Whispers of Treachery

Evelyne's heart was still pounding long after they left the site of the ambush.

Azrael hadn't killed the rebel.

Because of her.

But as she sat in the grand halls of the Demon King's fortress, staring at the flickering blue flames lining the walls, she wondered—had she made a mistake?

Would sparing him only fuel the hatred brewing in the shadows?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

Lyria entered, her violet eyes scanning Evelyne carefully. "You caused quite a stir today."

Evelyne exhaled. "I did what I thought was right."

Lyria smirked. "And yet, you stood against him." She tilted her head. "Most people do not survive that."

Evelyne swallowed. "Azrael… listened to me."

Lyria nodded, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. "Which means you hold power over him."

Evelyne frowned. "I don't—"

"You do," Lyria interrupted. "Whether you realize it or not." She sat on the edge of a dark velvet chaise. "And that makes you very dangerous."

A chill ran down Evelyne's spine.

Dangerous?

Lyria leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Princess. Did you want to spare that rebel, or were you testing Azrael?"

Evelyne stiffened. "Testing him?"

Lyria's smirk deepened. "You wanted to see how far his patience stretched for you."

Evelyne opened her mouth to argue—but stopped.

Had she?

Lyria stood, brushing imaginary dust from her silk robes. "Careful, my queen. Power is a fickle thing."

With that, she left.

Evelyne sat in silence.

Dangerous.

She had never been seen that way before.

And yet, as she thought about how Azrael had hesitated under her gaze, she couldn't deny—

A small part of her had wanted to see if she could control the Demon King.

That night, sleep did not come easily.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the rebel's hateful glare.

But when she finally drifted into an uneasy slumber—

She awoke not in her chambers.

But in flames.

Evelyne gasped, stumbling backward.

The room around her was gone, replaced by an inferno stretching into the abyss. The ground beneath her feet cracked, veins of molten fire spreading in every direction.

Then—

A figure emerged from the flames.

Not Azrael.

Someone else.

Their face was hidden, but their voice was unmistakable—

"You don't belong here, little princess."

A force slammed into her chest.

Evelyne screamed—

And woke up in her bed, drenched in sweat.

Her heart pounded.

That wasn't just a nightmare.

It was a warning.

And someone, somewhere in the Demon King's realm wanted her dead.