The scent of blood still lingered in the throne room. It clung to the obsidian floor like a ghost, mingling with the cold, sterile air that passed silently through the grand chamber. The nobles stood rigid, dressed in gold and crimson, their jeweled eyes darting between three figures: the Emperor, the Hero, and the Duke.
Duke Reinhardt's execution had been public, brutal, and calculated. A message carved in flesh and spilled onto marble.
Kael didn't flinch.
He stood calmly beside the imperial columns, his shadow stretched long behind him. His posture was casual, his gaze unreadable. Where others might have shown fear, or disgust, Kael only offered a smirk.
Because Castiel had just revealed his hand.
He was no longer ruling from the center of the board—he was reacting. Playing defense.
Selene stood near the throne, draped in violet silks, her gaze cool and unreadable. But Kael noticed the way her fingers had twitched as Lucian's blade had fallen. Not fear. Not guilt.
Adaptation.
She had played many roles in her time—Empress, consort, survivor. Now she was playing something far more dangerous.
A traitor.
And she wore it well.
Emperor Castiel's voice sliced through the tension like a blade. "You've been awfully quiet, Duke Arden."
Kael's smirk widened slightly. "Silence often serves better than applause, Your Majesty. I was admiring your precision."
"A rare compliment," Castiel replied, eyes sharp. "Loyalty, you see, is not just spoken. It is demonstrated."
He turned slightly, gesturing toward Lucian, who knelt before the throne once more—his silver hair damp with sweat, his black armor glinting faintly in the torchlight.
"Wouldn't you agree?" Castiel added.
Kael offered a small nod, never taking his eyes off the Emperor. "Without question."
Lucian looked up then, and their eyes locked.
What stared back at Kael wasn't the man he once knew. It was something twisted. The Demon's Blood pulsed behind those eyes—rage, pain, and something darker festering beneath the surface.
Kael welcomed it.
A pawn with delusions of being a knight was still a pawn.
Especially when his strings had already been tied.
The court dispersed soon after, the Emperor waving them off with the weight of a god. But as the nobles filed out, they whispered. Not about Reinhardt's death—but about Kael's calm, his smile, his silence.
They knew what Castiel didn't.
The knife wasn't pointed at the Emperor's enemies anymore.
It was pointed at his back.
The moon was a pale disc hanging above the Imperial Palace, casting silver light through the high-arched windows. The corridors were quiet, the guards posted but inattentive. The silence was not peace—it was tension waiting to snap.
Kael's footsteps echoed faintly as he made his way toward the Empress's wing. His mind was already weaving five outcomes from today's events. Castiel thought today had been a victory.
It had, in a way.
Just not for him.
A shadow moved from the corner.
"Ilyssia," Kael said without slowing.
The former assassin bowed her head slightly. "The Empress dismissed her attendants. She's waiting."
Kael didn't need permission. "No interruptions."
Ilyssia gave a small smirk, eyes gleaming. "Not unless the palace catches fire."
Kael entered Selene's chambers without knocking.
The room was warm, lit only by the moon and a single flame in the hearth. Selene stood at the window, her back to him, silver-blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders, wrapped in nothing but a violet silk robe.
"You walk into the Empress's bedchamber as if you own it," she said quietly.
Kael shut the door behind him. "I do."
A smile ghosted across her lips. "That's dangerous confidence."
"I'm a dangerous man."
She turned then, slowly, her violet eyes sharp and knowing. "He suspects you."
"He suspects everyone," Kael replied. "He just fears me the most."
Selene walked toward him, slow and graceful, every step a calculated gesture of power. "And Lucian?"
"Still broken. Just now wearing darker armor."
She stopped in front of him. Her fingers brushed the edge of his coat. "You were right. Castiel's play was desperation."
"He needed to remind the court who rules," Kael said softly, "but the ones who matter saw the truth."
Selene reached up, tracing a fingertip down his chest. "So… what do we do?"
Kael caught her wrist. Not roughly—firmly. "We win."
Their eyes locked.
Selene leaned in. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Do you know why Castiel keeps me close?"
Kael tilted his head. "Because he fears you more than he desires you."
Her breath hitched.
"And you?" she asked.
Kael stepped closer, his hand sliding around her waist, fingers tracing the silk. "I do not fear what I own."
She laughed then, low and dangerous. "You think you own me?"
"No," Kael whispered against her throat. "I know it."
Her nails bit into his back as he claimed her again—not just as a lover, but as a symbol. The Empress, once the most cunning player in the court, now moved by his hand.
Outside, the Empire held its breath.
Inside, Kael was already writing its future—with blood, seduction, and lies.
To Be Continued...