Silence is a liar.
It whispers comfort while hiding the knives behind its back. The palace is never truly silent — not with the secrets that slither through its marble veins like venom.
They're watching again.
The same way they always do. From behind thick velvet curtains and carved obsidian doors, pretending to busy themselves with politics while starving for any glimpse of weakness.
I adjust the black leather gloves covering my hands, my crimson eyes sweeping over the endless corridor ahead — towering columns, arched ceilings, flickering torchlight. Shadows dance like eager spectators to my every step.
Let them watch. Let them rot.
"Bored already?"
Her voice slices through the tension like silk through skin.
I don't have to turn to know it's Iria.
"You walk like a thunderstorm," I murmur. "Subtlety never was your strength."
She glides up beside me, her golden eyes glinting like liquid sunlight trapped in glass. Her long honey-blonde hair falls in polished waves over a blood-red gown far too daring for court — which is exactly why she wears it.
"My dear Selene," she purrs, looping her arm through mine, "if I wanted subtlety, I wouldn't be best friends with the most scandalous creature in the kingdom."
Creature. That's what they all call me beneath their careful smiles.
"The Council postponed today's meeting," she continues with a sugar-sweet smile. "Lord Malrec choked on a blood pearl at breakfast. Pity he didn't swallow the whole tray."
Cowards choke. The true predators bite.
I smirk. "How tragic. I was hoping for my usual entertainment—listening to half-dead men debate my existence like I'm some forbidden curse they're too spineless to confront."
"You are a forbidden curse." She leans in with a playful, dangerous smile. "That's your charm."
We pass beneath the towering stained-glass mural of the Founding Council—twelve ancestors gazing down in judgment.
"They'll never allow you to ascend," Iria whispers, voice suddenly tight. "Even if fate itself demands it."
I know that better than anyone.
"That's why I don't ask for permission," I reply coldly, my tone like ice slicing through silk.
Her fingers tighten slightly around my arm. She fears for me, even if she'll never say it aloud.
The vultures circle. But I am not their prey.
Then, something changes.
The air sharpens.
That scent...
It's not blood. Not wine. Something... older.
Thicker.
Power.
I stop walking.
Iria tenses. "Selene?"
I shouldn't feel this. Not here. Not inside these walls.
"He's here," I whisper under my breath.
"Who?"
But I'm already moving.
---
The west wing feels colder, as if the very air recoils from what lies ahead. Shadows pulse like breathing lungs as I enter the long-forgotten Hall of Masks — sealed for decades.
The iron door creaks open under my hand.
He shouldn't be here. No one should be here.
And yet—
He stands beneath the ancient mural, tall, still, his black cloak heavy with rainwater. Long raven hair falls like silk threads over sharp cheekbones. The moonlight bleeds across his pale skin, outlining him like something sculpted — too perfect, too unreal.
But it's his eyes that freeze my breath.
Crimson.
Not like mine.
Deeper. Darker. Hungrier.
His gaze locks onto mine, and the world narrows to nothing but those bleeding-red eyes.
He smiles.
"Ah," his voice is smooth, low, dangerously soft. "So the monster has red eyes too."
My fingers curl into fists inside my gloves.
"Who are you?" I demand, my voice colder than the wind.
He steps closer, not the slightest hesitation.
"The one your Council fears even more than you."
The air between us thickens like a storm ready to crack.
This… this is only the beginning.
---