No way out

The throne room was so quiet, the air so tense, that if a pin had dropped, it would have rung like a bell. Blood still stained the marble floors, glistening under the grand chandelier's cold golden glow. The lifeless body of the councilman lay slumped on the side, his severed hand forgotten in a pool of crimson.

The councilwoman was the first to recover. With a tight breath, she lowered herself into a bow, her silvery hair spilling over her shoulders. "Forgive us, Your Imperial Majesty," she said, voice clipped but composed.

The remaining councilmen followed suit, bowing low. Behind them, Prince Kael's face had turned a sickly shade of white. Zareth's crimson eyes found him, and a crooked, amused smile tugged at his lips.

Kael's clenched fists trembled at his sides. There was fury in his eyes—yes—but underneath it all… fear. Delicious, tangible fear. Zareth drank it in like wine.

"I don't want to have this conversation again," Zareth said smoothly, his voice barely louder than a murmur, but it reverberated across the chamber like thunder. His gaze never left Kael's. "Serenya is mine."

He spoke the words not as a declaration but as a fact—unchangeable, immovable, like the laws of nature.

Kael's jaw ticked, and Serenya took a staggering step back, her heart thudding erratically in her chest. Her face had gone pale, horror etched across her delicate features, her innocent eyes wide with disbelief. She had seen death before… but never like this. Never so cruelly casual.

"I knew you all needed a little motivation," Zareth drawled lazily. Then his gaze flicked to the woman still bowed before him. "Head Councillor."

She lifted her eyes cautiously.

"There's been word of unexplained deaths near the southern borders," Zareth continued, tone brisk. "I want you to lead the investigation personally. I don't want excuses. Only answers."

The woman nodded immediately. "As you command, Your Majesty."

With that, the council bowed once more and quickly retreated, their steps stiff and brisk, desperate to be free of the suffocating tension.

Once they were gone, another voice rose hesitantly.

"Your Imperial Majesty… if I may." It was King Rajan. His voice was low but firm.

Zareth tilted his head, barely suppressing a smirk. "Speak, Father-in-law."

Serenya's breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes, fingers curling into tight fists at her sides.

King Rajan drew himself up. "In Vayrana, our daughters are not given in marriage until they turn twenty-two. It is part of our sacred cultural tradition. I request that Serenya be allowed to return with us to Vayrana until she is of age."

Zareth barked a short, dark laugh, echoing through the silent chamber. "Oh, how quaint," he said, dragging a hand through his ink-black hair. "You must be mistaking me for someone who cares about your traditions."

He stepped forward, the hem of his royal coat whispering over the stone floor as he walked, his presence utterly dominating. "There's always a first time, King Rajan. And this time… that tradition ends with your daughter."

He turned briefly toward Serenya, his red gaze resting on her with a possessiveness that made her skin crawl.

"We will be married in four months," he continued casually. "That should give you ample time to marry off the rest of your precious daughters."

The insult was thinly veiled. King Rajan's face twitched, but he bowed stiffly, swallowing every retort that burned on his tongue.

Serenya, meanwhile, had not spoken a word. Her throat felt tight, her breath shallow. The councilman's blood still coated the chamber floor. His scream still echoed in her ears.

Her eyes flicked to Zareth—the man who wore a smile like a crown, like it could mask the rot that pulsed beneath his skin. To an outsider, he might appear charming, even kind. But Serenya now understood—he was a monster. A twisted, powerful beast hiding behind silk robes and honeyed words.

And he had chosen her.

Zareth turned toward the royal family, his voice smooth. "You may leave. My bride has had enough excitement for one morning."

Serenya's lips parted. Her hands trembled. "I want to see them off," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

He glanced at her, as if just now remembering she was still standing there. His hand reached up—slowly—to brush her cheek, but she flinched away before he could touch her. Her eyes squeezed shut.

His fingers paused in midair.

Then, with a soft sigh, he let his hand drop. "Fine," he muttered, no longer smiling.

She didn't wait to be dismissed again. She spun on her heels and bolted out of the hall, silk skirts swishing behind her, leaving the Emperor standing alone in a hall still stained with fresh blood.

---

Cassian stepped forward from the shadows, his expression unreadable. Silently, he offered a cloth.

Zareth took it without a word and wiped his bloodied sword with deliberate care, the same way one might polish a precious gem. He always cleaned his own blade. It was a ritual—a quiet reverence for death.

"Do you think she's scared of me now?" he asked without looking up.

Cassian handed him the sheath. "Anyone would be, Your Majesty," he replied neutrally. "To witness such a thing…"

Zareth hummed in thought, running his fingers through his dark hair. "Humans are such fragile little creatures."

---

Outside in the courtyard, Serenya stood frozen, watching the royal Vayranan carriage disappear down the marble road. Her mother hadn't seen her. Her father hadn't turned. None of her sisters had waved.

Maybe it was for the best.

Tears stung her eyes, hot and helpless. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. Her entire body trembled—not just from sadness but from fury.

If she had known that entering the Imperial Palace meant caging herself with a devil, she never would have crossed its gates.

She turned and fled toward her chamber, running blindly through the winding halls. When she reached her door, she slammed it shut and locked it, then collapsed to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

How could she escape now?

The Emperor wouldn't let her out of his sight. And worse… now the world thought she belonged to him.

A sharp knock shattered her thoughts.

"Your Highness?" came a voice—a woman's voice, unfamiliar.

Serenya didn't answer. Her body remained still, trembling with quiet rage.

"Your Highness, please open the door."

She said nothing. The voice didn't sound like a servant. It was older, firmer.

But Serenya refused to move.

Eventually, the voice sighed and footsteps faded away.

---

Elsewhere in the palace, the heavy doors to Zareth's study creaked open.

A tall, slender woman with long dark robes and crimson eyes stepped inside. Her features were elegant and sharp, her age hard to guess. She moved like a shadow.

"Greetings, Your Imperial Majesty," she said, bowing low.

Zareth didn't look up immediately. He was scribbling something on a scroll, his posture relaxed. Finally, he glanced up. "You're early, Sabrina."

The woman smiled faintly. "That's because I heard something most... intriguing."

Zareth's brows lifted in mock curiosity. "Do tell."

"I heard the Emperor has chosen a human bride," she said, tilting her head. "Surely that must be false."

Zareth leaned back in his chair, smirking. "News travels faster than my ravens."

"You hate humans, Your Majesty," she said bluntly. "Why now?"

His smile widened, wolfish and dark. "Because I saw her... and I decided I want her."

Sabrina blinked. "That simple?"

"That simple," he replied. "She fascinates me. She's delicate, beautiful... so easily broken. But she fights. Oh, how she fights."

The older woman frowned. "Your family will not approve."

"I would pay to see the looks on their faces," Zareth murmured, his eyes glowing faintly. "Let them try to stop me."

He stood from his desk, walking past her with regal ease. "Prepare her. Begin her training immediately. She will be my empress in four months."

Sabrina arched a brow but bowed without argument. "As you command."

---

Back inside the Vayranan royal carriage, silence hung like a shroud.

King Rajan's brows were furrowed deeply, his fists pressed against his knees. The queen stared out of the window, her expression unreadable.

"I pray," the king muttered under his breath, "that the Emperor finds some measure of mercy in his twisted heart…"

But none of them truly believed that mercy was a word Zareth Ravaryn understood.

Not anymore.