The Great Plaza was a sea of black iron and silver banners. Hundreds of demon soldiers stood in perfect, terrifying formation, their breathing synchronized like a single, massive beast.
At the center of the elevated dais stood Malachi, clad in his full battle regalia-armor forged from the scales of a fallen dragon, pulsing with violet light.
Beside him stood Zaliyah.
He was a vision of tragic elegance, draped in five layers of the finest gossamer silk, the colors transitioning from a pale lavender to a deep, bruised plum. A translucent veil of silver thread hung from his golden headpiece, obscuring his face from the prying, disgusted eyes of the Council.
To the onlookers, he was a mystery-a shimmering, silent ghost. To Malachi, he was the only thing in the realm worth coming back for.
"The Serpent of Carnage will fall by dusk," Malachi declared, his voice carrying over the silent legion.
He turned to Zaliyah. Before the entire court, before the whispering Empress and the seething nobles, Malachi reached out and took Zaliyah's hand. He didn't care for the optics. He leaned down, his breath warm against the silk of Zaliyah's veil.
"Stay within the walls," Malachi murmured, his voice a low command. "The twins will answer with their lives if a single hair on your head is harmed."
Zaliyah remained still, his hands trembling slightly within Malachi's grip. Through the veil, his purple eyes were fixed on the King's red forehead mark. "Just go," Zaliyah whispered, his voice barely audible. "The sooner you leave, the sooner the air in this palace becomes breathable."
Malachi let out a short, dark chuckle. He squeezed Zaliyah's hand one last time-unaware that the trap had already been set-before turning to his army. With a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the city, the King and his army vanished into a massive, swirling vortex of shadow.
As the dust settled, Iruna stepped forward to lead Zaliyah back to his chambers. "The King has requested you remain in your chambers today, your highness. The air is clearer there."
Back in the safety of his room, the "ritual of beauty" began.
Shakdam had played her part perfectly; the maids brought in a new set of ceremonial oils, scented with crushed lilies.
"Your hands are dry from the portal lessons, Your Royal Highness," Iruna said softly, dipping her fingers into a small, ornate jar.
"The Empress insisted on this particular blend. It strengthens the skin against magical friction."
Zaliyah sat back, exhausted by the morning's display. He allowed Iruna to massage the cool, translucent paste into his palms.
He didn't feel the microscopic sting as the Night-Stalker marrow was carefully pressed beneath his fingernails.
It was a masterfully crafted venom-it didn't burn, it didn't itch. It simply began to seep into his capillaries, a silent, invisible tide beginning its journey toward his heart.
"There," Iruna finished, bowing low. "You look every bit of the Consort the realm fears you to be."
Once the rituals were over , the slow passage of time blurred into the mid-day.
The mid-day was unnervingly quiet. Zaliyah spent hours in the library, trying to find any useful information about the Demon Realm , the empire, how it functions or the geography, but the words began to blur on the page.
By the time he reached the stasis chamber for his evening visit, a strange heaviness had settled in his limbs. He thought it was merely the exhaustion of the portal lesson, the mental strain of pulling that poor girl through reality.
He sat on his usual spot by the ice, leaning his head against the cold dais.
"Karas..." he started, but his voice sounded distant, as if he were underwater. "One day left. Only one day. They say you'll wake up tomorrow night. I've... I've prepared everything.
I even found a book on human history in the King's collection..."
He stopped. A sharp, sudden chill shot through his chest, followed by a dull, throbbing ache in his fingertips. He looked down at his hands. They looked pale-paler than usual-and the tips of his fingers felt numb, as if the blood was refusing to reach them.
"I feel... so tired," he whispered, his eyelids growing heavy.
He tried to stand up, but his knees buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the ice, his nails scratching against the frost. A small, dark smudge appeared under the bed of his ring finger-a bruise that wasn't there an hour ago.
"No," he muttered, realising it wasn't dirt he had read a lot of historical books to know how poisoning and dead were a common phenomen in any royal setting,
His hands flew to his mouth shaking his head to clear the fog. "Not now.Not now. Not now , Not when you're so close to coming back."
He forced himself to crawl closer to Karas's face. His breathing was becoming shallow, each lungful of air feeling like he was inhaling lead.
He reached up, his trembling hand stroking Karas's frozen cheek.
"Why does it have to end like this ? Please Don't wake up to a corpse, Karas," Zaliyah sobbed, a single, dark-tinted tear falling from his eye. "Please. If I'm going to fade... wake up and hold me one last time. Just once."his dark tears falling on Karas face.
He collapsed against the dais, his white hair splayed out over the ice like a shroud. The poison was working. Slowly, but surely, the "White Lotus" was beginning to wither, just as the "Priced Jade" was preparing to bloom.
From the shadows of the doorway, Shakdam watched the boy's struggle with a cold, professional satisfaction.
She adjusted her robes and turned away, heading toward Ailla's wing to deliver the news. A predatory smile plastered on her face.
The King was fighting a serpent in the cave. The Empress was playing her games of etiquette. And in the coldest room in the palace, the only two people who loved each other were separated by a wall of ice and a ticking clock of venom.