The silence in the Bennett mansion was not peaceful anymore; it was the heavy, strained quiet before a storm. In the weeks after Arnold's urgent visit, Erich hadn't let his guard down for a moment. He had put his entire existence on high alert, using his immense resources to create an illusion of perfect safety around Bettina. He knew his family and the High Council didn't use brute force, but precise, quick attacks. They would wait for the moment she was most vulnerable.
Bettina, completely unaware of the invisible war being fought over her, focused only on her books. The end of her exams was her finish line—the point where she could finally stop studying and demand the truth about the strange symbols, the silent guards, and Erich's moody behavior. She saw Erich only briefly, and their time together was always strained—a nod at breakfast, a formal question about her progress. Each interaction left her feeling colder and more determined to uncover his secrets.
Erich's worry was a constant, sour taste in his mouth. He slept less and less, his powerful mind running simulations based on the Council's history. He understood their motive: his claim to the throne was too powerful, his attachment to a human was a weakness, and the family had to show they were in control. He expected an attack, but he was not ready for how cruel their timing would be.
The day of Bettina's final exam—Modernist Theory—arrived, bright and deceptively normal.
As the morning went on, Erich felt a deep, sickening wave of fear. He cut short a meeting with a room full of executives, his patience gone. He tried to call Bettina's secure phone, but she didn't answer. She would be in the exam hall, focused, with her phone off.
"Foolish girl," he muttered, though he was angry at himself. He stood up suddenly, feeling a desperate need to be her physical shield. He ordered his best, non-human security detail to surround the university campus, covering every possible exit. Meanwhile, Bettina felt a powerful surge of relief as she put down her pen. The weight of her academic life was gone, replaced by an exciting sense of freedom. She rushed out, eager to be done. She would get in the car, go home, and start her investigation immediately.
She reached the university steps. The driver, Mark, stood by the car, watching the students. As Bettina waved and walked toward him, a large, dark, unmarked armored transport vehicle—like something from a military base—slammed to a stop at the curb, cutting Mark off completely.
Before anyone could scream, a squad of figures in black, non-reflective tactical gear jumped out. They did not wear masks, but their faces were cold and severe. They moved with a terrifying, inhuman speed.
Mark, the seasoned bodyguard, managed to grab his weapon, but he was instantly overwhelmed. The leader, a tall figure whose eyes held a faint, inner light, didn't even bother to fight Mark; he simply struck him once, precisely and effectively, knocking him unconscious before Mark could fire.
Bettina froze, not in panic yet, but in shock at the professional, overwhelming violence. Before she could react, two other figures grabbed her, their hands like iron claws.
"Let go of me!" she cried out, struggling against their impossible strength.
"The King has ordered your presence, human," the leader said in a voice that was low, flat, and utterly cold.She was shoved into the stifling darkness of the transport. The heavy, armored door clanged shut, trapping her in a terrifying silence, broken only by the low rumble of the engine pulling away. Her last thought was the painful realization that this was not a random attack; this was a deliberate capture.
The news hit Erich with the force of an explosion.
He was driving his private black armored sedan on the highway, driving far too fast, when the emergency call came in on his secure line.
"Sir! It's a breach! Code Red! Target acquired—they used heavy armor! We've lost them. Mark is down, but alive. He left a message—" The security chief's voice cut out.
Erich didn't need to hear the rest. He slammed on the brake, the sedan protesting the sudden stop. He reached out his hand, and the sleek, polished control panel of his car shattered inward under an invisible burst of pure, raw energy. His face, usually controlled, was a mask of furious, cold hatred.
He finally reached the university campus, his team already swarming the scene. He found Mark, pale and struggling to breathe, leaning against the ambulance.
"The message," Erich snarled, his eyes burning with an unnatural silver light. "Now."
Mark pointed a shaking finger at the stone steps where Bettina had stood. Pinned there by a small, crystalline knife, was a heavy, silver-threaded scroll. But it wasn't the crude mark of a low-level enemy. This was the terrifying, ancient seal of his lineage: the King's Crest—the seal used only by the High Monarch and the Queen.
Erich's blood ran cold. This was not a general warning; this was a direct declaration of war from his own parents.
He tore the scroll free. Etched on it in ancient, flowing script were the words Arnold had predicted:
THE KING'S PRICE.
Erich crushed the parchment in his fist, his body shaking with a power that threatened to destroy the very air around him. The rage was volcanic, centuries of contained power erupting at the ultimate act of betrayal. They hadn't just broken the rules; they had used their own son's greatest weakness to humiliate him and challenge his succession.
He had built a shield of normalcy for her, only to have his own family turn the shield into a trap.
He turned to his lead commander, his voice dropping to a low, terrifying whisper.
"The human world is over," he stated. "Burn the records. Scrub every trace of my time here. Contact Arnold. Tell him I accept the terms of the challenge."
Erich stood tall, his expression hardening into one of ruthless focus. There would be no more discussion, no more compromise. His path to the throne was now paved with the lives of those who had dared to touch what was his.
He was coming for her. And the price of her return would be the total destruction of his enemies.