Cecilia's fingers trembled slightly as she rolled the polished stones across the wooden table, their smooth surfaces clattering against one another before falling into place with a soft thud. The faint glow of the runes etched into them pulsed like a heartbeat. She leaned closer, lips moving in hushed incantations as the flicker of candle flames cast dancing shadows across her wrinkled face. The air thickened with the acrid tang of melted wax mixed with the faint, metallic sharpness of the vial's contents.
She drew a single droplet from the vial with painstaking care and let it fall into the center of the stones. The liquid spread with unnatural slowness, as if it resisted touching anything mortal. The shadows in the room seemed to lean inward at the contact. Cecilia's eyes widened; her brows furrowed so deeply the lines of her age carved deeper into her skin.
Across from her, Zareth lounged back in his chair, one arm resting lazily against the carved wood, his chin propped on his gloved hand. His crimson gaze burned steadily in the candlelight, tracking every flicker of the witch's expression. His presence alone suffocated the room. He wasn't simply watching—he was studying, dissecting every twitch in her face like a predator observing its prey.
"What is it that you've got?" Zareth's voice cut through the tense silence, deep and commanding, laced with that sharp, imperious authority that made even seasoned men tremble. The corner of his mouth curved in faint irritation at the confusion clouding her eyes. "You look as if death itself whispered in your ear."
Cecilia's breath caught before she managed to speak, her voice strained.
"It's…" She hesitated, as if the very words could summon something unspeakable. Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted her gaze to meet his. "It's the remnants of demon blood."
The candles sputtered violently as if in protest.
Her tone carried awe, disbelief, and terror all at once. She whispered again, almost to herself, "Demon blood… here, in the Empire… I'm sorry, Your Imperial Majesty, but where did you—"
Zareth didn't even let her finish. His eyes narrowed, glowing with that merciless gleam that turned men's hearts cold. He leaned forward, his aura pressing against her like an invisible weight.
"Where I got it from," he said, each word slow, deliberate, laced with venomous finality, "is none of your concern."
Cecilia's lips pressed shut at once, her body instinctively bowing lower under the sheer dominance in his tone. Zareth's eyes sharpened, pinning her as if daring her to breathe wrong.
"Are you sure of what you said?" he asked, his voice silken, but beneath it was the unmistakable steel of threat.
Cecilia swallowed hard, nodding quickly. "I—yes, Your Majesty. But allow me… let me redo it to be certain."
She fumbled with her tools, whispering another incantation, rolling the stones once more, placing another droplet with desperate precision. The candles flared again, smoke curling up into ghostly shapes as the reaction repeated itself exactly the same as before.
Her heart sank. She lifted her head, throat dry. "I'm getting the same results, Your Imperial Majesty."
Zareth rose from his chair in a slow, deliberate motion. His black cloak cascaded down behind him, brushing the floor like a shadow unfurling. He took the vial back from her with a smooth flick of his hand, the gesture precise, almost too calm. That crooked smile—dark, unnerving—tugged at his lips.
"Burn every scrap you've touched," he commanded, his tone sharp as a blade. "Every drop, every tool, every parchment . And return the plate of food emptied."
"Yes, Your—"
He paused at the threshold, his tall frame blocking the dim light, his crimson eyes gleaming like embers in the dark. Turning slightly, he smiled, but it was the kind of smile that promised ruin.
"Everything stays within this room. If I hear even a whisper of it outside…" His voice lowered to a venomous drawl, dripping arrogance and certainty. "…consider yourself dead. Painfully."
The cold finality in his tone chilled the air more than the flickering candles.
Cecilia bowed so low her forehead nearly brushed the wood. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty."
Only after he left did she allow herself to breathe again. Her hands shook as she stared down at the remnants of the test. Demon blood. Such a thing should not exist—not here, not in this world, not within the veins of the Emperor. The knowledge weighed on her chest like a stone, but fear sharpened her senses. She moved quickly, gathering every scrap of parchment, stone, and ash, throwing them into the fire pit until the smoke rose bitter and heavy. The food was discarded in silence, the plate returned pristine. By the time she was done, not a trace remained.
Outside, the sky was a blanket of iron gray, heavy with the threat of storm. Zareth stepped into the open air, his boots striking the cobbled ground with measured authority. The crowd that lingered near the inn fell to their knees, murmuring praises, their voices trembling with fear and reverence. He ignored them. Their adoration was his by birthright; their devotion, nothing but the natural order.
A harsh caw split the gloom. From the clouds above, a sleek black raven spiraled downward, its wings slicing through the air until it landed gracefully on the window ledge of the imperial carriage.
Zareth smirked faintly, sliding into the plush interior. The raven hopped inside the moment the door opened, perching neatly on the armrest. Its crimson eyes, a mirror of his own, gleamed with intelligence.
"Tell me," Zareth murmured, voice low, almost coaxing. "Did my dear aunt and her spoiled brats return directly to their homes?"
The raven tilted its head, then gave a short, clipped reply in a voice that rasped like smoke through stone. "Yes."
"Good." Zareth's gloved hand extended, stroking the glossy feathers with an almost uncharacteristic gentleness. Yet even in that softness, there was power—possessive, unyielding. "Keep an eye on them, Elca. If they twitch suspiciously, if they breathe too loudly… let me know."
The raven bowed its head, then spread its wings, vanishing into the storm-laden sky.
Silence settled in the carriage. Only the distant rumble of thunder echoed across the heavens.
Zareth leaned back, the leather creaking beneath his weight. He tugged at his gloves, baring his pale hands. The veins beneath his skin throbbed faintly, dark as ink, pulsing with a rhythm that did not belong to mortal life. He flexed his fingers slowly, watching the faint trace of black creep across his knuckles.
"Demon blood…" he muttered under his breath, his voice carrying that mixture of fascination and disdain that only he could weave so seamlessly. His lips curled into a sharp, humorless smile. "How amusing."
Closing his eyes, he leaned into the seat, every inch the predator at rest—lethal, unshakable, and arrogantly certain of his place above all others. The storm outside seemed to bow to him, the world itself holding its breath.
---
The soft scratching of the quill against parchment filled the silence of the imperial library. Serenya gripped the quill tighter than necessary, each stroke jagged with her frustration. The Nytherian words blurred before her eyes, not because the language was difficult but because her mind kept circling back to him. Zareth—his lies, his arrogance, his unbearable smugness. The memory of him pretending to be in agony only to reveal it was nothing but a cruel game made her blood simmer.
"Your Highness, should we stop for a while so that you can rest?" Sabrina asked gently, her voice cautious as her gaze lingered on Serenya's flushed cheeks.
"No, I'm perfectly fine," Serenya muttered, though her hand trembled slightly as she pressed the quill down against the parchment.
Sabrina leaned closer, her eyes scanning the page. A small sigh escaped her lips. "Everything you wrote is wrong, Your Highness. Perhaps it would be wise to stop here for today?" She reached for the books, but Serenya's next words halted her.
"How long have you known Zareth?"
Sabrina blinked, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she stacked the parchment. "I'm glad that you're interested in knowing more about His Imperial Majesty," she teased lightly, her tone making Serenya's cheeks burn before she hurriedly explained.
"I've known him since he was a baby," Sabrina continued, her voice softening. "I was one of the servants who served the late Empress."
Serenya rose from her chair, hugging one of the heavy tomes to her chest. A frown shadowed her delicate features. "Has he always been like this?"
Sabrina tilted her head, puzzled. "Like how, Your Highness?"
"Like overbearing, narcissistic, sarcastic, annoying… and also a liar?" Serenya folded her arms, her small pout making her look less angry and more heartbreakingly innocent.
Sabrina opened her mouth and then closed it again, torn between her loyalty to Zareth and her sympathy for the young princess. "I… I don't know, Your Highness," she murmured, her words careful as she placed the final book back on the shelf.
When Serenya turned, she froze.
Zareth stood there, half in shadow, leaning lazily against one of the towering shelves. His arms were crossed, and a crooked smile played on his lips, sharp enough to cut through the tense air.
Her lips parted soundlessly before she spun away, pretending to be engrossed in another book on the shelf. Sabrina, recognizing the dangerous spark in the Emperor's eyes, bowed quickly and excused herself, practically fleeing the library.
"What a lovely sight," Zareth drawled, his voice deep, resonant, and threaded with mockery. "To return and find my little dove whispering complaints about me."
Serenya squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers curling against the spine of the book. Of course he heard everything.
When she turned to leave, she found him already blocking her path. One hand brushed her hair back, though she jerked away before his fingers could linger.
"What has my little dove so grumpy?" His smile deepened, devilish and far too amused. "I didn't know you'd miss me this much. If I had known, I would've taken you along with me."
Her head snapped up, eyes flashing with indignation. "Why did you lie about being in pain? About being decayed?"
Zareth moved in closer. She stepped back trying to sidestep him, but he caged her in, his hand pressing casually against the shelf beside her head. His shadow swallowed her smaller frame whole. His eyes narrowed, gleaming with a dangerous amusement.
"Is my sweet little dove angry with me?" he murmured, leaning just close enough for his breath to brush against her cheek.
Serenya's silence was answer enough.
Unbothered, he closed the remaining distance. "I didn't lie particularly because I was in pain," he said, his tone lowering, velvet yet razor-edged. "But the moment I kissed you… it vanished."
Her lips parted in shock, her breath catching. She tried to resist the intoxicating scent of him—smoke, steel, and something darker that always unsettled her—but it clung to her senses.
"That doesn't justify the lie!" she finally burst out, her voice trembling with equal parts anger and nerves. "I thought it was serious. I was worried—" She broke off, glaring at him, cheeks heating.
The satisfaction in Zareth's expression was unbearable. His mouth curved in a wicked smile. "Worried for me? How cute. But then I actually enjoyed that kiss "
Her heart stumbled at the way he said it, but her temper flared all the more.
"You could have just apologized," she snapped, her voice quivering. "Without being so… so shameless all the time!"
"Shameless?" His eyes glinted. "Oh, little dove, you wound me." He leaned closer, his tone laced with deliberate provocation. "Fine, then. How about I apologize with a kiss?" . He said already leaning down.
Serenya gasped, immediately clapping her hand over his lips before they could touch hers.
"No!" she whispered fiercely, her cheeks crimson. "That's not how it's supposed to be. I am the one who should set the condition for your apology."
Zareth chuckled against her palm, his lips brushing her skin as he kissed it deliberately before pulling back. The casual intimacy sent shivers down her arm.
"Very well," he said smoothly, his tone mockingly indulgent. "I can give you anything… except the chance to leave me. So, tell me, what's your condition?"
Serenya hesitated, then blurted, "You should stop calling me 'little bird.' I'm not little, and I'm certainly not a bird."
His smirk returned instantly. "Never," he said, his thumb grazing her flushed cheek. "You're mine. My sweet little dove. I don't care if you're not a bird—but then you're my special sweet dove ".
Her mouth opened and closed, speechless. This man twisted words until they left her defenseless.
Gathering her courage, she added quickly, "And… I want you to stop doing shameless things in public. And I want to sit opposite you at meals, not beside you. And when we walk, I want at least four steps between us."
Her demands tumbled out in a rush, her face burning. She needed distance, air, something to keep him from overwhelming every thought in her head.
Zareth's crooked smile deepened. He stepped closer until his towering frame left no space between them. His shadow enveloped her completely, the shelves behind her trapping her in place.
"Four steps between us? Fine. But only for today." His voice dipped lower, smooth and sinful. "Before that, I'll have you for myself."
Her eyes widened. "No, you can't! It begins—"
Her protest was cut short as his lips pressed against hers, claiming her with devastating ease.
The rest of her thoughts scattered into nothing. His mouth moved against hers with controlled hunger, and she found herself answering despite her stubbornness. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her effortlessly into his arms.
In one swift motion, he lifted her as though she weighed nothing. Serenya gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he carried her in a bridal style and set her down on the very table she had been studying at. His lips only left hers for a breath before returning, deeper, hungrier.
Her heart thundered wildly, her mind blank.
When he finally pulled away, his gaze lingered on her flushed face, her trembling lips. His smirk was pure arrogance.
"Now," he said, stepping back precisely four paces, his arms folded behind him in mock obedience. "Shall we?"
Serenya sat frozen on the table, her chest heaving as she tried to compose herself. Her blush only deepened when she realized how intently he was watching her.
She swallowed, slid off the table, and nodded quickly, unable to meet his eyes.
But the heat of his gaze followed her like a brand, reminding her with every step that Zareth Ravaryn, the man who held an empire in his iron fist, had no intention of letting her escape his grasp.