The palace gardens were drowning in gold.
The late afternoon sun poured over the sculpted hedgerows, bleeding into the marble paths and gilding the fountains in molten light. Roses drooped under the heavy heat, their petals trembling in the still air, and somewhere far off, a mourning dove gave a low, sorrowful call.
It was beautiful.
And yet to Prince Cason, as he stalked the winding paths in search of his brother, the beauty of it all felt wrong.Suffocating.
Ever since the encounter with the All-Seeing Eagle, Derek had changed.Withdrawn. Silent.Unsettled.
Cason had checked his brother's study first—papers scattered, maps of the borderlands left half-folded, tea left cold on the desk. No sign of Derek.Not in the war rooms. Not in the archives.
Then, finally, he found him.
Seated alone beneath the great arbor at the heart of the gardens, where the vines dripped with dying roses, sat Prince Derek.A porcelain teacup rested in his hand, untouched.His back was rigid. His shoulders, usually so strong, sagged in a way that unsettled Cason more than any battlefield wound ever could.
He looked... haunted.
Cason approached slowly, the crunch of gravel loud in the hush.Derek didn't even look up.
Only when Cason cleared his throat did Derek startle—actually startle, jerking in his seat, the tea sloshing dangerously in its cup.
Cason's eyes narrowed.
"You're jumpy," he said sharply.
Derek set the cup down with too much care, as if masking the slight tremor in his hands.
"Just... thinking," Derek said, his voice flat.
Cason didn't sit. He stood there, arms folded, studying his brother with growing unease.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Finally, Cason spoke again, his voice low.
"You're not fine."
It wasn't a question.
Derek let out a long breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You disappeared for hours after the Eagle's judgment. You barely eat. You barely sleep. You pace the halls at night like a ghost."
Cason leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp.
"What are you hiding, Derek?"
For a moment, it seemed Derek would deflect again.
But then, with a grim set to his jaw, he gestured to the empty seat across from him.
"Sit. If I'm going to damn myself, I might as well do it properly."
Cason sat slowly, every muscle tense.
Derek stared into the dying sunlight filtering through the arbor, as if gathering the strength to tear open his chest and show the wound festering inside.
Then he spoke.
"Her name is Elowen."
Cason said nothing.
He simply listened.
"I first saw her at the Princesses' welcoming ceremony," Derek continued, his voice low, heavy. "Among all the silk and jewels and crowns... there she stood. No title. No lineage. Nothing that should have caught my eye. And yet..."
He shook his head once, helplessly.
"It was like something ancient stirred. I thought it would pass. Curiosity. A moment's weakness."
He laughed bitterly.
"It didn't."
The shadows crept deeper across the garden, long and spindly.
Derek's hands clenched into fists atop the table.
"Then I saw her again. At the training grounds. She wasn't meant to be there. She stood apart. Watching. Afraid."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"And there was a mark."
Cason's eyes sharpened.
"A mark?"
Derek nodded.
"On her neck. Small. Faded. But real."
He leaned forward, voice thick with unspoken fear.
"I searched the archives. The restricted tomes. I found it."
He swallowed hard.
"It's a binding mark. Ancient. Forbidden. Placed only by creatures older than our gods. Devils. Demons."
He stared directly at Cason now.
"Lucifer."
The word hit like a blow.
The garden seemed to shiver.
Cason leaned back slowly, exhaling through his nose.
"So. It's true."
Derek's mouth twisted into something like a smile, but without warmth.
"It's worse than true."
He slammed his palm down on the table, the force rattling the silverware.
"Those guards—their deaths—the ash, the fire—that was Lucifer's fire."
He stood abruptly, pacing like a caged wolf.
"The Eagle didn't lie. Someone tried to kill her. And Lucifer crossed the Veil to stop it."
He turned back to Cason, eyes burning.
"Ask yourself, brother. Why would he risk everything for one maid?"
Cason shook his head slowly, disbelief etched in every line of his face.
"You're asking the wrong question," he said coldly. "You should be asking how Lucifer crossed at all. You should be tearing the kingdom apart to find the breach. Instead, you sit here thinking about her."
He rose to his feet too, standing toe-to-toe with Derek.
"You're thinking like a man in love," Cason spat. "Not a prince."
Derek didn't flinch.
"I am thinking like a man who knows the prophecy is breathing down our necks."
His voice shook now, with rage—and something more dangerous.
Fear.
"I carry the lives of this kingdom on my back, Cason. I carry our father's dying hopes. I carry the blood of the last war—every child, every widow, every soldier who screamed in the mud while the stars watched and did nothing."
He took a step closer, his face inches from Cason's.
"And now I carry the knowledge that it's all starting again. And somehow, impossibly—it begins with her."
Cason stared at him, reading the cracks splintering behind his brother's strong façade.
"And what will you do, Derek?" he asked quietly. "When the choice comes between your kingdom and your maid?"
The words hung there.
Heavy.
Deadly.
And Derek... said nothing.
Because he didn't know the answer.
The hidden chamber beneath the east wing of the palace was a place long forgotten by the living — and remembered only by those who dealt in things best left unsaid.
The walls were lined with damp black stone, the floor uneven and cracked by the slow violence of centuries. A single iron chandelier swung above the room, its candles hissing and spitting as if protesting the gathering of the two souls about to strike a bargain here.
Princess Xyril stood near the center of the room, a vision of ethereal perfection that clashed violently with the decay around her.Her gown, a pale ghostly silver, caught the candlelight in subtle glints, and her long black hair cascaded freely down her back, shadowing her expression.
Her beauty was an armor.
A mask.
And tonight, it was sharpened into a weapon.
She stood utterly still, hands loosely clasped in front of her, her deep blue eyes trained on the shadow moving through the broken doorway.
Chief Caspian entered the room with the unhurried confidence of a man who had never once faced consequences he couldn't bribe, blackmail, or bleed away.
He was immaculate — dressed in dark velvet, his presence oily and suffocating, his steps soft on the crumbling stone.
He smiled when he saw her.
A serpent's smile.
"Princess Xyril," he drawled, voice rich with amusement and danger. "Dancing with ghosts tonight, are we?"
Xyril inclined her head slightly, her expression unreadable.
"Only those who can offer me what I need," she said, her voice calm, silken, and precise.
Caspian chuckled, circling the room slowly like a predator scenting the air.
"You wear ambition well," he mused. "Almost like a second skin."
Xyril didn't rise to the bait.She waited — poised, patient — until he finally came to a halt a few paces from her.
The candlelight flickered across his too-young face, catching on the cruel twist of his mouth.
"Very well, Princess," he said smoothly. "Tell me why you called me to this rotting tomb."
Xyril stepped closer, her voice dropping, each word deliberate.
"Lucifer has crossed the veil into the human realm."
Caspian froze — just a slight twitch of his left hand — but Xyril saw it.His mask cracked for only a moment before he smoothed it away.
"Lucifer," he repeated softly, tasting the name like wine. "After all these years…"
Xyril nodded, her dark eyes unblinking.
"The palace guards tried to kill a girl," she said, almost idly. "They never stood a chance. Their bodies were burned to ash. Only one survived long enough to whisper a name before he died."
She let the silence stretch, drawing him closer.
"Lucifer."
The word thudded into the room like a heartbeat.
Caspian's smile grew sharper.
"The great Devil himself," he murmured. "Walking among mortals once more. Tell me, child—" his voice turned mocking, "—what prize lured him across the divine boundary? The destruction of kings? A new war?"
Xyril's lips barely moved.
"A maid."
Caspian blinked.
The amusement slipped from his face, replaced by something colder.Sharper.
"A maid?" he echoed, incredulous.
Xyril nodded once.
"No name. No title. Nothing but... something. Something enough for Lucifer to burn nine men to cinders for her sake."
She crossed her arms lightly, her gown whispering with the motion.
"I don't know what she is yet. But she is important."
Caspian prowled forward another step.
"And where is this precious maid?"
"Gone," Xyril said quietly. "Vanished into the night. No trail."
He hissed a breath between his teeth.
"Amateur mistakes, Princess."
His voice was low now, a reprimand beneath the mockery.
"You should have crushed her before she drew breath."
Xyril's eyes glittered, hard as sapphire.
"You think I don't know that?" she said, voice brittle as glass. "You think I enjoy chasing shadows while the Devil himself walks freely?"
The candle flames bowed inward at her anger, then flared again.
Caspian chuckled, savoring her slip in composure.
"Good. Rage suits you. You'll need it."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.
"You realize what this means, don't you?"
Xyril stared at him, jaw tight.
Caspian continued:
"Lucifer cannot cross the border freely. The Moon Goddess herself saw to that. There's only one loophole."
His next words dropped like stones into a still pond.
"The Chosen One."
Xyril stiffened visibly.
Caspian smiled thinly.
"If Lucifer is here... if a breach truly exists... then somewhere, the Chosen walks among us."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"And if your little maid is tied to him—if she is more than she seems—then you, Princess, are not just dealing with a rival for the Devil's favor."
His eyes narrowed.
"You're dealing with prophecy itself."
For the first time in many seasons, Xyril felt the faintest chill crawl along her spine.
She hadn't considered it deeply.She had seen the maid as an obstacle.A problem to eliminate.
But if Caspian was right — if the maid wasn't just favored, but destined — then Xyril wasn't fighting a girl.She was fighting fate itself.
She pressed a hand against the marble table, steadying herself.
Caspian saw the flicker of fear — and smiled.
"You need to act, Princess," he whispered. "Before she becomes unstoppable."
"I intend to," Xyril said coldly.
Her voice returned to steel.
"We will find the breach. We will find her. If she is the Chosen... then I will cut her destiny out from under her."
The darkness in her voice was palpable.
Caspian raised his glass to her in a lazy salute.
"To rewriting prophecy," he said.
Xyril clinked her goblet against his.
"To destroying it," she replied.
In the half-light of that cursed room, two monsters struck an unholy bargain — one driven by greed, the other by ambition so vast it could split the heavens.
Neither realized yet —
That prophecy was not so easily undone.And the Devil they both sought to master... was already watching them.