Rule Two

Kaelen's smile faltered.

He watched Tenebrarum's fingers coil and twist — too slow, too quiet like the calm before a storm.

His throat tightened.

Everyone else had gone still, watching that small movement with dread.

Tenebrarum didn't speak. He didn't move from his seat.

But something in the room shifted. The air grew heavier. Warmer. Darker.

Kaelen took a step back.

For a moment, he remembered — this wasn't just a brother.

This was the son of a nameless woman, a shadow in their family tree. Born without honour. Raised in fire.

And now? Now he could burn Kaelen to ash without lifting a finger.

"Enough."

The king's voice sliced through the silence.

He didn't shout. He didn't rise.

But even Kaelen flinched.

"Get out of my sight."

Kaelen hesitated, humiliated.

"Now."

The prince turned on his heel and stormed out, the weight of Tenebrarum's silence pressing into his back like a blade.

The doors slammed shut behind Kaelen. Silence lingered like a blade suspended midair.

Then, slowly, the king turned his gaze to Tenebrarum — eyes as ancient and unreadable as carved stone.

"You no longer belong in that distant mansion," he said, voice calm but final. "From this day forward, you will reside here — in the royal palace."

The other princes stirred, their faces twisting — jealousy, fear, rage — all barely masked.

"You are my crowned son now. You will take your rightful place by my side."

A pause.

"And soon...above them."

The words fell like thunder.

Tenebrarum didn't bow. Didn't speak.

But the way his hand uncurled — slow, deliberate — said enough.

One of the princes — Casimir, the son of the king's second wife — shoved back his chair, fury tightening his jaw.

"I will not sit here and—"

"Sit."

King Mortifer didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.

Casimir froze mid-step. His breath caught. That one word — low, controlled, and edged with the promise of consequences — rooted him to the marble floor.

Slowly, reluctantly, he sank back into his chair.

The others followed, stiff and silent, rage flickering in their eyes like stormlight behind glass.

It was the king's command. And in Mortifer's palace, disobedience wasn't just disrespect — it was a death wish.

Tenebrarum remained still, unreadable behind his black mask, but the corners of his mouth curled — just slightly.

----------------------

Aurelia froze as the clatter of hooves and grinding wheels reached her window. Carriage. Not riders.

She pushed the curtain aside, breath catching in her throat.

Down in the courtyard, shadows shifted as soldiers lit the torches. Then she saw it — the black carriage, monstrous and gleaming, pulled by four midnight horses. It rolled to a halt at the palace steps, its doors etched in silver thorns.

The guards straightened. No one moved.

Then the door opened.

And he stepped out.

Tenebrarum.

Clad in a long black coat, the hem brushing the marble like smoke. A masked silhouette of control and silence. His boots struck the ground without hurry. No glance was spared for anyone — as though the entire world beneath him did not exist.

Aurelia stepped back from the window. Her throat was dry.

He had returned.

Aurelia staggered backward from the window, her breath catching, her purple eyes wide in the candlelight. Her hair clung to her neck, sweat-damp and tangled, falling like a curtain across one cheek as she turned.

She could hear it—his boots. On the marble. Drawing closer.

She spun, her legs trembling beneath her, pale feet bare against the cold stone floor. The silk of her nightdress fluttered against her thighs as she rushed toward the bed. Her knee hit the bedframe—sharp pain—she bit her lip, hard, and climbed in fast, breath heaving.

The sheets were still warm.

She slid beneath them, dragging the covers over her body, up to her shoulders, her chin, her mouth. One leg folded under the other. Her knees pulled tight to her chest. Her arms wrapped around them.

Her hair spilled across the pillow, her lashes pressed shut.

She forced her breath to steady.

But her chest kept rising too fast. Her pulse throbbed in her ears.

The door opened.

And her entire body tensed.

She didn't move.

She felt the air change—colder, heavier.

He was inside.

N...ooo not him...

She whispered to herself,

Still, as ever, she tried not to make a move.

She lay frozen, her heart hammering heavily. Her lashes trembling over purple eyes clenched tight. The long silk sleeve of her nightgown slipped down her shoulder, revealing the soft curve of skin. She dared not fix it.

The soft scrape of leather. A breath near her neck.

Then a hand.

Gloved. Calm.

It touched her arm lightly. Slid along the outside of her elbow, then over her side, her waist, tracing her like a map already claimed.

Still, she didn't move.

Not until his breath brushed her ear again—cool, steady, unhurried.

"You hide like a rabbit," he whispered. "But I can hear your heartbeat fast."

That voice. That calm.

It broke her.

Aurelia curled tighter, her hands gripping the sheets, nails digging into the fabric. She tried to crawl deeper into the bed, deeper into herself.

He chuckled—low, dark, and cruelly amused.

And then… he stood.

She heard his boots cross the floor, slow and steady.

He sat at the edge of the bed like he owned time.

His voice was soft, almost kind.

"Next week," he murmured, fingers brushing her ankle beneath the sheets, "we leave for the palace."

She blinked. Once. Then twice.

The palace.

Her throat tightened. Her breath caught in her chest like it didn't want to come out.

She'd heard of it—everyone had. The demons' palace wasn't a home. It was a sanctuary for monsters. A place where humans vanished screaming and were never seen again. Where blood oiled the walls and the chandeliers dripped bone.

And now she was going there.

She didn't even know what he wanted her for. A pet? A vessel? A meal?

Something inside her shattered.

"No," she said, her voice flat, sharp, and shaking. "Please...I can't go."

He didn't leave, not now.

He stood at the door with his hand on the knob, back to her, silent.

Then—he turned.

And locked it.

Click.

Aurelia's blood ran cold.

"You broke Rule Two," he said, walking back, slow as the ticking of a clock. "Do you remember the consequences?"

She shrank back against the pillows.

"Please—"

" Speak again without permission, and I'll silence your tongue myself."

His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. Each word was a blade.

He grabbed the edge of the blanket and yanked it off, exposing her trembling body to the air, to him, to judgment.

"I gave you comfort. I sheltered you. And still, you disobeyed."

He grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her forward until she was kneeling on the edge of the bed, breathing fast, her nightdress twisted around her thighs.

"Look at me."

She didn't.

His fingers clamped around her chin and forced her to.

"When I speak, you obey."

Her eyes glistened, but she blinked back the tears.

"You think you're brave? You're not," he whispered. "You're mine."

And with that, he punished her—not with loud cruelty, but with precise, unnerving control.

He touched her—not to comfort, not to claim—but to remind her whose body it was.

His fingers brushed the hollow of her throat, tracing it downward in slow, humiliating silence, making her feel the weight of disobedience on her skin.

She jerked back instinctively, but he was stronger. He gripped her by the nape and shoved her forward onto her hands, her hair falling into her face, her back arched, exposed.

"Next time," he murmured in her ear, "I won't be gentle. Next time, I'll let the palace guards show you what we do to slaves who forget their place."

She gasped, choking on the sob she'd tried so hard to bury.

"No—no, please…"

"You said no once already," he said coldly. "Now you'll learn what it costs."

And he did not stop, shoving his hand deeper until she trembled, until her voice broke, until the sheets were soaked with sweat and shame.

Tears slowly crawled out from her eyes, but she remained speechless.

But when he finally stood and turned away, brushing off his cuffs like she was nothing more than dust—laughing like this was nothing to him.

She didn't beg.

She didn't scream.

She just curled into herself, a silent breath trapped in her lungs, and stared at the locked door like it was the only thing keeping her from dying.

Even Marcus the love of her life, never laid his hands on her. He didn't have the time to kiss her or say goodbye.

And this.

The actions done by Tenebrarum hurt so much, she hated him now more than ever before.

---

To be continued...