Several days had passed since my birthday.
I paced the chamber in irritation, dressed only in silk trousers. Bare‑chested, I circled the room and shook my head sharply. I ignored the large bed draped in black and the comfortable sofa facing the balcony, from which there was a perfect view of the night sky glittering with stars.
I ought to sleep. The sun had set long ago and night had settled in full. Yet for months, I hadn't closed my eyes for even a single second of reprieve. I'd been functioning without pause, and it had begun to show in my state of mind. My thoughts were restless, wandering ceaselessly, begging for respite.
I couldn't silence the whirlwind in my head. I kept expecting catastrophe.
I disagreed with Father's order: do nothing, keep my hands clean, play the neutral observer. Impossible. I couldn't rest. Merely imagining myself lying down and passively waiting for everything to crumble into chaos exhausted me more than work itself.
I was used to solving problems immediately—hunting down fools the moment they dared break the rules or even considered toppling Father from the throne.
I stopped before Father's portrait that had always hung on the wall and stared at his flawless face.
My problem was simple: I could not move against the ruler. That was forbidden. I wasn't allowed to scheme behind his back and act. If he found out, my claim to the throne might be at risk. Darlek would seize any chance to replace me.
Make no mistakes! I ordered myself to stay put and wait.
The Light Prophecy was a fake—one worry less, at least. But those plotting behind our backs were very real, still recruiting angels whom I could have saved from ruin.
I tore my gaze from the portrait and fixed it on my reflection in the mirror. I looked other‑worldly, worthy of a prince's crown. Yet my eyes betrayed something else: an exhaustion no thousand‑year sleep could banish.
I'd accepted a cruel truth long ago—I couldn't stand being alone with myself. Every second in these chambers was unbearable. One moment of reflecting on my life stabbed like a knife to the chest.
I hadn't lied to the traitor—I possessed nothing I cared about. My life revolved solely around me. Everything else was easily replaceable. This chamber? I could have a thousand like it. Family? I'd barely notice if they vanished. Friends? Merely servants whom I changed without hesitation. Possessions? Any treasure in the world meant nothing to me. The only thing that truly mattered was keeping my throne and ensuring no one surpassed me.
I was on the balcony breathing in cold air when I spotted a familiar angel in the sky. He approached swiftly in heavy armor, signalling from afar for permission to land. I nodded and beckoned him closer.
The man with long grey wings dropped onto the balcony. His scarred face was well known to me—I had put those scars to use myself. Dishevelled brown hair clung to his cheeks after the flight, and an untrimmed stubble showed he hadn't had time even to wash.
"Nate, I hope you've brought me something interesting," I greeted him as his wings dissolved. He bowed deeply, hands clasped before his chest in salute.
"Rise," I commanded, and he obeyed at once, straightening to stand a head taller than I.
If I'd ever had a right hand, it was Nate. He alone had access to my chambers and knew my secrets. He commanded my corps of spies and knew everything I knew. He was the one man to whom I would entrust my life.
Perhaps I was wrong—if anyone in my life was irreplaceable, it was him.
"My prince, I have come to report…" he began, but I silenced him with a wave.
"Inside." I entered first; Nate followed. His weary face showed a long day behind him. I pointed to the couch for him to sit.
"I'm all ears," I invited.
"Which do you wish to hear first? Your brother or Terravorn?"
"My brother," I decided without hesitation. Terravorn could wait—Darlek could not.
"As you ordered, we still watch him. He repeats the same pattern. His spies travel constantly between realms, rotating every week. A group of four disappears, returns Sunday evening, and reports directly to the prince."
Nothing new yet.
"Any success infiltrating them?" I asked.
Nate shook his head.
"A few of our men got closer, but none earned his trust enough to be sent out. Whatever those men are doing must be extremely important. He sends only those who've stood at his side for more than three hundred years. No one else has access to the information."
Why does Darlek send loyal men to other worlds?
"Keep trying," I ordered.
"Of course."
"Still, it's clear they haven't succeeded yet. Perhaps they return empty‑handed," I mused aloud. The constant rotation of small teams suggested he was searching rather than building.
"We don't know his aim, but we should prepare," Nate said, leaning back.
"You're right," I agreed. "Time to remind dear brother he will always be second. Even if he finds something, I'll take it. He lives only by my grace."
As if reading my mind, Nate asked directly, "Which one?"
I liked how easily he understood me. I didn't need to say a word, and still he knew exactly what I meant.
And yet I thought—one day, maybe one day, I'll have to kill Nate.
But not today.
I pondered. Should it be the first? Or rather one from the middle? Hmm… best would be…
"The last one," I decided after a moment.
Nate nodded.
"You'll be ready for his reaction?"
"Of course. Leave that to me. Handle the final mistress and leave my brother to me."
That's how it was done—eliminate problems before they grew. Darlek was naïve if he thought any treasure he uncovered could stop me.
"What of Terravorn? Anything new?" I asked.
"Not much," Nate replied, nodding. "They're cautious. Since we exposed one of their so‑called kings and you disposed of him, they're careful whom they admit. In recent days, they've even paused hunting wingless angels. They rarely leave their homes—as if waiting for our move."
"Victims?"
"We've found none," Nate shook his head. "I checked that man, the dead traitor named Edward Dalenau. Relatively young, about fifty; lifelong Terravorn member. The locals call him 'the scientist'—apparently a weirdo who keeps to his estate. It's surrounded by the Silent Forest and protected by a strong magical shield. He doesn't seem powerful, more like a reclusive experimenter."
"The traitor said he's trying to control darkness. That isn't harmless," I objected.
"There's no trace of progress around him. I made sure of it. I found nothing to fear."
I frowned. Even attempting to wield power reserved for royalty was a grave crime punishable by death. Our force was different from common magic. It left traces that could be reused. In the wrong hands, it could be catastrophic.
"If he hasn't succeeded by now, he likely never will," Nate continued. "Such attempts always leave marks. If he's still trying, he must have lost his mind long ago."
True enough. Those who coveted forbidden power often ended up as puppets. If Dalenau persisted despite failure, he was merely a shadow of the man he once was.
"So you claim he's harmless and not worth our time."
"I'm convinced of it, my prince. No point destroying someone already destroying himself. We should focus on smarter enemies."
Despite his logic I couldn't let it go. Nate wanted to move on, but I wasn't ready. "Dalenau… should that name mean something to me? You said he owns an estate?"
Nate wasn't surprised by my thoroughness; he continued without hesitation:
"His manor is so remote our men seldom patrol there. It falls under your brother's jurisdiction. The Dalenau family has served Terravorn for centuries. They've owned the estate for over five hundred years, passing it down each generation."
They had an estate yet weren't nobility—noble houses are exceedingly rare.
"Does he have offspring who could cause trouble? Father may be insane, but children sometimes aren't." It wouldn't be the first time the young caused more trouble than their parents. Youth often believed they were invincible, capable of toppling our rule. If he passed something on to someone more capable, it could be a threat.
"As for family, there's no record of any children. If he has them, they're well hidden. He is married, so the possibility exists."
"His wife?"
"No one's seen her in years. She might be dead. When she appeared at a gathering years ago, she looked unwell. They already thought her odd. No one misses her; no one's searching."
"I won't send spies just for him. If Dalenau keeps silent and draws no attention, we'll leave him be."
Nate nodded.
"He's not worth your notice, my prince. Should he ever become a problem, I'll handle it personally, but I doubt it'll be necessary."
"Any other news?"
Nate shook his head. Seeing my slight disappointment, he quickly added: "You can rely on us. Nothing escapes us. If anything happens, you'll be the first to know."
"Good. Continue your work. Now go rest. You've earned it."
"You too, my prince," he replied, stood, and bowed deeply again. "If you need anything, call me. I'll be at your side." He left without another word, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I remained, looking at the bed. It seemed cozy, almost inviting… Nonsense! It was just a piece of furniture. Why then did the idea of lying down frighten me to my core?
I wasn't afraid of the bed, but of closing my eyes, sinking into unconsciousness, becoming vulnerable.
What if something went wrong while I slept?
As on many previous nights, I didn't close my eyes. And for the next seven nights, I still couldn't force myself to rest.
* * *
I wanted to sleep so badly. I'd eaten a hearty dinner, spoken with Father's advisers, strolled around the castle, greeted the subjects. Fatigue overcame me; on the way back to my chambers, I could barely keep my eyes open.
Everything was fine. Nate had things under control, Darlek kept to the shadows, father issued no new orders, and at last, I could move freely through Noxalora without obstacles. I'd even spent a pleasant morning with my sister. I hadn't been this content in ages.
I opened my chamber door and shut it carefully behind me. Alone within four walls, I slumped and allowed my eyes to close halfway. My body finally relaxed. I eased my grip on my power and the room fell into darkness.
I dropped my clothes to the floor. Naked, I walked to the bed and pulled a black set of sleepwear from under the pillow—servants laid it out meticulously though I seldom wore it. I caught the scent of herbs.
I lay down and felt peace. The room was warm, but a storm raged outside. With a wave, I opened the balcony doors to let fresh cold air in. Mischievous wind billowed the curtains and knocked over the light cloth draped over Darlek's gift.
I glanced at the mirror. It reflected an old but at least tidy room.
No one was there. The red‑haired girl with the bruised face I'd seen before was gone.
I sat up quickly, feet on the cold floor, and stood. I crossed to the mirror for a better look. Maybe she was hiding in a corner?
No.
I'd thought the mirror would show her whenever I wished. I never considered it might reflect only an empty room.
Only a few details had changed: the bed was rumpled, a shirt hung on a chair, shoes were scattered on the floor—evidence she'd been roused suddenly and left in haste.
I was furious. I wanted to see her! Why wouldn't that stupid mirror show me what I wanted? Worthless junk fit for the scrap heap! I love irreplaceable treasures, not broken things devoid of value!
I cursed, but the reflection remained the same. I dismissed the bed from my mind. Suddenly, I was no longer tired; sleepiness vanished, replaced by trembling anger.
Where are you, damn it?! A girl that young should have been asleep long ago! Unlike me, she has to sleep every day.
The calm evening was gone. How stupid I'd been to think everything was fine! If I closed my eyes, the world would fall apart!
I tore myself from the mirror, stormed to the door, and flung it open—nearly ripping it from its hinges as I shouted, "Bring me calming tea at once!"
I slammed the door and looked at the mirror again. The girl was still absent.
I strode onto the balcony. The night sky was dark, heavy clouds lit by occasional lightning. Below, a few guards patrolled, watching the castle despite the dreadful weather.
Should I summon Nate? No—he wouldn't help. Junk remains junk.
Soon a maid returned with a tray bearing a teapot and cup. She set it on the table and, at my curt nod, fled as swiftly as she'd come.
I sat before the mirror, poured the tea myself, and sipped slowly. Even the whole pot brought no calm—only greater agitation. Which idiot called this a soothing tea?!
All night I monitored the mirror, but nothing in her room stirred—not the slightest sign she was there. Bit by bit the darkness lifted; dawn's light would soon appear.
What if something happened? Maybe she needed my help! Foolish or not, if she didn't appear by sunrise, I would go looking for her. I couldn't risk it. If she is important to me, I would have to know why. I certainly didn't intend to let her die before she served her purpose.
It wasn't necessary.
Losiela returned at five in the morning. Her utterly limp body appeared in the mirror. What had happened to her in that week? Her face was far more battered—fresh bruises glared. She limped, groaning in pain. Her clothes were filthy; she seemed too weak even to undress.
Who dared beat my future servant?! Rage surged through me; magic exploded in the room. Windows rattled, flames in the hearth leapt, candles flared white‑hot. For a few seconds, I lost control.
She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the bed. She whimpered, reached for a teddy bear, clutched it tight, and began to shake. The tremble turned into uncontrollable shivering and finally she wept.
The fury filling me evaporated.
I was not accustomed to watching sobbing girls. No girl before me was allowed to cry.
Did she have to wail so loudly? Father would have smacked her and she'd have gone quiet.
She stopped crying and seemed to fall unconscious.
My heart halted for a beat. In that instant I knew one thing—I couldn't leave her there! If she was going to serve me, I needed her whole.
One flick of my hand and darkness shot from me, crossing realms at the speed of light into her room. It found her easily; in the mirror I saw it wrap her body, draw her into its embrace.
When she vanished from her room, I stepped into the space an ordinary angel could never reach.
I was deep inside my own essence, a place where nothing existed but me and my power.
Losiela was the first I had ever brought here. I let her see how far my strength extended.
There was no gravity.
I spotted her floating in the distance, head bowed, eyes closed, limbs hanging limp. She hadn't regained consciousness—good. I had no idea how I'd explain where she was. I could see perfectly here, but the blindness of this void would have terrified her.
A silly thought crossed my mind: What if she wakes and fears the dark?
Before I reached her I moved my left hand, conjuring several blue sparks that began circling her body, lighting at least a small patch of space.
Slowly, she started to rouse; a sob escaped her throat.
I slowed her heartbeat and ordered the power to lull her back to sleep. It obeyed instantly—Losiela stopped whimpering and fell into deep slumber. Only then did I dare draw close and study her.
At first I simply stood, examining her features. She was unnaturally pale. Her body, emaciated and battered. I couldn't resist and brushed her cheek. I expected cool skin, yet it was fever‑hot, almost burning. My power reacted, as if on its own: gentle shadows stroked her red hair and examined her, sliding down to her body, reporting back to me.
She was in bad shape.
Bruised, three broken fingers, one cracked rib, battered knees, a sprained ankle.
How had she even walked back to her room?
Curiosity kept me company. I conversed with the darkness, asking what had happened. It whispered that Losiela had fallen from great heights many times.
A suspicion struck me.
I wanted to know if I was right. I slipped my hand beneath her tunic and pressed her back. Instantly, I sensed the resistance—proof Losiela couldn't summon wings. Either she'd tried to learn alone, or someone had taught her by hurling her from heights to force the instinct.
Losiela, the one I supposedly needed, was an angel without wings. A forbidden cult would flay her alive.
Anger seized me again.
Had they tortured her? I recalled her earlier whisper that she couldn't be broken. I had to exert great effort not to reveal myself and immediately find out who had done this to her. How would that tyrant react if the crown prince stood before him and crushed his hands?
I laid my palms on her beaten body. I began healing her—slowly, not too thoroughly. I hadn't healed an ordinary angel in centuries. I'd never needed healing magic; I was invulnerable.
Still, I mended the broken bones and eased the ankle. I deliberately left the bruises. What would she think, waking miraculously whole? I didn't want her to know I'd been there. I fixed only what caused the greatest pain, but left the marks.
I stroked her pale cheek. She looked so unremarkable, almost dull. In the halls, I passed hundreds of women who resembled her and dozens who outshone her completely. I felt no power from her. How could someone so insignificant be important to me?
I sighed aloud and waved my hand.
Only when I was certain I could do nothing more for her and that she wasn't in danger did I release her from the darkness. I withdrew and found myself again in my chambers before the mirror.
She lay exactly as before, but now her breathing was steady and her body no longer shook with pain.
She slept so easily, as if it cost her no effort. Looking at her, one might think sleeping was simple. She'd hidden in a realm of dreams where I was forbidden to enter.
I scowled for a moment, I was jealous of her.
I inspected her room, searching for anything that might reveal more. I knew the furniture, but I hunted for details—something to hint at who she really was. After a while, I grew bored. It was merely a teenage girl's room—nothing special. Yet when I looked again at her and a bit higher, I noticed something odd.
Letters were carved into the wooden bedframe.
Mostly names that meant nothing to me, but one word grabbed my attention at once Dalenau.
Why Dalenau?
In that moment, everything I'd thought of her changed. She was no longer just a girl who might prove useful someday. I began to consider her a threat.
Losiela Dalenau.
She was the daughter of that mad scientist who served Terravorn?
Her injuries suggested it. The age fit, and the wounds were those no normal parent would inflict. If she were the child of a man who murdered incomplete angels, she was divinely lucky to be alive.
I knew at once I had to speak to Nate.
What if this was all Darlek's plot? Some pitiful attempt to threaten me?
I understood nothing, but a part of me screamed she had to die.
If Darlek knew about her, she couldn't be allowed to live—not if I wanted to stay safe.