Over the following days, I established a cautious routine. Meals appeared at predictable times, delivered quietly to my room by the castle's servants.
I discovered that the castle was far from empty. In addition to the gargoyles, there were countless other inhabitants. Souls who had chosen to remain in Death's service, which was highly unexpected.
Some performed domestic tasks, such as cleaning floors, arranging torches, or tending to the gardens that somehow flourished under the pale Underworld light. Others appeared to have duties that were less immediately obvious, maintaining sections of the library, cataloging scrolls, or preparing unknown implements for purposes I could only guess at.
I kept the notebook tucked securely under my jacket at all times, careful that no one discovered I had taken it. It had clearly changed since I was brought here or, more accurately, kidnapped. Though I did not approve of the circumstances, I would be lying if I claimed to completely despise being here.
The room was beautiful, entirely my own, and trays of exquisite food were delivered regularly by the servants. For someone technically being held hostage, I was treated with the courtesy and attention usually reserved for a respected guest.
Even the notebook seemed to settle into its surroundings, almost as if it acknowledged this place as its true home and it unmistakably shifted whenever Death was near, responding to his presence with odd warmth.
I started analyzing the circumstances. Every time he approached, whether casually passing through a hallway or checking on me in some small way, the notebook reacted. Warmth spread across its surface, and the thrum in its core intensified. It was as though it was waiting for him, eager to be opened by its owner.
The notebook was clearly designed to respond to something specific. The hollow heart at its center wasn't decorative it was a lock that demanded a precise key.
The only thing it had reacted to so far was Death's presence, suggesting it required a part of him maybe his blood, or some essence unique to him to open. And it seemed to be this notebook was far more important than it seemed from the first glance, who knew what it contained.
It became clear that I needed to find a way to collect his blood without him noticing. The notebook would only respond to it, and until I had that, it would remain sealed. That meant I had to be close to him, close enough to act, without raising suspicion.
The thought of being near him made me unexpectedly aware of my own body. My face flushed, and I had to catch myself, focusing on steadying my breathing.
I nearly jumped when a voice broke through my thoughts. "Miss, are you okay? You look a bit unwell. Did you catch a cold?"
I blinked, realizing it was one of the gargoyles, the round, stubby named Gorge. I hadn't even noticed him approaching.
I cleared my throat, keeping my voice steady. "Yes. I'm fine," I said.
Gorge tilted his head, frowning slightly. "You look a bit different today," he said, his stubby wings twitching.
I almost froze, realizing what he meant. Of course, tonight was the dinner with him. Dinner with Death. Something entirely out of the ordinary. We had never shared a meal before, and yet here I was, expected to attend. The thought pulled my attention sharply back to the present, breaking the brief moment of warmth and distraction.
Despite my repeated refusals, the servants had insisted on preparing me. They had dressed me in something unfamiliar, something meant to be suitable for the occasion.
The servants had dressed me in a mint green gown that fitted loosely but elegantly, the color soft and understated. Pearls traced the neckline and ran along the sleeves, giving the outfit a subtle weight and a formal air.
My hair, naturally curly, had been styled into a half-up, half-down arrangement, decorated with small white flowers and a delicate string of pearls draped across my head like a circlet.
I had resisted at first, insisting I didn't need this sort of presentation, but over the past few days, I had to admit it, I looked healthier, better even. Eating regularly, walking through the castle, and sleeping without fear had added weight back to my frame.
My cheeks were fuller, my posture steadier, and for the first time in a long while, I looked somewhat presentable.
We started walking through the castle. Torches lined the halls, their flames flickering against the stone walls and casting long, moving shadows. Even in the Underworld, where night was constant, the torchlight was enough to brighten the corridors while still keeping the sense of darkness.
I allowed myself a small moment of satisfaction. I had always liked the night, and the moon, especially a full one, had always drawn my attention. The first time I arrived here, I had seen it above the castle walls, bright against the dark, and the memory stayed with me.
"We've arrived, Miss," George said, his stubby wings twitching as he stopped at the doorway.
I looked up and froze. The doors before me were unlike any I had seen in the castle. Towering and gilded, they caught the torchlight, throwing sharp, almost blinding reflections across the hall. When they swung open, the sound rolled through the corridor.
Stepping inside, I immediately understood why the servants had insisted on dressing me. He was not alone.
Several other figures filled the hall, all dressed in elegant gowns and suits. For a moment, it felt almost like the human world, where no one would have guessed this was the Underworld.
I stepped inside, and the full scale of the room immediately struck me. It was enormous, clearly designed for large gatherings, though tonight it was set for only a few.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, scattering light across the room. The table was enormous, long enough to seat ten guests comfortably, though only a few places were occupied. Large windows revealed mountains stretching into the distance, and the moon hung pale in the sky.
Death sat at the far end of the table, composed and still, as if he didn't care to be here in this room.
As I scanned the table, my eyes landed on one of the guests, and I froze for a brief moment. She was seated next to him, and there was no mistaking the effect she had on the room or on me.
Her face was extraordinary, the kind that drew attention without effort. Her hair was thick and brown, unusually so, and it framed her face in waves that fell naturally over her shoulders. But it was her eyes that caught me entirely, they were purple.
I had never seen eyes like that. The color was vivid and impossible, yet it seemed completely natural on her, giving her a presence that was both youthful and experienced at the same time.
Her lips were red, precise and full, contrasting with her pale skin. She was simply beautiful. As I continued to study her, she suddenly looked at me and smiled. Almost as if she knew exactly what I was thinking.
I forced myself to look away, though the image of her lingered in my mind.
As I walked toward the table, I suddenly locked eyes with Death. He smirked and gestured to the chair beside him, keeping it clearly empty for me.
I paused only briefly before continuing past him without acknowledgment. Instead, I chose a vacant seat farther down the table, deliberately placing as much distance between us as the arrangement allowed.
The shift in the room was immediate.
Several of the guests glanced at one another, their expressions subtly tightening. Confusion flickered across more than one immortal face . Their gazes returned to me in measured intervals, as if trying to assess what authority or justification allowed a living mortal to sit among them at all.
Death did not look bothered by that confusion at all. If anything, he seemed pleased.
One of the guests cleared his throat as he spoke, his voice low but firm.
I glanced at him realizing he was an older man, his white beard long and neatly kept, his eyes sharp despite the years etched into his face.
"There has been a misbalance in the human world," he said, and I leaned slightly forward without meaning to. "One city has already been a lost cause. The curse is now beginning to spread to another. If it continues unchecked, it will affect the entire continent and more."
A curse? What curse? I thought, frowning. I blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the words. A curse spreading through the human world?
The old man with the white beard cleared his throat and began speaking again. "It seems to me we have avoided this for far too long," he said. "But I believe it is time to act before all of humanity is lost forever."
I swallowed hard, my mind still spinning. What on Earth was he talking about?
Then Death spoke, his voice calm, almost cold. "It has been lost the moment they they came into this world" he said. "Humans do not appreciate what we do for them, so I see no reason to save them at all. It is simply their nature to be this greedy."
Before I could fully process Death's words, another man spoke. Younger than the white-bearded one, Looked mostly like he was in his thirties.
He was dressed unlike the rest, deliberately so. A white shirt, finely tailored, fastened all the way up, embroidered with intricate golden patterns. Over it, he wore a long coat of deep gold, rich in fabric and detail, the kind of garment that did not simply suggest wealth but authority. He looked as though he were the most powerful and most respected among them without ever needing to say it.
"How long are you going to hold that grudge?" he asked.
Death's red eyes flicked to him, and he leaned back slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Well," he said, voice smooth and unhurried, "I'm thousands of years old. I have an eternity to do just that."
Then the blonde man shifted his gaze toward me, his finger pointing with deliberate precision. "And yet," he said, his voice low and measured, "you brought another human here, to the Underworld. What for?"
Death's gaze followed, sharp and unyielding. "So," he said, his voice smooth but edged with amusement, "I grew bored, and I brought someone who might provide a little entertainment."
The blonde man's eyes narrowed slightly, the warmth draining from them as his expression hardened.
"You cannot treat them as possessions," he said evenly, each word measured. "He will not approve of your bringing a human here merely for your amusement."
Death's expression shifted instantly, his composure cracking into something sharper. "And who are you," he hissed, "to dictate what he approve of or not?"
"I am His Highness' Guardian," the blonde man said, rising to his feet, his posture straight and commanding, "and I follow the orders I am given. I will not stand idly by while you misuse what has been entrusted to you."
Death let out a quiet, humorless breath.
"Do not attempt to deceive me," he said, his voice calm but cutting. "You stand there preaching about humanity as if their fate keeps you awake at night." His eyes darkened slightly. "You do not care for them. You care for how this will appear before His Highness. You care about remaining in his favor." A faint, knowing tilt of his head. "Let us not pretend otherwise."
The blonde man's expression hardened instantly, anger rising fast and unrestrained
"I was not the one who allowed pride to cloud my judgment," he shot back. "I did not defy the orders I was given. I upheld my duty. I followed the command." He stepped closer, lowering his tone just enough to make it more personal.
"You were the one who chose to rise above it. Because you could not bear the thought of someone else being more important to him than you."
The tension in the room thickened, and I sat frozen, unsure whether to move or speak, acutely aware that every word here carried weight, and that my very presence had sparked a confrontation between two powerful immortals.
Before the argument could escalate further, the woman with the purple eyes spoke, her voice calm. "You two are behaving like children," she said, her gaze moving between them. "It is a shame considering how close you used to be."
Death's eyes flicked to her, his expression hardening. "Those days are long behind us," he said, his tone cold, leaving no room for nostalgia.
The woman looked at Death with sadness in her expression. "Come on, lighten up a bit," she said. "We haven't had dinner together in a very long time."
For a brief moment, his gaze softened as he looked at her. He didn't speak, but the change was noticeable enough to suggest a closeness that went beyond mere friendship.
I shifted slightly in my seat, suddenly aware of how out of place I felt.
The older man with the white beard spoke few moments later. "We came here for a dinner. I suggest we begin. The rest of the matters can be discussed in a more formal setting."
As if on cue, a soft, elegant melody began to play throughout the hall. Trays of food were brought out, filling the table, and goblets were refilled one by one, easing some of the tension in the room.
My thoughts drifted back to the notebook, tucked away beneath my jacket back in my room. The memory of its sealed pages and the small cavity waiting for something of his, it all came rushing back. I need to find a way to collect his blood but how?
And yet, with the discussion about the human world and the spreading curse, I realized there was so much I didn't understand and it was clear the notebook held at least one answer to that.
"What is your name?"
The voice came from the table directly in front of me.
I looked up to see a woman who appeared slightly older than me or at least by mortal standards but it was clear she was far older, an immortal in a way I could not measure. Her expression was gentle, and her voice carried a kindness that seemed almost out of place in a room like this.
I blinked, caught off guard.
"Adora," I said quietly, my voice low, almost as if it could be overlooked and forgotten.
The woman smiled warmly and inclined her head.
"It's a beautiful name," she said. "Whoever named you must have loved you deeply."
Curiosity flickered across her features. "And how, may I ask, did you meet Azriel?" she asked, pointing toward Death.
Azriel? I froze, confused. My eyes shifted to him, searching for a clue in his expression.
She followed my gaze and pointed again, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips. "His real name is Azriel, It was the name he was given the second he became who he is now" she said softly, as if reading my thoughts.
Azriel. I repeated it silently in my mind. Somehow, it suited him perfectly.
I drew a steadying breath. "I met him when my life was in a critical state," I said, keeping my tone neutral. Meeting him made it worse. I thought but I left that unspoken.
The woman nodded slowly, as though weighing my words. Her eyes held a trace of curiosity.
"It is the first time I have seen him bring a mortal into this realm. He has never done this before."
"Never? How come?" I asked, frowning.
A smile spread across her lips, her gaze holding mine as if looking straight into my very heart, as though she knew something I did not. It was an unsettling, almost intimate feeling.
"Not in all the centuries I have known him," she said softly, her eyes distant for a moment. "At least, not after a certain incident. Immortals rarely keep the company of humans, especially those who still alive."
I frowned. "What incident?" I asked, curiosity prickling at me.
She shook her head lightly. One hand rose to rest gently against her face, as if to brush away the question without dismissing it. "Never mind," she said softly. "It's not that important."
I stayed silent, trying to process her words. The weight of what she was saying settled in slowly, leaving me more confused than ever.
"Would you like a turkey leg?"
I looked up, startled, to see a servant placing a portion of food onto my plate. My eyes swept the table, taking in the guests around me.
Everyone was talking, fully absorbed in conversation, yet no one had touched their meals. Most of the goblets had already been emptied and were being refilled, as if the wine mattered more than the food itself.
Even Death seemed absorbed in the ritual. His goblet was being refilled for what looked like the tenth time, yet he drank it without hesitation, fully engaged in conversation with the woman with the purple eyes.
She leaned closer to him, her fingers tracing lightly along his arm. My gaze followed, curiosity stirring. Slowly, her touch moved upward, deliberate and careful.
For a moment, he didn't react. Then, finally, he stopped her, his hand covering hers with a firm yet gentle hold.
I blinked, caught off guard. The gesture was unmistakably intimate and it left a strange, unplaceable feeling in my chest. Something that made my heart beat a little faster and my thoughts wander in ways I wasn't ready to acknowledge.
Then, almost before I realized it, she reached for his hand. He didn't pull away. They stood and moved together through the hall, their hands still joined, leaving the table behind. I watched as they walked past the other guests, who seemed mostly absorbed in their own conversations and drinks, not noticing them at all.
I stayed in my seat, trying to focus on my plate, but I couldn't stop looking.
I tried to steady myself, willing the strange warmth and rush to fade, and turned my attention to my goblet, hoping to distract myself. It sat there on the table, unassuming, yet somehow it caught my eye more than anything else in the hall.
Unlike the others, it hadn't been filled. Everyone else had their goblets topped up again and again, yet mine remained empty.
Tentatively, I reached for the carafe nearby and poured a generous serving into my goblet, watching the deep red liquid fill it. The color was rich, almost mesmerizing, and the scent hit my nose, sharp, familiar, and intoxicating.
Without thinking too much, I lifted the goblet and drank it in a single, steady gulp.
The moment the liquid hit my tongue, an unexpected heat spread through me, rising quickly from my chest to my face. My heartbeat accelerated, and a wave of energy rushed through my limbs.
One moment, I shivered as though a chill ran down my spine; the next, heat flared across my skin, making my cheeks burn and my pulse pound in my ears.
I gripped the goblet tightly, trying to focus, trying to remind myself to stay composed, but it was like the wine or whatever it was, had awakened something in me. My thoughts felt sharper, yet scattered all at once. I was aware of everything around me. The music, the soft murmur of conversation, the flickering torchlight but it all felt distant, almost unreal.
The energy inside me was impossible to ignore. My body wanted to move, to stretch, to spin. I clenched my hands in my lap, forcing myself to stay still, but the sensation was overwhelming. I could feel heat crawling up my neck and down my arms. My legs itched to rise, to walk, to dance, to do something, anything that could channel the sudden, dizzy euphoria surging through me.
Before I could fully gather myself, someone stepped into my line of sight.
I looked up.
A man stood before me, striking in a way that immediately drew attention. His hair was dark, so black it almost reflected blue under the torchlight. It was neatly styled. His features were sharp, refined, and his eyes, an unmistakable shade of deep green, held a clarity that was difficult to ignore.
The color was vivid, almost unnaturally so, and for a brief second I found myself absurdly aware of my own far more ordinary green eyes.
He gave me a small, knowing smile.
"Careful," he said smoothly, glancing at my empty goblet. "That wine has a reputation for encouraging decisions one might not fully remember in the morning."
"Though," he added, his voice lowering just slightly, "if this is how you look after one glass, perhaps I should be grateful you poured yourself only one."
"I don't believe we've been introduced," he continued, extending his hand toward me.
Before I could respond, his hand closed gently around my wrist. The touch sent a sharp reaction through me. His fingers slid slowly from my wrist to my forearm, as if he could taste every inch of it. My breath caught in my throat. I should have pulled away. I knew I should have.
But I didn't.
His other hand settled lightly at my waist, just enough pressure to make it clear he was guiding me. My body reacted before my mind could. A strange heaviness settled into my limbs, not painful, not forceful, just overwhelming. It was as if my thoughts had slowed while my senses had sharpened.
"You look like you need air," he murmured, his voice low near my ear.
The world around us blurred. The music felt louder, then distant. His fingers traced slightly higher along my arm, and a shiver ran through me. My pulse raced. I couldn't tell if it was the wine or him.
I felt unsteady, like my body was responding on its own. My muscles felt weak, my breath uneven. Instead of pulling back, I leaned closer, almost unconsciously. My hand found his chest to steady myself, but it only brought me nearer.
His grip tightened just slightly.
"There," he said softly. "That's better"
"Enough."
The word cut sharply through the music.
The man holding me stiffened slightly, though his grip didn't loosen. His fingers were still firm at my waist, his other hand resting at my lower back as if he had every right to keep me there.
He sighed, almost theatrically, and finally turned his head toward the source of the voice.
"Must you always ruin the atmosphere?" he asked lazily. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how to enjoy yourself. We used to know how to have a little fun."
At first, I couldn't see who had spoken. The crowd shifted, bodies moving aside just enough to reveal a tall figure stepping forward.
"I remember perfectly well," the voice replied, colder now. "And I suggest you remove your hands."
The dark-haired man chuckled under his breath. "You're overreacting. She doesn't seem to mind." His fingers pressed slightly against me, testing, possessive.
I realized then that I hadn't moved. My body felt slow, unsteady from the wine still burning in my veins. My thoughts were hazy, caught somewhere between awareness and heat.
"Don't be dramatic," the man continued. "Since when do you interfere in such harmless things?"
A pause followed.
Then the answer came.
"I do," he said evenly, his gaze fixed on the man in front of me. "When it concerns a soul that has been bound to mine."
The tension between the two men felt suffocating, though I could no longer focus on their faces clearly. My vision had begun to blur at the edges, their figures reduced to shifting shapes and shadows beneath the torchlight.
I blinked, attempting to clear my vision, but the room tilted sharply to one side. My knees weakened. The strength drained from my hands first, then from my legs.
The last thing I registered was a figure stepping forward quickly, closing the distance between us, just before the world gave way beneath me.