"Excuse me," Fanaza muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared at the strange man before her.
Her fingers tightened around the folds of her gown, her pulse drumming nervously in her ears.
His words still echoed in her mind, heavy and unsettling.
"I will have you for tonight."
The tone had been neither playful nor kind — it carried a quiet authority that made her skin crawl.
Percival said nothing now, only stared. His dark eyes held her in place, cold and unreadable, like deep pools hiding something dangerous beneath.
Slowly, he began to move closer. Each deliberate step echoed through the silent corridor, the sound of his boots striking against marble filling the growing tension.
Fanaza instinctively stepped back. Her breath caught. The hem of her gown brushed against her heels as she retreated until she could go no farther.
Percival stopped only when there was barely a breath of space left between them. She could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to his robes.
His breath brushed her cheek, sending a cold shiver crawling up her spine.
"I need you tonight," he whispered, his voice low, almost tender — but laced with something that made her stomach twist.
Fanaza's eyes widened. Panic flared within her chest. She shoved him away with both hands.
"Who are you?" her voice shaky and defensive.
She had no idea that the man standing before her was the very one she had been promised to — the Crown Prince of Macabre himself.
The air between them was still heavy with tension when a sharp noise shattered the silence. A tray crashed to the ground, the metallic clang echoing down the long hallway.
Both of them turned.
A maid stood frozen in terror, her wide eyes darting between them. The silver tray rolled on the floor beside her, bits of bread and wine splattering across the polished tiles.
"I—I am sorry! I am sorry!" she stammered, bowing repeatedly before hurrying away, nearly tripping over her skirt as she fled.
Percival's jaw tightened. A hiss slipped through his teeth and when he turned back to Fanaza, she was gone.
Only her faint perfume lingered in the air. A trace of her presence and a shadow disappearing down the dim corridor.
He stared into the empty hallway, the corner of his mouth tightening.
"She escaped," he muttered.
******
Rwaine stood at the edge of the dimly lit room, his sharp gaze sweeping across the crowded space.
The air was heavy with the thick scent of smoke, sweat, and cheap perfume, clinging to the wooden walls.
Ladies with faces dowsed in bright paints and colors danced carelessly on tables and in men's laps, their shrill laughter and drunken giggles weaving into the wild rhythm of the music. The place pulsed with noise and sin.
Rwaine's attention drifted toward a small, raised platform in the center of the room. His movements were calm, deliberate, and purposeful as he climbed up onto it.
From beneath his dark cloak, he pulled out an ancient-looking flute. Its silver surface bore strange, intricate markings that seemed to whisper secrets of their own. The crowd's noise began to fade, curiosity replacing their chaos.
When he raised the flute to his lips, silence fell completely. The women paused mid-dance, their fans frozen in midair, while the lustful men leaned forward, waiting.
Then came the music.
The first soft notes floated through the air, the sound was haunting, gentle yet piercing, carrying the weight of sorrow and longing.
When the final notes faded, the silence that followed felt sacred. And then — the room erupted.
Applause thundered from every corner. The women cheered and clapped, their painted lips curling into bright smiles. The men stamped their boots, whistled, and tossed coins that clinked against the platform.
It was a wonderful performance — one that ended with pride and envy swirling in the same breath.
Rwaine bowed slightly, the hood of his cloak dipping low, then turned and walked away with the same calm grace that had carried him to the stage.
Outside, under the dim lantern light, Miss Kobo, the owner of Sodom — stood waiting. She was a statuesque woman, tall and imposing, with a voice that carried authority.
When she saw him approach, she tossed a small sack at him. It landed at his feet with a soft thud, the faint jingle of coins ringing out.
Rwaine bent, picked it up, and loosened the string. His sharp eyes scanned the contents, and his expression hardened.
"This is not what we agreed," he said quietly, his voice calm but cutting.
Miss Kobo gave a small scoff, crossing her arms.
"I have a lot to run at Sodom; accept it or leave it," she said coldly, then turned on her heels and walked away, her heavy jewelry clinking faintly with each step.
Rwaine said nothing. He simply stood there, the wind brushing through his cloak. Deceived again. The weight of disappointment settled in his chest.
Every single day he played his flute for survival, not for joy. Music had become his only means to live.
That was how he had met Fanaza the other night when she was nearly assaulted by bandits.
He hadn't thought much of it then, only that the small payment he received afterward would be enough to last him through another few days.
He sighed and walked off into the woods, his boots sinking into the damp earth as the noise of the place faded behind him. The deeper he went, the colder the air grew.
Soon, the lights of the village disappeared entirely, replaced by the lonely silence of the mountains.
He followed the familiar winding path until he reached the entrance of his cave — a place hidden by thick trees and jagged stones.
As he entered, a figure stepped out from the shadows.
"Where have you been?" The voice was deep and cautious. A man approached him, old and weary, but his eyes were sharp — the eunuch, Moaz.
Rwaine said nothing. The faint light that poured through the cave mouth caught his face, revealing the glint of his golden eyes.
Moaz frowned, his expression tightening.
"Did you play the flute?" he asked, watching closely as Rwaine pulled the instrument from his cloak.
"I had to," Rwaine replied simply.
Moaz sighed, the sound heavy with worry.
"Rwaine, I want you to know I am not against you leaving the mountains and going into the village; I am just worried abo....."
"About my deformities?" Rwaine interrupted, his tone calm but filled with quiet resentment.
Moaz's face fell. He looked away, guilt shadowing his aged features. He had been the one entrusted by King Loban and Queen Lorraine to raise the child — a duty that had long become something deeper than responsibility. He had grown to love Rwaine as a son.
Rwaine's voice grew softer, but his words carried weight.
"You know, I always wonder if it's a sin to be deformed. I had to hide my face all my life. I have no confidence to face the public. Sometimes, I actually wish you had killed me the day you saw me."
He spoke with no remorse, no anger just a weary sadness that had festered over time.
Moaz looked at him gently. "It's never about your deformities, son. There are some things that are better left unsaid and unknown and this is one of them."
Rwaine fell silent, the firelight flickering across his face.
He had lived twenty-five years in the mountains under Moaz's care, the only world he knew. Moaz had always warned him about the human world, telling him never to reveal his face to anyone. That was why Rwaine always wore the cloak that covered his entire body.
He knew he was an outcast, yet his heart longed to belong. He wanted to meet people, to laugh, to go on adventures without shame. But reality always reminded him of what he was.
Moaz spoke again, his voice low. "You shouldn't go out tonight; it's the night of the Wendigos."
******
Fanaza still trembled after what had happened. Her heart hadn't stopped racing since that strange encounter. The man's words, "I will have you for tonight" echoed through her head again and again like a curse she couldn't silence.
She sat by her desk, her candle flickering weakly beside her, as she brushed through the papers in her hands.
Her fingers shook slightly as she wrote, pouring her thoughts into the letter. Every line carried her pain, how she couldn't get along with the royals, how she had been insulted, looked down upon, and disrespected.
No one liked her. The palace was suffocating, every day she felt smaller and lonelier.
She sighed deeply and dipped her quill into the ink again.
"The palace is toxic, Father," she ended the letter, her handwriting trembling as she folded it neatly.
She stood and walked to the door, her bare feet brushing against the cold marble. Opening it, she found one of her guards waiting in the hallway.
"Make sure you deliver it to Father," she said, handing him the sealed note.
"Yes, my lady," the guard bowed and left quickly.
Fanaza lingered at the doorway for a moment, staring after him. "Let's just hope for the best," she muttered softly, before shutting the door.
Her shoulders slumped as she walked to her bed and fell onto it recklessly.
A long sigh escaped her lips as she lay flat, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm her restless thoughts. The silence in her chamber was broken by a gentle knock.
"Who could that be…" she whispered to herself.
The door creaked open slowly, and to her surprise, Sage walked in.
"Sage!" she said, sitting up immediately. She hadn't been expecting anyone, least of all him. Maybe he came to invite her for dinner, she thought, trying to straighten her gown.
He smiled lightly and said, "Sister-in-law, I was thinking if you'll be free this night so we can go to the festival."
His voice carried excitement, and before Fanaza could even respond, he sat comfortably on her bed, like someone who belonged there.
"What festival?" she asked, blinking.
"It's outside the palace," Sage replied, grinning.
For the first time that day, Fanaza's eyes brightened. The thought of leaving the suffocating palace, even just for a few hours filled her with hope.
"How do we sneak out?" she asked eagerly, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
"I have people on the inside," he said with a wink.
Fanaza laughed softly. It had been so long since she felt free enough to laugh. She liked Sage's energy, it was easy, kind, and full of mischief. Finally, she had found someone in this palace who understood her.
Later that night, Sage and Fanaza quietly slipped out of the palace through a hidden passage.
The moonlight followed them as they mounted two horses and rode into the cool night air, their laughter echoing faintly in the distance.
They rode until the golden towers of the palace were far behind, and the warmth of the village lights began to glow in front of them.
The village was alive — music, laughter, and the scent of roasted meat filled the air. Lanterns of red and blue hung from trees and wooden poles, casting a soft glow on the cobblestone paths.
Sage tied their horses to a nearby tree at the edge of the woods.
"Are you sure it's safe to keep the horses here alone?" Fanaza asked, glancing at the shadows around them.
"It is fine, sister-in-law," he assured her with a gentle smile.
They walked together into the heart of the village square. Fanaza's face lit up at the sight before her — children laughing, couples dancing, and villagers dressed in colorful clothes celebrating under the moon. The air was filled with joy, and for once, she felt alive.
The festival began with bright displays, dancers twirling with ribbons, and performers singing ancient songs.
Fanaza and Sage joined the cheering crowd, enjoying the food and laughter. Sage even threw a few gold coins to the performers, earning cheers and playful bows in return.
As they moved from one booth to another, Fanaza found herself smiling at him. He's kind, she thought. So different from the others.
She admired the way his silver hair shimmered under the moonlight, the way the wind brushed it back to reveal his forehead and sharp jawline. He looked perfect.
She found herself thinking that if Sage had been the crown prince, things might have been different. Their love story could have been simple… maybe even beautiful.
But time wasn't on their side.
The joyful music suddenly stopped when the village bell rang loudly. The sound sliced through the air, sharp and eerie. The villagers began to panic. Stalls closed, lights dimmed, and people hurried home, locking their doors tight.
"What's happening?" Fanaza asked, startled.
"I don't know," Sage said, glancing around, frowning. "The festival wasn't even up to an hour."
Fanaza tried to calm herself. "Maybe that's just how the villagers are," she said softly.
Sage's eyes darkened slightly as he scratched his brow. "No. The villagers of Macabre never end a celebration early. Something's wrong."
"Have you ever attended a festival to know that?" Fanaza asked lightly, trying to ease the tension, but Sage didn't answer. The silence made her uneasy. "We should just leave, Sage."
They hurried back toward the woods, the laughter and music replaced by the sound of the wind whispering through the trees.
When they reached the place where they'd left their horses, Fanaza froze. Her heart dropped. The horses were gone — no, not gone but slaughtered.
The ground was splattered with blood, the remains of their mounts scattered horribly across the clearing. The sight made her stomach twist.
"What… what happened?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Sage stared in disbelief, his face pale. "It's like something ate them…"
Before they could think further, a loud, eerie cry tore through the forest. It wasn't human.
"Fanaza," Sage said quietly, his voice shaking. "That was you, right?"
"How can a woman of such huge dignity make such a sound?" she snapped, fear creeping into her tone.
Branches cracked in the distance. The sound grew nearer, it was fast.
The wendigos had awakened.
Legend said they were cannibalistic monsters. Cursed, twisted beings who hunted every festival night after the full moon.
It was their season of blood. That was why the villagers had fled and locked themselves away.
A dark shape moved between the trees. Then another.
"Sage…" Fanaza whispered, gripping his arm.
Before he could answer, one of the creatures lunged from the shadows, it's long limbs, sharp claws and eyes glowing like embers.
They ran.
Branches whipped against their faces as they sprinted through the forest. But the creatures were faster. Fanaza felt sharp pain slash across her ankle and she fell, screaming.
"Oh God!" Sage turned back, seeing her on the ground. She was bleeding "Can you walk?"
"I can try!" she cried, forcing herself up, limping.
The growls grew louder. Sage's eyes hardened. "I'll distract it. Find a way out. Get help!"
"I'm not leaving without you!" Fanaza said, gripping his arms tightly.
"Go and call for help!" he shouted, pushing her forward.
Then, louder "Over here!" he yelled at the monsters.
Fanaza stumbled through the woods, tears streaking her face. Pain shot through her ankle with every step, but she didn't stop.
The Wendigos chased her like shadows. She screamed for help, once, twice but no one answered.
"Help! Please help!" she sobbed, her voice breaking.
She tripped again, hitting the ground hard. Pain exploded through her leg. This time, she couldn't move.
Three wendigos emerged from the darkness, crawling toward her. Their breath reeked of decay. Their long fingers twitched as they prepared to strike.
Fanaza shut her eyes, whispering a prayer.
Then, suddenly, three daggers flew from afar, piercing each creature's heart in perfect unison. The monsters fell with a loud thuds.
Fanaza gasped weakly. "Help me… please…"
A tall figure stepped out of the shadows, his golden eyes glimmered faintly beneath his hood.
Rwaine.
He knelt and gently lifted her into his arms. Her head fell against his chest, and before she could speak another word, she fainted.
******
Sunlight streamed into the cave through a small opening, painting the rough stone walls in a soft golden hue.
The warmth touched Fanaza's face, stirring her awake. She groaned faintly and tried to sit up, her body was weak and sore.
A dull ache pulsed through her leg, reminding her of the horrors from the night before. Her head felt heavy, her thoughts blurred.
She blinked several times, trying to make sense of where she was.
The faint sound of running water echoed from outside, mingled with the chirping of birds.
The cave was silent except for the crackle of a dying fire near the wall. Her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings — a small, tidy space, with rough furs laid out for bedding and bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling.
Someone had tended to her wounds. The bandages were clean, carefully tied.
Her memories came back in flashes — the festival, the villagers fleeing, the monsters, the screams, Sage's face, and finally… the cloaked man who saved her.
Her heart beat faster.
She pushed herself up and limped toward the mouth of the cave. When she stepped outside, a rush of cold mountain air brushed her face.
The view took her breath away — steep cliffs stretched into the clouds, and far below, the valley shimmered faintly with mist.
Then she saw him.
The cloaked man sat on a large rock near a narrow waterfall, the mist curling softly around him. His hood was still drawn low, but even from where she stood, he looked calm.
"Hello," Fanaza called, her voice echoing slightly against the rocks.
He didn't move immediately. After a brief pause, he turned his head slightly toward her.
She stepped closer, her eyes squinting in the sunlight. "I remember you," she said, her voice quieter now. "You saved me that night."
"Don't come close," he replied coldly, his tone distant but not cruel.
Fanaza froze. The firmness in his voice startled her. She hesitated, watching him for a moment before lowering her gaze.
"I already treated your wounds," he said, his eyes still on the water. "You should feel better now."
She touched the bandage on her leg, guilt and gratitude mixing in her heart. "I just wanted to thank you," she said softly. "I never got to say it the last time."
He gave a single nod in acknowledgment and rose to his feet, brushing off his cloak.
She couldn't stop staring at him. The more she looked at him, the stronger the strange warmth inside her grew. She didn't even understand it — admiration, gratitude or maybe it's something deeper she didn't want to name yet.
Just then, a raspy voice broke the silence. "Who are you?"
Fanaza turned quickly and saw an older man standing near the cave's entrance. His face was stern, his eyes suspicious.
"I....I am Fanaza," she replied politely.
"Why did you bring her here?" Moaz asked sharply.
"She was attacked by wendigos," Rwaine said flatly. "I couldn't leave her to die. Her body would have rotted in the woods."
Moaz's eyes darkened. "You've made a mistake, Rwaine. You shouldn't have interfered."
Fanaza frowned, confused by the man's hostility. She stepped back slightly, her heart uneasy.
"I'll have her leave after breakfast," Rwaine said calmly, not looking at either of them.
Fanaza's thoughts were spinning. Then it hit her, Sage. Her eyes widened. "Where is Sage?" she asked suddenly. "My brother-in-law… we both came for the festival."
Rwaine and Moaz exchanged a glance.
"Where did you come from?" Moaz asked slowly.
"Macabre Palace," Fanaza said. "We came to the village for the festival."
Moaz's expression turned pale. His jaw clenched. "Leave," he snapped suddenly.
Fanaza flinched at his tone. "I...I don't understand."
"Leave this mountain at once and never return!" Moaz shouted, stepping toward her. His face was tense, almost fearful.
He reached out as if to push her away, but Rwaine caught his arm, his voice low and firm. "Stop. I'll escort her back myself."
Fanaza held onto Rwaine's sleeve, her eyes glistening. "Please, I can't go yet. I have to find Sage."
"Rwaine," Moaz warned darkly, his voice trembling with urgency. "You cannot be involved with the people of Macabre. Send her away and pretend she never existed."
Rwaine's eyes burned with quiet defiance. "You have nothing to worry about. I'll find her brother… and then I'll return."
He turned toward Fanaza, his tone gentler now. "Come. I'll take you down the mountain."
Luckily for them, a search party had been issued after the royals discovered they were missing.
Percival had set out with his knights to search for them. The search party still continued with dogs barking, but there was no sign of Fanaza or Sage. They searched deeper into the woods.
But what they saw next traumatized the party. The men froze, their torches flickering as their eyes widened at the sight before them.
"We have to go back, right now," Percival commanded.