The marriage was finished just like that. It had gone through with a precision that felt cruel in its efficiency, and when it ended, Queen Sofia could no longer pretend to be composed. The moment the final words were spoken, something inside her broke. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as she turned and fled the room, her skirts whispering against the marble floor. She did not look back.
No one stopped her.
The humans and the demons, if they could still be called by separate names, remained where they were, their attention captured by King Lucifer's calm, commanding voice. He spoke to King Alexander as though discussing a business arrangement, outlining plans already set in motion. The kingdom of Vertox, he explained, would no longer be Helena's home. His son and new daughter-in-law would reside elsewhere on Earth, far from the palace walls, yet still bound to the mortal world.
Prince Henry barely heard a word of it.
The room felt distant, muffled, as though he were standing underwater. When the meaning finally reached him, it stole what little breath he had left. He said nothing. He could say nothing. Instead, he pulled Helena into his arms.
She clung to him as if letting go might erase her entirely. They held each other for far too long, long enough that it became obvious, long enough that no one dared interrupt because neither of them knew if this was goodbye forever.
When the time came to move, the procession drifted toward the forecourt like a funeral march. Black horses waited outside, tall and gleaming, their forms deceptively familiar. Only their eyes betrayed them; red, watchful, alive with something feral. Several servants flinched when those gazes passed over them.
Helena's tears returned the moment she stepped into the open air.
She turned back to Henry one last time and fisted the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself to him, to the only home she had ever known. He kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, each touch lingering as if he were memorising her face.
They had fought fate together. And they had lost.
Behind Henry stood their father. King Alexander looked older than Helena had ever seen him, his shoulders bowed beneath the weight of his own choices. He did not speak. There was nothing left to say.
A gentle pressure settled against Helena's back.
She stiffened.
Prince Nimrod's hand rested there, guiding but unforceful, warm in a way that startled her. The sensation sent a strange shiver through her, sharp with memory of impossible moments, of things she did not yet understand. She turned toward him, breath caught in her throat.
Nimrod met her gaze with a knowing smile.
"It's time," he murmured, "Our carriage is waiting, my beautiful wife."
The word echoed through her.
Before she could respond, he leaned closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear, "You may ask me anything you like on the way. I promise not to lie."
Henry watched them, confusion flickering across his face, but Helena gently loosened her grip on him. Her hands trembled as she stepped away and climbed into the golden carriage prepared for her.
Nimrod followed.
As the door closed, Helena leaned forward, searching the faces outside. Her eyes found the balcony above. Her mother, half-hidden in shadow, hands covering her face as if that might erase the sight of her daughter leaving.
Henry moved toward the carriage, desperation etched into every step. Just as the carriage door was about to close, a sudden force stopped it.
"Wait!" Prince Henry's voice cracked as his hand clamped onto the edge of the door, his knuckles whitening with strain. The horses shifted impatiently, snorting, but the carriage did not move.
Henry leaned forward, breath uneven, eyes fixed on the space inside the carriage, on his sister.
"Nimrod," he said hoarsely. Pride abandoned him entirely now. His gaze flicked to Helena, then back to the man beside her, "If I cannot save her… then at least allow me to see her. I'm begging you. To visit her, at least? I cannot lose her completely."
Nimrod did not answer at once. His gaze slid past Henry and settled on Helena instead.
He reached for her slowly. His fingers lifted her chin as if testing the permission of the world itself. The intimacy of the gesture made Henry's stomach twist. Helena flinched at the touch, her body reacting before her mind could catch up, but Nimrod did not withdraw. Instead, his thumb brushed lightly along her cheek, possessive, unhurried.
His eyes flicked between brother and sister, reading them both.
Then he smiled.
"Of course," he said smoothly, his voice carrying a dangerous warmth, "If my wife wishes it, you may visit us."
Henry exhaled shakily, relief and humiliation crashing into him all at once. He nodded, unable to find words.
Nimrod's expression shifted.
He turned fully to Henry now, the smile fading into something sharper, more discerning. His gaze cut through him, measuring, weighing.
"I like you," Nimrod said quietly, "Anyway."
With that, Nimrod withdrew his hand from Helena's face. The carriage door closed at last. The driver cracked the reins, and the horses surged forward, pulling Helena away as Henry stood frozen in the courtyard. His hand still raised, as though he might stop fate itself if he only reached far enough.
Nimrod gave the driver a single, decisive tap.
The horses surged forward.
The palace began to slip away.
Helena pressed her hand against the window as towers and gardens blurred into memory, her chest aching with a grief so heavy it felt physical. Everything she had been, everything she had known, was shrinking behind her with every turn of the wheels.
Nimrod watched her in silence. And when he finally spoke, his tone was softer than she expected, "You're allowed to cry, you know."
She turned to him slowly, tears still clinging to her lashes.
Her voice, when she found it, was unsteady, "Who are you?" she asked, "Truly. And what kind of world have you taken me into?"
Nimrod smiled, not mocking, not cruel, but amused.
"You can call me Nimrod," he said, "And I am far more complicated than the stories you were told."
She frowned, confused despite herself.
"All in time," he added gently, "For now, let us travel. You'll learn soon enough, my dear Helena."
The carriage rolled onward toward a future she had never chosen, and a truth she was only beginning to glimpse.