CHAPTER TWELVE
Damiel watched her leave.
Not walk—
run.
Reyna fled the bathhouse as though the stone itself had betrayed her, bare feet striking the floor too quickly, her breath uneven. She did not look back.
The moment she vanished from sight, his demon surged.
Not in fury.
In agitation.
In hunger.
Damiel closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, water still clinging to his skin, dripping down his shoulders in thin, silvered trails. His demon crawled beneath his flesh, restless, scraping against his bones as though it sought escape.
This had never happened before.
The closer he was to the human, the worse it became.
"Enough," Damiel murmured under his breath, steadying himself.
But the demon did not quiet.
Its name was Azaeth—
Azaeth had been forged from conquest and ruin, a demon that knew no softness, no hesitation.
And yet—
Since the day Reyna had entered Avalon, Azaeth had been silent.
Not obedient.
Silent.
Damiel mindlinked his demon, his presence pressing inward.
'Why are you restless?', Damiel demanded coldly.
No answer.
Only tension.
Azaeth coiled deeper, as though bristling.
Damiel frowned.
'Speak'.
At last, the demon responded—not with force, but restraint.
'Because you let her go'. Azaeth responded.
Damiel stiffened.
'She is dangerous', Azaeth continued, voice low, edged with displeasure. 'Not by strength. By weakness. It is infecting us'.
Damiel's jaw tightened.
'She is human'. Damiel said
'Exactly'. Azaeth replied.
A pause followed.
Then, quieter—almost reluctant—
'Stay away from her'. Azaeth said.
Damiel nodded once, though the motion felt hollow.
"Yes," he said aloud. "We will."
But neither of them liked it.
He appeared in his chambers in a ripple of shadow.
Water still clung to him, droplets darkening the obsidian floor as they fell. The room had been restored to perfection—his bed made with military precision, armor polished to a mirror sheen, weapons aligned.
A tray of food waited upon the table.
And beneath it all—
Her scent.
Honey. Lavender. Faint. Lingering far longer than it should have.
Damiel turned away sharply.
"Ridiculous," he muttered.
He dressed in a simple black linen, the fabric light and unadorned. He lifted the comb to his hair—
Stopped,as he remembered the feel of her hand on his hair, the wave through his body, as her hands moved through his hair
Gentle. Careful. Certain.
The memory struck unbidden.
His grip tightened.
He set the comb down as he walked towards the bell at the corner of his room, planning to send for her.
I knew you wouldn't last, Azaeth drawled, amusement laced beneath the restraint, as he tried to pretend he didn't want her close more than he did.
Damiel's eyes turned glacial.
"You are too invested," Damiel replied sharply.
'So are you'. Azaeth said.
Silence followed.
Damiel did not ring the bell.
Instead, he seated himself and was about to eat.
Moments later, the air shifted.
Roan and Kael appeared before him, kneeling at once—fists pressed to their chests.
"Commander," they greeted in unison.
"Stand," Damiel said simply.
They rose.
"The werewolves are secured," Kael reported. "No intruders breached the inner halls last night."
"And who guards them now?" Damiel asked.
"The sentries," Roan replied. "Rotations unchanged."
Damiel stood.
He moved to the balcony, gazing out over the cold spires of Avalon, the silver-black gardens below swaying unnaturally in the wind.
"There is an intruder in this castle," Damiel said calmly.
Roan stiffened.
Kael's eyes sharpened. "Then they won't wait."
Damiel smirked faintly.
"Neither will I."
The world folded as he disappeared to the torture room, followed by Roan and Kael
The dungeon was alive with whispers.
Chains clinked softly. Torchlight flickered against stone slick with old blood. The scent of fear was thick here—fermented, familiar.
They remained in shadow.
A voice spoke—angry, controlled.
"It was never meant to fail," said the demon guard. As a low chuckle followed.
"The plan was flawless, how could you fail, we've planned it for a long time, now." the demon guard said.
A pause.
"They knew we were coming, our forces and the lycans, were destroyed in the raid."
Hatred soaked his words.
"Release us," he added. "We'll regroup. We return. And this time, Prince Damiel won't survive, neither will this kingdom".
The Demon guard laughed.
"And how can I trust your word, you failed me once and what makes you think I can trust you, werewolves again." The demon guard moved closer,
"The plan was simple, the lycans at the border distract the forces. The werewolves infiltrate. We steal secrets. Then—" He moved, towards them again. "You take the kingdom and you hand over Prince Damiel to me and I kill him"
Then laughter echoed.
Terrifying.
The torches dimmed as Prince Damiel stepped forward.
The werewolves recoiled.
The demon guard's breath caught.
Damiel laughed softly, silver eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
"Kill me?" he repeated, amused. "That is the funniest thing I have heard in centuries, why be a guard, when you're better as a clown". Damiel said.
He moved closer.
Every step was deliberate.
Cold.
"You planned so carefully," Damiel continued. "And yet—"
He tilted his head.
"You forgot one thing."
The shadows bent toward him.
"You planned around me."
The room fell silent.
And for the first time—
Fear was absolute.