Damien leaned against the doorframe, watching Cora as she ate in silence from behind. Even now, with the sunlight casting shadows across her form, she remained an enigma—untouchable, veiled, unknowable. His little masked bird. A secret wrapped in another secret.
With a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, he turned on his heel and stepped into his room, allowing her the privacy she needed. He had no interest in intruding on something as mundane as a meal, especially when he knew she wouldn't remove her mask in front of him.
The moment he shut the door behind him, his demeanor shifted. The playful arrogance remained, but beneath it lurked something sharper, more calculating. He strode toward the open window, the cool afternoon air carrying the scent of damp earth and distant salt from the sea beyond the island.
With a snap of his fingers, a rush of wind stirred the air, and within seconds, a large black crow swooped into the room, landing gracefully on the windowsill. Its beady eyes glowed red under the sunlight, a reflection of its master's command.
"Dig up everything about mermaids during the reign of the previous king and queen," Damien ordered, his voice a smooth command wrapped in velvet arrogance. He leaned against the window, his sharp gaze locked onto the bird. "I want to know everything—what was hidden, erased, or conveniently forgotten."
The crow cawed once before launching itself back into the night, disappearing like a shadow swallowed by the darkness.
Damien exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the windowsill. His memories—fragmented, elusive—were beginning to stir. Cora's presence had unraveled something locked deep within him, something old, something unfinished. If she was a mermaid now, there was a strong possibility she had been one before. And if that was the case… their past lives were tangled in a story that had yet to be completed.
A grin curled his lips as his expression turned serious.
Cora had just finished her meal when Damien reappeared in the doorway of his room, his usual smug smile firmly in place.
"It's high time we visit the West Wing again," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement, as if the idea of stepping into danger thrilled him.
Cora hesitated before nodding, slipping her hand into his outstretched one.
Damien's hand coiled around her's whiles the other one snaked around her waist.
A sharp gust of wind swirled around them as Damien's power pulsed through the air, and in the blink of an eye, they vanished from the room.
They reappeared in the West Wing.
The air was heavier here, thick with an eerie stillness. The long, empty hallway stretched before them, the cold stone walls lined with portraits that seemed to watch their every move.
The feeling was stronger than before—ominous, suffocating.
Cora instinctively tightened her grip on Damien's hand.
He felt it. And because he was Damien, he made sure to tighten his hold too, the smirk on his lips deepening.
"Scared already, little bird?" he teased, but there was an edge of protectiveness beneath the taunt.
Cora ignored him and led him forward. She knew exactly where to go.
Her dream vivid in her mind.
When they reached the portrait—the one from her dream—her breath hitched.
It was still there.
A woman, dressed in an elegant blue gown, a serene yet knowing smile on her lips. Beside her stood Damien's mother,her portrait , regal, composed, untouched by time.
Damien's expression darkened.
A strange sensation washed over him, a flicker of something ancient unraveling at the edges of his mind. Then, without warning, memories struck him like a blade to the chest.
He was young—no more than fifteen—standing in this very hallway. The portrait had just been unveiled.
His gaze lingered on the woman in blue.
Rachel.
His father's newest courtesan.
Damien's lips curled in distaste as he turned away, heading toward the grand ballroom where the night's festivities were in full swing. His steps were slow, deliberate, his crimson eyes glowing under the dim candlelight.
But as he rounded a corner, he froze.
There, in the shadows, he saw them.
His father.
And Rachel.
Locked in an embrace.
The king's hands were possessive, his whispers soft against the woman's ear. Rachel's eyes gleamed, not with love, but with something far more dangerous—ambition.
Damien didn't blink. He didn't gasp or make a sound.
Instead, he made sure to walk louder, letting his presence be known.
The king pulled away, his expression darkening, as if ashamed to be caught by his son. Rachel, however, did not cower. Her gaze, sharp and calculating, met Damien's without hesitation.
Unimpressed, Damien continued past them.
The very next day, whispers of a siren infiltrating the palace had begun.
And that was the night he met Alicia.
The night Rachel's fate had been sealed.
Damien's jaw clenched as he came back to the present. His gaze flicked to the portrait, the name slipping from his lips like a curse.
"Rachel."
Cora turned to him, startled.
"You know her?" she asked.
His smirk returned, but this time, it was colder.
"She was a siren," he mused. "But I don't know why her portrait still remains. My mother would have made sure to erase every trace of her."
Cora shivered, glancing at the woman's painted smile. It was too knowing, too expectant.
"She called me here," she whispered. "She thinks I can send her back."
Damien let out a low chuckle, his amusement laced with something darker. "Of course she does. She's been dead for centuries, but I'd bet you that my mother did something to keep her trapped here." He tilted his head, crimson eyes gleaming. "It's her kind of punishment."
His mother had never been the forgiving type. She was methodical, vindictive—a woman who believed in consequences.
Damien loved her for it.
Cora swallowed. "So… what do we do?"
"We summon her."
Cora's eyes widened. "We can do that?"
Damien extended his hand toward her, his smile widening in amusement. "Scared?"
She hesitated before placing her hand in his.
"This might sting," he murmured, and before she could react, he pricked her finger with his nail.
A single drop of blood landed on the portrait.
And Damien's mouth covered her finger licking the blood off her hand.
For a moment, nothing happened to the blood on the portrait.
Then, the air shifted.
A deep, bone-chilling cold swept through the hallway as the paint on the portrait seemed to bleed, swirling unnaturally before solidifying into a physical form.
Rachel stood before them.
Her hollow eyes landed on Cora first, but then she turned, and her gaze flooded with confusion before recognition struck her like lightning.
"Damien…" she whispered.
A slow, arrogant smile curved his lips. "My name has never sounded so hollow. But then again, you are dead."
Rachel's expression hardened. "You… you both are together—"
Damien cut her off with a careless wave of his hand. "Enough with the dramatics. Why did you summon her?"
Rachel took a step forward, desperation flickering in her ghostly features.
"She is the only one who can return me to the sea," she rasped. "Only she can set me free."
Cora stiffened. "But… why me?"
Rachel's hands trembled. "Because you're the only one who can take me back without being punished!."
Damien's smirk vanished. His eyes darkened, dangerous. " You think mother would make it that easy ?"
The woman frowned before she repeated "You have to take me back ".
"You might be dumb if you think you can just leave , my mother would make it a curse such that whoever helps you replace you ."
Rachel's face twisted in rage. The woman. Her gaze zeroed on Cora trying to use force.
Before she could act, Damien lifted his hand and snapped his fingers.
With a scream, she vanished, her form sucked back into the portrait.
Silence fell.
Cora exhaled shakily, turning to the portrait of Damien's mother.
For the first time, the warm smile on her lips looked utterly terrifying.