Hazel didn't sleep after the kiss.
She lay awake, tangled in silken sheets that still smelled like Azrael's skin and the storm. Her lips throbbed from the memory of his mouth. Her body ached—not from pain, but from awakening. Something had shifted in her. Something she didn't understand. And it terrified her more than it thrilled her.
She needed answers.
The guards along the eastern corridor bowed when she passed, but she ignored them. Her silk robe trailed behind her like smoke. Morning sun poured into the palace halls, but Hazel felt cold. Uneasy. Restless.
Queen Elenora's tower loomed above the garden like a forgotten relic. The King had not visited his fourth wife in years, and few servants dared enter without permission. Whispers claimed the Queen had gone mad after Azrael's birth. Others said she dabbled in forbidden magic.
Hazel had heard them all. And yet, she'd never questioned them—until now.
She didn't knock.
The doors creaked open on ancient hinges, revealing a chamber frozen in time. Pale velvet curtains billowed softly. Silver trinkets glittered on every shelf, and a single glass orb hovered midair near the ceiling, pulsing with a dull blue glow.
Her mother sat near the window in a high-backed chair, her silver hair braided down her shoulder, her eyes as sharp and sorrowful as ever. A book lay open in her lap, but she wasn't reading.
"You shouldn't be here," Elenora said, her voice calm, but her hands trembled on the spine of the book.
Hazel closed the door behind her. "I need the truth."
"That's dangerous."
"I don't care."
Elenora regarded her daughter for a long, heavy moment. "You've seen him now… haven't you?"
Hazel's throat tightened. "He kissed me."
A flicker of pain crossed Elenora's face. "Then it has begun."
Hazel stepped forward. "What has?"
Instead of answering, Elenora stood and walked to a locked chest beneath her bed. She knelt slowly, her fingers moving with muscle memory over the enchanted latches. With a click, it opened, revealing a box wrapped in ash-gray silk. When she unwrapped it, Hazel's breath caught.
A dagger.
Sleek and cruel. Obsidian black, etched with pulsing silver runes that glowed faintly, like moonlight trapped in steel.
"The Whispering Fang," Elenora said, offering it to Hazel.
She took it, feeling warmth buzz through her fingers.
"It was forged in the Underrealm, meant to slay kings or gods." Her mother's voice was distant, trembling. "It was a gift. From him."
Hazel stared at her. "You mean…"
"Yes." Elenora's voice cracked. "The Devil."
Hazel backed a step. "Why would he give you anything?"
"Because I bore him a child."
The silence stretched long and thick between them.
Hazel's heart thudded wildly in her chest. "Azrael."
Elenora turned her eyes to the window. "He came to me in the King's form. I was young and lonely, and I believed it was love. But when the truth was revealed… I was already with child. The King believed I betrayed him and sentenced me to die."
Hazel's hands trembled around the dagger.
"I tried to run," Elenora continued, tears slipping silently down her cheeks. "But he appeared to the King that night… not as a lover, but as a being of unspeakable power. He offered a deal. Power in exchange for letting his heir be born."
"And the King agreed," Hazel whispered bitterly. "Of course he did."
Elenora looked at her. "The kingdom became stronger overnight. Crops flourished. Enemies fell. Gold filled our vaults. But there was a price."
Hazel's throat was dry. "Azrael."
"My son was born under a cursed moon," Elenora said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Half-human, half-something else. I loved him. But the world… feared him. His power couldn't be contained. When he was ten, he set fire to a wing of the palace without touching a torch. When he was twelve, he made a nobleman's heart stop just by looking at him."
Hazel's pulse raced.
She saw him in her mind—those burning red eyes, that haunting grin, the darkness coiled beneath his skin.
"Why me?" she asked. "Why was I chosen to marry him?"
"Because fate is cruel," her mother murmured. "And because… you are not entirely human either."
Hazel stared at her, stunned. "What?"
Elenora walked to the glass orb hovering near the ceiling and tapped it gently. The light within flared to life, casting shimmering visions into the air: a younger Elenora, pregnant. Another woman stood beside her—Hazel's real mother.
"She died birthing you," Elenora said. "But not before revealing a secret. Your mother came from the East. From a bloodline that was once worshipped… feared. They had power—ancient, celestial. Buried deep."
The vision shifted, showing Hazel's eyes glowing faintly gold in the cradle.
"She gave you to me," Elenora said softly. "I raised you as my own. The King never knew. He only saw another daughter to use for alliance."
Hazel felt like the world was spinning.
"So I'm not just a princess."
"No," her mother said. "You are something more. Something meant for Azrael. You were born under the same blood eclipse. The stars marked you both. Together, your union will either bring salvation—or destroy this world."
Hazel swallowed hard. "Do you think he knows?"
Elenora nodded. "He always knew. That's why he returned."
Hazel's grip on the dagger tightened. "He's dangerous."
"He's more than dangerous," her mother said, stepping close, her voice urgent. "But he won't hurt you. Not unless someone forces him to."
Hazel looked down at the dagger. The silver runes pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"Why give me this?"
"Because you must protect yourself," Elenora whispered. "From others… and from yourself. The power inside you is growing. Soon, it will burn through everything if not controlled. And if Azrael falls too deep into the darkness…"
"I'll be the only one who can stop him," Hazel said, barely able to breathe.
Her mother nodded slowly. "Or the only one who can save him."
Outside, a shadow passed over the sun.
And far away, in the great hall, the Devil's son stirred.
Drawn to her.
As if summoned.
As if the prophecy had already begun.