The moment the human was meters close to him and she didn't disintegrate like the maid, made King Zarathys' eyes widen. But they hardened like the expression that showed itself was nothing but a figment of one's imagination.
He simply thought the woman was putting on an immune charm. If he got close enough, she would cease to exist. But she didn't. Prudielle closed the distance between them, her eyes glinting with a malignant intent with her fist raised as she went after someone.
That was when his fingers snaked around her delicate wrist and for the first time he felt her pulse tick. The feel of her skin against his finger was something that made curiosity flicker in his eyes, and a sense of relief too.
But he knew there was more to this. If she was immune to his closeness that would mean...
King Zarathys tightened his grip waiting for the familiar heat to surge from his body and consume her. Yet nothing happened.
No smoke. No ash. No agonizing screaming. Just her calm stare as she sized him up, while a smirk formed on her face.
She didn't flinch. Even after what happened to that maid.
"Who are you?" His voice, though smooth and velvety made the demons step back in dread.
"Are you going to let go or does Your Majesty enjoy holding my hand?" Following her statement, King Zarathys' grip loosened, his eyes unmoving.
He was trying to make sense of the situation. Even with the distance they shared, the human remained completely unharmed.
"Impossible!" A demon hissed, facing his companion who mirrored his own disbelief.
"She should be dead! How is this puny human still standing?" Another demon, questioned. It was obvious Prudielle's immunity was a bruise to their egos.
Sensing their hateful gazes burn into her, she straightened her spine. Prudielle's eyes landed on Lady Cressida who balled her fists at the sight of her. Her face ashen as she exchanged unsaid words with the human.
"There is obviously something Lord Michaelson is hiding. I didn't think of this when his daughter came out human. Now, she's able to face the King unscathed! Do you think —"
The once deathly silent hall erupted in hushed murmurs. But no one dared speak louder than they should for fear of crossing their monarch.
This discovery, in the minds of other demons, was their triumph card against the terror before them. It wouldn't be long before it reached the Archs.
It was their only hope of escaping the clutches of this walking inferno.
Alena returned, out of breath with Lord Michaelson. She didn't ignore the scorching heat in the hall. Her gaze landed on her Mistress, and for a moment, she looked like she had seen a ghost.
Lord Michaelson couldn't hide his shock as well. His body turned rigid at the sight. Prudielle turned, chin lifted, taunting arrogance in every movement. A vein bulged in his temple.
This brat.
But he masked his shock though it clawed at him. She was standing before King Zarathys, completely unharmed. And he smelled nothing but an incoming omen. Especially in the manner the rumored inferno was staring at his precious daughter.
The demons turned to Lord Michaelson expecting answers only to find him just as shakened as they were.
No one dared to say a word as their gaze went back to the inferno king and the blemish of their perfect bloodline.
Prudielle faced the silent King whose overwhelming presence had little effect on her. She was stunned, those hauntingly beautiful eyes hadn't left her since their skin met.
And for some reason, something deep within her hummed under his gaze. It was strange. She endured the stares of demons all her life, never once affected. But now? Now her carefully crafted mask threatened to crack, revealing her emotions.
They said he could turn a demon to ash before covering a distance. And yet, this person touched her... and all she felt was nothing but warmth.
No one moved. No one dared to risk their existence. Their attention never flickering from the intimidating, majestic figure. His long, deep-crimson hair cascaded past his shoulders like liquid fire. A stark contrast to the dark powerful robe that hugged his frame, cinched at the waist with a golden gilded belt — regal, deadly, untouchable.
And then there was Prudielle, a defiance to everything they knew. They were polar opposites bound by a single thread, disdain.
****
Hours after the banquet ended in the Palace, the Delcrovias returned to their mansion; a heavy silence communicating what had befallen them.
Now in the drawing room, Prudielle studied at her nails as if they held the secrets of the universe. When she finally lifted her gaze, Lord Michaelson looked distant, lost in thought. She braced for the inevitable lecture about her behavior.
With Alena likely having reported the incident with Lady Cressida, Prudielle was caught off guard by her father's silence.
"Do you understand the gravity of what occurred, hours ago?" After minutes long quiet, Lord Michaelson directed a helpless gaze her way.
"The fight with Lady Cressida? She started it first." Her words barely left her lips before a sharp bang echoed in the room. She was supposed to react with a jolt, but Prudielle only sent him a calm stare.
It only made the shakened Lord aggravated. How can she not see how heavy this situation was? The Archs would be on his neck hours to come. It was already hard protecting her from relentless attacks, but the knowledge of her immunity attracts powerful demons willing to dethrone the King, like black ants to sugar.
"Prudielle," Lord Michaelson called her name, his voice softer than she had ever heard, laced with something dangerously close to pleading. For once he wasn't arguing. He wasn't dictating choices that pushed her to rebellion.
"Is it that big of a deal?" Prudielle scoffed, rolling her eyes as she slouched into the chair with a relaxed sigh.
"It is a big deal! He is the King! You saw what he can do. Your existence is already an insult to them, and now you're immune to King Zarathys himself."
"Oh forgive me for existing this way, father!" Prudielle snapped, her voice laced with venom as she sprang to her feet.
"Watch your tone, young lady!"
Silence fell again but this time, Prudielle felt her ironclad resolve slipping through her fingers. Her dark eyes burned, misting over as her defiant gaze locked onto the empty wall in front of her.
"I've made my decision for your own good. You'll leave Drakonaria before —"
"I refuse." Her fingers curled into fists as she turned, defiance burning in her sharp gaze.
"Prudielle," Lord Michaelson warned, but she was speaking over him.
"I never had a choice in how I turned out, did I? My immunity isn't my fault. My boldness isn't my fault! Just because I am different, does that mean I have to be treated like this? And now, I'm a walking target? Wonderful!
"Isn't it ironic the same demons who pride themselves on inspiring fear are afraid of one person. And now because I don't crumble before them, I'm the threat? I've made my decision, Father, as an adult. I am not leaving Drakonaria. Not even if you have to knock me unconscious."
Lord Michaelson pressed his fingers against his temple, his other hand curling into a fist against the table. "Very well, then."
She didn't flinch as his gaze bore into her. Whatever consequences came next, she would face them.
Lord Michaelson's silence stretched, thick as tar. Then, with an eerie finality, he muttered; "You'll regret this, Prudielle."