Dangerous

Prudielle's fingers dug into Alena's arm, a brief flicker of her anger before she eased her grip and stormed out of the room, leaving her maid to continue her task, undisturbed.

Her footsteps rang through the empty hallways, sharp and purposeful. Every movement was a reflection of the fire burning inside her. Her body stiff, arms swinging with strides long and deliberate.

But then, she came to a halt.

Two guards appeared from the shadows like an immovable force, blocking the path. Prudielle couldn't help the snarl that curled her lips.

"Move," she commanded coldly, her voice laced with authority.

The guards remained statuesque, their expressions blank. Their eyes, set forward, bore the same eerie detachment as Alena's.

Prudielle's pulse quickened. "Don't make me repeat myself," she bit out, the edge of her voice cutting through the silence.

Her shoulders tensed, rolling forward with an almost predatory grace, but beneath the icy mask she wore, the fury still simmered. She could feel it—her anger, her helplessness, every shred of her restraint—and the knowledge that a certain demon was waiting to see her falter.

A sharp scowl stretched across her face as she glared at the guards, but they were impenetrable. Their bodies unmoving, their gaze unwavering.

Her lips clicked in frustration. Without another word, she turned on her heel, but before she could take a single step, they were there. Faster than she could react, their hands seized her robe, yanking her backward with a force that made her stumble.

"Let me go!" she screamed, thrashing violently in their hold. Her cries swallowed by the walls of the cold, indifferent corridor.

They didn't respond. They didn't have to.

"What the hell... Let me go!" Prudielle's voice was raw with fury, but her screams had no effect. The guards moved as though her words and struggles were mere whispers against stone. They were relentless, impenetrable walls, unmoved by her defiance.

With a swift, effortless motion, they threw her back into her room, the door slamming shut behind her with a finality that echoed in her chest. The sound of her own heartbeat pulsed in her ears as her body buzzed with frustration, every muscle trembling with the need to break free.

Her eyes locked onto Alena, who finished packing without a flicker of surprise.

Prudielle's fury boiled over. She marched toward her maid with seething steps, grabbing her by the shoulder. Her grip was tight, forcing Alena to meet her gaze. A smirk twisted Prudielle's lips, but her eyes... those wild, stormy eyes betrayed the whirlwind of rage she was trying to contain.

"Nice move, Your Majesty." The words were laced with sarcasm, but it was clear this was her way of hiding the seething fury beneath.

—Outside the Delcrovia mansion—

Zarathys stood still, eyes narrowing with a glimmer of something dangerous. His lips twitched, a smile threatening to form as he looked off into the distance, eyes almost glowing with an unspoken satisfaction.

A sense of anticipation hung in the air, the silence speaking volumes.

"Ten steps ahead of you, human."

Back inside the room, Alena's voice echoed in Prudielle's mind, the words mirroring Zarathys' earlier statement. Something in the air shifted, and Prudielle's fingers twitched, a spark of rage igniting in her chest. She wasn't sure what hurt more. The betrayal she felt or the helplessness gnawing at her.

Before she could stop herself, her hand flew forward, the slap across Alena's cheek sharp and unforgiving.

The force of the slap was enough to knock the King off his high horse. Alena's vacant eyes flickered, storm of emotions flooding her expression as the pain registered.

Her once-stony face twisted in anguish, her brows furrowing sharply, deep lines creasing her forehead. A strangled cry escaped her lips.

"Ouch!"

"Good, you're back to your senses." Prudielle's voice was cold, but there was a satisfaction in the sharpness of her words that made Alena's confusion deepen.

"You slapped me," Alena muttered, her hand instinctively rising to rub her cheek. The sting of the slap echoed in her ears, leaving a dull, throbbing ache beneath her skin, and goosebumps prickled across her arms.

"His Royal Majesty had you under control," Prudielle stated with a smirk. "We're supposed to be a team. I'd love to see him slaughter the servants of this mansion simply because a human dared to defy his orders."

Alena's face hardened. "I understand you do not like him, My Lady, but think about it. He isn't bluffing." She tried to reason, her tone softening but still filled with genuine concern. "You were there when he stormed into the hall. You saw what he's capable of."

Alena's words hung in the air, but it was clear: Prudielle had made up her mind, and no amount of reasoning would sway her.

"He's a demon. A powerful one. I'm invincible. What does that imply to you?" Prudielle's voice cut through the stillness, sharp and biting. Her words carried a weight that sank deep into the room.

"He knows there are people out there hunting him. That's why he wants me there. He doesn't want me slipping through his fingers. He doesn't want me falling into their hands. If that happens... I'll become a weapon. One fashioned against him."

Her gaze turned toward the door as she spun with fluid precision, her steps steady and sure. The slight curve of her lips suggested a knowing smile, one that didn't quite meet her eyes. She held her head high, regal even, as if she were already at the center of a grand chessboard. But there was a glint in her eyes. A flicker of recognition that no one could deny.

"It's a game," she continued, her tone now cool with certainty.

"A dangerous one. One so fragile that a single misstep could send you into oblivion. People fear what they don't understand. And in this case, they fear King Zarathys and Prudielle—the human born of demons. They want to use me, make me a pawn to bring him down... and he knows it."

Alena watched, brows furrowed as she tried to digest Prudielle's words. Her mind whirled with the implications, and her loyalty to her mistress made her heart ache.

"I must say, I disagree with you, My Lady," Alena spoke softly, her voice tempered with respect but laced with uncertainty. She lowered her gaze, unwilling to meet Prudielle's sharp eyes.

Prudielle's gaze flickered over her shoulder, eyes hollow, as though she'd already seen through Alena's hesitations.

"That's okay. I also disagree with them. No one has the right to play with my life. No one has the right to decide my fate. Only I..."

Her eyes hardened, swirling with a fierce, unshakable confidence that would not be moved.

"King Zarathys knows I cannot be trifled with. A dangerous pawn."

Alena gave no response, her eyes dimming as the seconds stretched on in quiet acknowledgment. She moved silently to Prudielle, whose shoulders slumped in exhaustion, her head tilting back as the weight of fatigue washed over her.

Without a word, Alena's fingers twitched, and a dark-greenish energy coiled around her fingertips, swirling like a serpent. It consumed her arm before striking Prudielle at the head. The human swayed, her body barely catching the air before her knees buckled, but Alena was quick to catch her with practiced ease.

With one fluid motion, Alena draped Prudielle's unconscious form over her shoulder, the weight of the girl barely registering in her stride. She grabbed the suitcase, a satisfied smirk curling at the corners of her lips.

Her footsteps were calculated, deliberate, as if echoing the very essence of the inferno itself. Without pause, she walked out, her movements as seamless as the magic flowing through her.

>>>...<<<

Zarathys' gaze lingered on the unconscious human stretched across his bed, her dark hair splayed against the pillow, slightly tousled from sleep. A playful glint twinkled in his ember eyes as he watched her lashes flutter, the moment of peace shattering as confusion crept across her face. Her eyes opened, disoriented, fixating on the unfamiliar markings of the ceiling above.

"Alena?" Prudielle's voice was hoarse, but it carried an ominous undertone. She pushed herself up, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. The brooding expression on her face faltered, slipping away as quickly as a glass slipper.

"You couldn't even bear to bring me here conscious and made my handmaiden do your dirty work, Zarathys Emberstone." His name tasted bitter on her tongue, like something spoiled and foul.

"Wrong." Zarathys' voice was smooth, almost languid, as he rose from his seat. His movements were seamless—fluid, calculating. It was as if he was flaunting his perfection, his form an effortlessly captivating display of strength.

His broad shoulders, the solid line of his back, and the cascade of crimson hair that framed his figure, all underscored his masculinity in a way that needed no words.

The sight would have made most women weak in the knees, but Prudielle's lips twisted into a sneer of annoyance. Her eyes, dark and cold, watched him with an emptiness that betrayed no vulnerability.

"I knew you'd do what you wanted anyway, despite your father's final word." He was right, of course. She had already been plotting her escape as she breezed out of the hall earlier. It should have been no surprise that he anticipated her every move.

But the realization settled in like a weight in her chest. 'He's observant.' Her eyes steeled as she met Zarathys' unflinching stare. 'That's dangerous.'