The throne room trembled. The marble pillars seemed to echo the weight of silence, the kind only one man could command. He sat upon the throne – back straight, posture languid yet unyielding – a king, an emperor, sculpted in black, one pale hand resting lazily on the carved arm of his throne. The pearls at his throat gleamed faintly, each one a chain of power and death. His other hand drummed against the throne's side, sharp and slow, like a ticking blade.
No one breathed too loudly. No one even twitched.
To look upon his face without permission was to gamble with life itself.
The massive doors creaked open, the heavy sound tearing through the hall. His right hand man, lord Verdan, entered and knelt deeply.
"My emperor," the man's voice was low, reverent, laced with unease. "A kingdom dares whisper rebellion. Adverland seeks to rise against your reign."
The air thickened. A tremor ran through the court. The courtiers shifted, their heads bowed lower, hands trembling.
The emperor leaned his head against the back of his throne, icy blue eyes cutting across the hall. The silence bled for a long, choking moment. His lips curved, not into a smile but something colder.
"Adverland."
The word alone was enough to make the chamber quake.
"They believe their scraps of gold and their frail prince grants them strength?" His gaze narrowed, like frost burning into flesh. "I will crush them. Slowly. Until their name is dust.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Then, with a flick of his fingers he dismissed the court. Servants and nobles alike scurried from the room, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly grazed the floor. None lingered. None dared.
When the hall was empty, the emperor rose. He moved through the corridors, tall and predatory, every step echoing power. Guards and maid bowed and scattered, pressing their bodies flat against the walls, eyes lowered. He was beautiful, yes – hauntingly, dangerously beautiful –but to gaze at him was to gaze into the abyss.
They call him the Devil himself. And he wore the name well.
As he turned a corner, his eyes fell on her – the little maid. His maid. Petite, with hair the colour of pale gold, and breast staining against a too-tight uniform. She froze when his shadow fell over her, lips curved into the faintest smile. She tried to hide. Not like others who fled. No – this one never fled. She lingered, always. Almost as if she wanted him to catch her.
Her fingers fidgeting at her apron, betraying nerves, but her gaze refused to drop. Fear flickered there, yes, but beneath it….. something else. A quiet invitation. A hunger she thought she disguised.
And he saw it. He always saw it.
He caught her by her throat in one swift motion. Her lips parted, a gasp strangled in her throat. His other hand ripped the front of her uniform, cloth tearing like paper, spilling her heavy breast into the open.
Her cheeks flushed crimson her gaze darting down the corridor in panic. Someone could see. Someone could –
His grip on her breast tightened, dragging her closer, palming it in his hands, feeling the weight before squeezing it harshly.
He watched, an almost amused dark gleam in his eyes, thinking how curious it was – this little shameless maid, who bent and offered herself to him at will. Shameless, and yet pretending to be embarrassed – how delicately infuriating.
Her lips trembled biting back a sound as his other hand squeezed the other, twisting her nipple between his fingers until she whimpered.
Without loosening his hold, he dragged her down the corridor. The guards opened the door to his chambers with blank faces, bowing deeply. They pretended not to see anything.
He pushed her inside and slammed the door behind them. The room swallowed her gasp as he threw her unto the bed. Her breast was already reddened and sore, her body trembling as his shadow loomed over her.
The emperor had never loved, never cared. He used women, maids, queens, noble daughters – anything that could moan beneath him.
He was a storm without mercy, a hunger without end.
———————
Back in Eldenwilde's moonlit palace, the halls were hushed. The velvet stairway stretched upward like an endless climb, and princess Havynlee dragged herself step by step, her hand trembling on the golden railing. Each breath left her in sharp gasps, her chest rising and falling as if her own body was betraying her.
Her dress brushed along the steps, but her knees threatened to give way.
What's happening to me….? She thought, her voice lost inside her mind. The warmth in her blood did not feel like her own – It sighed and twisted, turning her veins molten.
At last, she reached the landing and stumbled into her chambers. She pushed the door closed with shaking hands. The silence of the night pressed around her – strange silence, for no guards stood outside. None has been stationed to watch her room yet.
She staggered forward, aiming for her bed, but her legs failed her. Havynlee collapsed onto the floor, her cheek striking the cold marble. Fingers clutched desperately at her necklace – the pearl swan her father had given her, her mother's keepsake – its surface burning against her skin as if alive.
Her lips parted in shallow gasps. Sometimes she didn't feel like herself. Sometimes her reflection seemed like a stranger's. At times she felt week to the point of breaking only for sudden burst of strength to surge through her veins – unnatural terrifying.
Who am I? What's happening to me?
A voice whispered faintly inside her mind. Not her own. Foreign, yet achingly familiar. Her lips trembled as she clamped her eyes shut, pressing her palms against her temples.
Then it hit.
A scream tore through her throat, so sharp it rattled the walls – yet no soul in the palace stirred, as though her cries were swallowed by the night.
Her back – oh gods – her back felt like it was aflame. The fire licked across her spine, spreading, twisting, searing through flesh to bone. She arched violently, her body curling on the floor as her nails scratched the marble, leaving faint streaks.
"AAHH –!" Her screams cracked into sobs. It felt like her spine was splitting apart. Her bones strained as if they would tear free of her skin.
The fire seared deeper. Hot. Merciless. Endless.
Her throat ached from the soundless screams when no voice would come anymore. Tears flooded her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She clawed at the pendant, as if her mother's necklace could anchor her, but even that burned like molten iron.
Her body curled tighter, trembling violently. Her lashes fluttered, heavy with tears, her lips parting in a silence gasp.
And then –
Darkness.