THE EDGE OF DANGER

Morning light in the Underworld was a faint silver glow that bled through the high windows of the palace corridors. Velma tied her apron tightly around her waist as she made her way through the eastern wing, her morning duties fresh in her mind. She carried a basket of folded linens and had just delivered new robes to one of the lesser lords when she passed once again by the Queen's chamber.

The door was slightly ajar, and voices filtered through.

"I told you, Zamiel," came Azarath's voice, tight with urgency. "He's changing. The memories are trickling back."

"Then it's only a matter of time before he remembers everything," Zamiel responded, tone laced with a smug chill. "But what will he do when he learns you've kept this from him?"

Velma froze. The linens slipped slightly in her arms as her chest tightened. She leaned ever so slightly closer, but before she could hear anything more, her conscience gnawed at her. No, not again. She had promised herself not to eavesdrop anymore. That she wouldn't involve herself further in the royal affairs beyond her purpose.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped away from the Queen's door and continued down the hallway, quietly scolding herself. Her footsteps echoed softly on the polished floors as she rounded a corner to take the long way back to the service wing.

She had only taken a few more steps when she stopped abruptly.

Standing at the far end of the hallway was none other than Zamiel.

His arms were folded, his weight shifted onto one leg with an easy, unsettling confidence. He was clearly waiting for her.

Velma's heart dropped.

He took a few slow steps toward her, that same amused, dangerous smirk painted on his lips.

"Well, well," he said smoothly. "The mysterious maid again."

Velma bowed her head quickly. "My lord."

"You disappeared rather quickly yesterday after I paid you that compliment," he said. "Was it something I said?"

"I was merely fulfilling my duties, my lord," she replied as steadily as she could.

Zamiel studied her, his eyes sharp. "You know… I can feel your scent."

Velma stiffened.

"You're not like the other maids. Your scent is—how do I put this—unusual. Not entirely demonic. Not quite... normal either."

She didn't know what to say. Her hands gripped the linen basket tighter.

"Were you eavesdropping just now?" he asked suddenly, eyes narrowing slightly. "I heard footsteps sounds. And I thought I smelled your presence near the door."

Velma's eyes widened. "No, my lord. I was merely passing by."

"Hm," he mused aloud. "Perhaps. Perhaps not."

He stepped closer, now only a few feet away. The air thickened with tension.

"You and my brother seem to be getting rather... familiar," he said, eyes glittering. "Are you his mistress?"

Velma's face flushed in outrage. "Absolutely not, my lord. I am merely a loyal servant."

Zamiel chuckled darkly. "Too beautiful to just be a servant. What a waste."

He leaned in slightly. "Why don't you be mine instead? I'll give you the chambers in the east tower. Silks. Jewels. Protection."

"I don't need protection," she replied tightly. "I am not for anyone to claim."

Zamiel's smile faded for a moment, as if he hadn't expected that boldness. But then he smiled again, this time colder.

"Feisty," he murmured, reaching out a hand toward her face.

Velma stepped back quickly, her grip on the linens tightening until her knuckles turned white.

"Don't touch me," she said through gritted teeth.

His expression flickered with irritation, and his fingers twitched—

—just as she raised her hand to slap him, rage bubbling over—

"Zamiel."

The voice cut through the corridor like a whip.

Lucian.

He stepped from the shadows near the pillar, his eyes icy and his posture rigid.

Zamiel turned slowly, smirking as he dropped his hand.

"Lucian. You're always so protective. It's almost adorable."

Lucian ignored the taunt. His voice was low, controlled. "If Azarel finds out what you're doing to his staff, do you know what will happen to you?"

Zamiel rolled his eyes. "He won't. And even if he does, he can't do a thing. I'm his brother. His only family left."

He glanced back at Velma and winked. "Still, I enjoy our little chats. I'll be back, pretty maid."

He strolled off with an exaggerated stretch, humming to himself as though nothing had happened.

Lucian waited until he was gone before turning to Velma.

His gaze was stern, but his eyes held a flicker of concern.

Velma opened her mouth to thank him, but he simply gave a slight shake of his head and walked away without a word, his cape swirling behind him.

Velma let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her knees wobbled slightly. She placed the basket on a nearby bench and pressed her palms against the cool stone wall.

That was too close.

She closed her eyes for a moment, centering herself.

Around the corner, Evelyn watched silently.

Her lips were parted, her brow furrowed.

She had seen Lucian defend Velma. The warning in his posture. The cold fury in his voice.

And she had seen the way Velma had looked at him, too.

Something twisted inside Evelyn's chest—a mixture of confusion, hurt, and jealousy.

She turned and walked away without saying a word.

Back at the Queen's chamber, Azarath stood with her arms crossed, watching through the window.

She, too, had seen everything.

And she didn't like the direction this was going at all.

---

The rest of the day passed slowly. Velma tried to keep her head down, though the weight of Zamiel's words still pressed heavily on her mind.

She avoided corridors she knew he frequented, spent her time in the palace kitchen or helping Evelyn polish the silver in silence.

But her mind kept replaying the encounter—his eyes, his scenting of her, the way Lucian had arrived just in time.

She knew she was in deeper danger than she'd realized.

And worse: if Zamiel could sense her human scent, how long before others noticed too?

That evening, she returned to her small room, clutching the edges of her robe tightly around her.

Evelyn was already inside, brushing out her long black hair.

Velma offered a quiet greeting. Evelyn nodded but said nothing, barely glancing at her.

Velma sat on her bed, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. The silence between them was heavier than usual.

She wanted to ask if something was wrong, but she was too tired. Too emotionally raw.

Instead, she lay down and closed her eyes.

I need to be more careful, she thought.

And I need to find a way out before it's too late.

---