. "Yes. I did."
Her heart skipped.
"Darius doesn't know restraint," Stefan continued, setting the blade aside. "He sees weakness and tests it. If you yield, he'll never stop."
Miriam drew a shaky breath. "And you? What do you see?"
For a moment, silence. Then, he rose, stepping closer. Not close enough to touch, but enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
"I see someone braver than she realizes," he said softly. "Someone who doesn't belong here, yet endures it anyway."
Her breath caught. The way he looked at her—it wasn't like the others. It wasn't mockery, nor hunger, nor cold dismissal. It was something steadier. Something dangerous in its own right.
Before she could reply, a voice echoed from the corridor. Artemis, calling for him.
Stefan's gaze lingered one heartbeat longer, then he stepped back, picking up his blade. "Stay out of trouble, Miriam," he said, his tone softer than before.
And then he was gone, leaving her standing in the torchlight, pulse racing, hands trembling at her sides.
That night, when Miriam finally lay down to sleep, she realized she was smiling. For the first time since entering the Citadel, the shadows didn't feel quite so suffocating.
Not when she remembered Green eyes that seemed to see her, truly see her, in a world that wanted to make her invisible.