In the afternoon, King Magdon and Queen Lustia strolled along the winding paths of the royal gardens on their way to Prince Xavier's palace.
The king's heart was troubled, and it showed in the furrow of his brow. "I still can't believe Xavier wants to keep Rara in his palace."
The queen, however, did not share his concerns. In fact, her lips curved into a pleased smile. "Why not? It's better this way. Such a lovely girl—she's perfect for him."
"My queen, you should persuade Xavier to reconsider," the king said, a hint of unease in his voice.
The queen's expression soured immediately. "Why would I do that? If she stays there long enough, we might be blessed with a plump grandson sooner than you think."
"I do want a grandson, but..." He hesitated, his words weighed down by a mix of duty and apprehension. "...Rara is just an ordinary girl. Xavier needs someone—"
Queen Lustia stopped abruptly, her sharp glare pinning him in place.
"My king," she said, voice firm, "what exactly do you mean by'ordinary'?"
The king sighed heavily. "You know what I mean. Xavier will inherit the throne one day. He needs a partner who can stand beside him, someone powerful enough to support him in the challenges ahead."
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you saying Rara isn't good enough?"
"I didn't say that—"
"You didn't have to," she cut him off. Turning to the servants trailing behind them, she barked, "All of you, step back ten paces!"
The servants obeyed, retreating quickly and adding an extra step for good measure.
The queen spun back to face the king, grabbing his waist and delivering a sharp, twisting pinch that made him yelp in pain.
"My queen, what are you doing?" he asked, his face a mix of shock and exasperation.
"Do you truly not see your mistake, or shall I spell it out for you? Didn't you just imply that Xavier needs someone powerful, like us? Let me ask you, my king—am I truly powerful?"
The king's mouth opened, but no words came out. He knew exactly where this was headed.
His mind flashed back to the day he first met her.
At that time, King Magdon had been sitting in his car, waiting for his bodyguard to return with food. He had traveled to the Lumiere Kingdom after hearing of the fall of its royal family.
His eyes wandered to the street, where a woman in plain clothes, her face partially obscured by a black cloth, caught his attention.
She entered the pawn shop, carrying a bag that hinted at her intention to sell something valuable. The bell above the door chimed softly as she stepped inside. She walked toward the counter, where the shop owner—a graying man with nervous eyes—looked up with a welcoming smile.
"Ah, what do we have here?" His voice was warm, though his eyes flickered with curiosity.
With a soft clink of jewels, she placed the bag on the counter. Her hands, though delicate, betrayed a quiet strength as she opened it, revealing the treasure within. The shop owner's eyes lit up at the sight of the glittering jewels.
"These must be valuable. You've come to the right place, my lady," he said, a hint of eagerness in his tone.
As the shop owner began carefully examining the jewels, his expression shifted. His eyes widened, his lips pressing into a thin line, and he swallowed hard.
"Where did you… find these?" His voice faltered as his fingers brushed over one of the stones, his unease mounting with each passing second.
She didn't answer immediately, her gaze steady, almost too calm. The silence between them stretched taut.
The shop owner glanced nervously around, his breath quickening as if expecting someone to burst through the door.
"These… these are from the royal vault," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Are you certain these are yours to sell?" His hand trembled slightly as he gently set the jewels back into the bag, stepping away from the counter with a cautious, almost fearful look in his eyes. "I—I can't accept these, madam. You should leave before—"
Before he could finish his sentence, she raised a hand, her fingers stilling the air like a command.
The shop owner froze, his words dying in his throat.
"Please, I—I can't help you," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Someone might notice... These aren't the kind of goods one can sell so freely."
The shop assistants exchanged wary glances before one of them, a tall man with a sharp expression, approached her.
"We can't do business with you," he said, his voice cold and stern. "You need to leave."
Before she could respond, the other assistant—a shorter woman with tightly pulled back hair—strode up behind her, hands on her shoulders. "Out," she ordered, her grip firm and unyielding. "Now."
The woman tried to resist, but the assistants shoved her toward the door. The tall man grabbed her arm, pulling her forward with force. "This is a place of business, not a street market for whatever you're selling."
She stumbled, the bag she carried clinking as it shifted in her hands. She felt the press of their hands against her back, urging her toward the exit.
"Leave before we call the guards," the short assistant sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "You don't belong here."
Without another word, the taller assistant gave one final, forceful push, sending her stumbling out onto the street. The door slammed shut behind her with a finality that echoed in the air.
As she recovered her footing, a crowd quickly began to gather around her. Whispers turned into accusations, growing louder and more hostile by the second.
"Did you see what she was carrying?" one person whispered, eyeing the bag she still clutched tightly to her chest. "It's probably stolen. Look at her, she doesn't belong here."
"She must've come from the royal family," another voice hissed. "No one else could afford such jewels."
Accusations began to fly, sharp and venomous.
"Thief!" one man shouted, pointing at her. "You're just trying to get away with stolen goods, aren't you?"
"Don't try to play innocent," another sneered. "Your disguise won't fool us."
Before she could respond, someone lunged forward, ripping the cloth from her face. The crowd gasped, stunned by the woman's startled expression.
"What—" she began, wide-eyed, but was quickly drowned out by the growing shouts.
"Look at her!" someone yelled. "She's one of them! A royal!"
"She doesn't even try to hide it," another voice mocked. "She's not even wearing proper clothes. She's a beggar pretending to be royalty!"
The crowd grew more aggressive, shoving her around, pushing and prodding as they jeered.
"Who do you think you are? You think you're better than us?" one woman spat.
"Get out of here, you filthy thief!" a man shouted, shoving her harder.
The woman's hands trembled, but she stood her ground, trying to keep her composure despite the increasing hostility. Her eyes darted nervously, searching for any way out.
Her startled expression was unmistakable, and the crowd grew more aggressive, shoving and jeering.
King Magdon, sensing trouble, grabbed a folder beside him and flipped through its contents. His heart stopped when he found a photograph of the woman—it was her.
He stepped out of the car, intent on rescuing her. But before he could reach her, a powerful shockwave knocked him and everyone around to the ground.
Dazed, he looked up to see the woman standing, her fingers pressed to her temple. Her power was immense—she had emitted a wave strong enough to incapacitate everyone within a five-kilometer radius.
The strain, however, overwhelmed her, and she collapsed.
His bodyguard arrived just in time, helping him back into the car. Following the king's orders, they carried the unconscious woman back to the palace.
At the palace, King Magdon had her placed in a room beside his own. He summoned a doctor to tend to her injuries, but when Queen Lustia awoke, she found herself handcuffed to the bed.
"You're safe here," he told her.
She didn't respond, her sharp gaze fixed on him.
The king's eyes lingered on her, captivated by her beauty and strength. The folder in his possession had been clear: she was to be executed on sight. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.
During her stay, his fascination only grew. He couldn't stop thinking about her.
One night, a loud thud from her room startled him. King Magdon rushed to her chamber, his heart pounding in his chest. He pushed open the door to find Queen Lustia on the floor, her body twisted in agony, her wrists still bound by the cuffs.
Her eyes, wide with panic, flicked up at him. She was trembling, beads of sweat dripping from her forehead, and her breath came in desperate gasps. The king had never seen her in such distress.
"What's happening?" he asked, his voice laced with concern and confusion.
She struggled to speak, her voice hoarse and barely audible. "Blood... I need... blood..."
Her gaze locked onto him with an intensity that sent a cold shiver down his spine. She could barely control the hunger that raged within her, and her fangs—sharpened and gleaming—betrayed the truth of her condition.
King Magdon's heart skipped a beat as realization dawned on him. She wasn't just a woman with a strange power. She was a vampire.
"Blood?" he repeated, his voice faltering. "You... You're—"
She cut him off with a pleading look. "I can't control it. It's taking over. Please... I don't want to hurt anyone. I need blood... now."
Fear gripped him, but seeing her in such pain, the king knew he couldn't just stand there. Hesitantly, he knelt beside her, trying to steady her frantic movements. "I—I don't know what to do," he said, panic creeping into his tone.
Her eyes were wild with need. "You don't have to do anything. Just give me... your blood. Please... before I lose control."
King Magdon hesitated, his mind racing. But seeing the torment in her eyes, he acted on instinct. He pulled up his sleeves and extended his wrist toward her, his voice shaky. "Like this?"
"Yes," she whispered desperately, her fangs already gleaming in the dim light.
Without waiting for a second thought, she latched onto his wrist, her fangs sinking deep. The king gasped in shock and pain, but he couldn't pull away. His blood flowed into her as she drank, and he could feel his strength fading with each passing second. His head grew light, and his vision blurred as she drank deeply from him.
When he felt himself weakening, his strength almost entirely gone, the king summoned the will to pull his wrist away. "Enough," he managed to say, his voice barely a whisper.
Queen Lustia's eyes flickered with a mix of relief and guilt as she reluctantly released him. Her body sank back against the floor, her breathing slowly returning to normal.
This ritual continued nightly. Each time, he grew more accustomed to her presence, and she began to soften toward him.
Eventually, the king removed her restraints, allowing her to explore the palace under his watchful eye. He was cautious, but his fear gradually gave way to affection.
One evening, as they sat together in the garden, he spoke the words that had been building in his heart. "Marry me," he said simply.
To his surprise, she smiled—a rare and genuine smile—and nodded.
The king snapped back to the present, looking into his wife's unwavering gaze.
"You're right," he admitted, taking her hand gently. "Xavier deserves to follow his own path, just like I chose mine."
The queen's lips curved into a small smile, her anger melting away.
Together, they resumed their walk toward Prince Xavier's palace, the tension between them dissipating like a passing storm.