CHAPTER TWO
Silence clung to the hall after his words.
"I'll take her."
For a heartbeat, the demons seemed unsure they had heard correctly.
Then the whispers erupted—sharp, frantic, disbelieving.
A human.
Prince Damiel had claimed a human.
Prince Arkes was the first to recover. He leaned back in his throne, lips curling in amusement.
"Well now… how unlike you, little brother."
Prince Vaelor chuckled softly. "A frail thing like that? Unless you intend to snap her in half, I fail to see the appeal."
Damiel did not look at them.
He waited.
Predictably, Prince Arkes lifted his hand.
"Then put me in for—"
Damiel interrupted without raising his gaze.
"Lift that hand again," he murmured calmly, "and I'll take that limb instead of the girl."
The hall froze.
Prince Arkes lowered his hand—slowly.
Prince Vaelor laughed under his breath. "Possessive already? Fascinating."
Damiel ignored him. His attention remained fixed on the girl standing at the center of the hall.
Her head was bowed.
Her body trembled despite her effort to remain still.
And her presence—
An irritating pinprick of light pressing against his shadow.
He flicked his fingers once toward the auctioneer.
"State the price."
The demon swallowed. "Y‑Your Highness… the last bid was in syrith." the demon auctioneer said, clearly in fear.
Syrith is a currency of silver.
Damiel's silver eyes lifted at last.
"Which was?"
"Five hundred Syrith," the auctioneer said quickly—the black‑stamped silver marks used for lesser transactions.
Five hundred Syrith.
Damiel exhaled softly.
"Hmm", he hummed.
He reached into the shadow beside his throne and withdrew a thin, hex‑etched plate of molten gold—warm, radiant, unmistakable.
"Five Aurex," he said.
Gold.
Royal currency.
Used only for blood‑bound contracts, land, or lives of consequence.
The hall gasped.
Five Aurex was not an offer.
It was a declaration.
The auctioneer's hands shook as he nodded greedily. "S‑Sold."
Reyna did not move.
She did not breathe.
And Damiel found—annoyingly—that her refusal to look up now irritated him more than when she had.
He leaned forward slightly.
"Kael."
One of his most trusted soldiers stepped closer, immediately, head bowed.
Damiel did not raise his voice.
He leaned just enough for his words to reach Kael's ear—and no one else's.
"Take her," he whispered. "Bring her to High Steward Maerith."
Kael nodded with a bow.
Maerith.
The woman who had once defied the Queen's direct command.
The woman who had cared for the shed‑born prince when he was deemed unworthy of the palace.
When Damiel had been left—
Not in a nursery.
Not in guarded chambers.
But in a stone shed meant for broken tools and unwanted things.
Far from the palace towers.
Still within royal grounds— far enough to be forgotten.
As though King Eldron had looked at his son and decided he was no more valuable than discarded tools and materials.
The queen had ordered that no one tend to him.
No one feed him.
No one touch him.
They all obeyed until King Eldron had asked for a maid from the castle.
She had stepped forward.
Volunteered.
Defiled the queen's decree with a bowed head and steady hands.
Some whispered she had once been the midwife who held Damiel as his mother screamed.
Others claimed she had been cursed to care for him as punishment.
Still others believed she had chosen him—deliberately.
What was known was this:
Maerith now ruled the inner household.
She commanded the kitchens, employed the staff, dismissed servants at will, and personally prepared Prince Damiel's meals to this day.
No one questioned her authority.
Kael bowed. "Yes, my prince."
Reyna finally lifted her head—not to Damiel, not truly—but in startled confusion as Kael stepped beside her.
Her eyes were wide.
Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat.
She shifted away from Kael as though even brushing his shadow would kill her.
Good.
Fear was sensible.
Damiel leaned back, resting his chin lightly against his knuckles.
"Do try not to let her die on the way," he said lazily.
Kael hesitated, uncertain whether that was an instruction or sarcasm.
With Prince Damiel, it was always both.
Reyna said nothing.
No plea.
No cry.
No collapse.
Humans usually begged.
This one endured.
Damiel's eyes narrowed.
Curious little human.
Kael guided her toward the doors. She walked stiffly, shoulders drawn tight, every breath measured—as if she feared demon air itself.
The hall watched her leave, dozens of gazes dragging over her like blades.
Damiel did not look away until the doors closed.
Not because he cared.
Because he was calculating.
He had seen something in her eyes.
Not strength.
Not defiance.
Something else.
Something unnamed.
And Damiel despised anything he could not understand.
He tapped his fingers once against the arm of his throne.
Boredom settled over his expression like smoke.
"Well," he drawled toward his brothers, "do try to surpass that level of foolishness today."
Prince Arkes smirked.
Prince Vaelor arched a brow.
But neither laughed.
Damiel's gaze drifted—briefly, subtly—to the doors where the human had vanished.
He did not want her.
He did not need her.
But she would explain why she had looked into the very eyes that terrified worlds.
And if she did not know?
He would tear the answer from fate itself.