The breakfast hall was thick with a silence that felt heavy, like the air before a storm. The kings and queens of the various realms stood like statues, their gazes fixed on the grand entrance as they waited for the Supreme King to arrive.
Two seats next to Michael and Dahlia remained hauntingly empty. To the onlookers, those vacant chairs felt like a crushing blow—a physical representation of the growing rot within the alliance.
"Princess Ashley," Princess Fox's voice broke the stillness, though it remained hushed. She leaned slightly over her plate, her eyes bright with a sharp, competitive edge. "Would you like to train one last time? Before we must depart to face the trolls?"
Ashley didn't answer immediately. Her hand, resting near her silver goblet, began to tremble. The vibration was slight at first, then more pronounced—a visible tremor of raw nerves and the looming shadow of the front lines.
Beside her, Prince Eric noticed. With a slow, calculated movement, he reached over and rested his hand firmly on top of her shaking one. To an outsider, the gesture lacked any true knightly warmth; it felt staged, a performance for an audience that was no longer buying it.
Deacon watched the display from across the table, his eyes narrow and unimpressed. He noted the way the other princesses shifted away from Eric, their expressions guarded. Eric's popularity was a dwindling flame, and this hollow display of comfort wasn't enough to rehabilitate his image.
"One last bout is not what will save you," Deacon interjected, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He didn't even look up from his meal, his tone entirely dismissive. "If the skill isn't there by now, the trolls will devour you."
The heavy oak doors groaned open. Two knights pulled them ajar as King Elderon and his Queen entered. Patrick stiffened, his spine snapping straight as he drove his staff into the floor three times with a resonant thud.
"Bow for His Majesty, the Supreme King Elderon!" Patrick announced.
Elderon walked with a tight, practiced smile, taking his seat with a slow, deliberate grace. He offered a curt nod, granting the others permission to sit. He picked up his knife, the steel glinting under the chandeliers, and sliced through his breakfast.
"I tire of the empty chairs!" Elderon's voice boomed, instantly silencing the talk of training and trolls. He looked directly at Michael and Dahlia.
"As am I, Your Majesty," Queen Dahlia said, shaking her head with a performative sigh. She reached out, touching Michael's arm in a display of mock irritation. "But honor demands punishment."
"Bring them here. Now," Elderon ordered, his eyes shifting toward the guards stationed in the corner. "You have had enough time. Honor has been upheld. I wish to see if Princess Daniela has finally learned her lesson."
"As you command, Supreme Majesty." Michael rose and bowed his head. He turned to lead the guards back toward his private quarters, maintaining the lie that he was headed toward the Dark Room.
Upon entering his study, Michael's own personal detail stepped into the path of the Supreme King's guards, blocking the doorway to his private inner sanctum.
"This is as far as you go," his guard rumbled, his voice a deep, vibrating bass.
Inside, Michael looked to Hermes and the assembled maids. "Create the portal!"
He sat at his desk, swirling a glass of deep crimson blood-wine. Once the last chalk line of the teleportation circle was drawn, he downed the rest of his drink and stepped into the center. Black flames erupted from the floor, engulfing him as he vanished.
Michael landed on the jagged outskirts of the Demon Realm. Above him, the bruised purple sky and multiple moons were a welcome sight. He stood in the middle of a vast, desolate desert. As he began to move, black flames erupted from the obsidian sand beneath his boots, swirling around him as he teleported again, reappearing in the grand receiving room of the Demon Castle.
A heavy gust of wind billowed outward as he arrived. The royal family was gathered, lounging with a lethal sort of elegance. Michael bowed low.
"Look at him," Queen Jade remarked, speaking to Umbay as if Michael weren't even there. Her lip curled in a faint, elegant sneer. "Still playing the errand boy for the humans. It's almost charming how well he wears the leash."
"He has to," Quasi added, leaning back with a smirk. "When you lack the blood to lead, you learn to follow. Though I hear the 'King' title doesn't carry much weight when his own son treats the realm like a playground."
"What do I owe the honor, King?" Umbay asked, the title sounding like a mockery. "Is the Supreme King missing his favorite pets?"
"It is time for Jasper to return," Michael said, his voice level and extraordinarily respectful despite the barbs. "His little trip is over."
Celestine sighed, pointing toward the window. "They are enjoying the splendors of the realm." She glanced at Opal, who was rubbing his throat with a pained, raspy swallow.
Michael noted the tension in the room—the way they looked at Opal, the subtle fear in Celestine's eyes. He straightened his suit, a small, knowing glint in his eye.
"I apologize if my son has been... difficult," Michael said softly, his tone humble but pointed. "I suppose his strength has become somewhat unrivaled. It can be a heavy burden for those around him to bear when he chooses to display the true extent of his power."
Celestine's glare sharpened. The jab hit home. Jasper was closer to the throne than he had ever been, and even they knew it.
Author's note:
Time to go back to the real world!