A sumptuous, red velvet carpet cushioned the floor of the royal bedchamber, while a lavish four-poster bed, draped in opulent white and red sheets, formed a regal canopy. Atop the bedside chest, the King's golden crown sat next to his scepter, casually discarded on the couch. The once pristine room was now in disarray, with clothes and accessories strewn across the floor, as if a tornado had swept through.
Kneeling before the wardrobe, King Apollo Antiochus frantically stuffed clothes, jewels, and other belongings into a leather satchel, his hands trembling with fear.
Behind him, Arabella stood motionless, her arms folded and her expression as grim as a winter's night. The air in the chamber was thick with tension, like a brewing storm waiting to be unleashed.
"I can't believe you're so quick to abandon your kingdom and crown," Arabella's words lashed like a whip. "What happened to your royal resolve?"
Unfazed, Apollo continued to stuff his satchel with his most valued possessions. "Survival takes precedence over power and prestige," he retorted coolly. "And when that girl discovers our treachery, she'll use the demons around her to exact her revenge."
"How can you be certain she'll discover our deception?" Arabella persisted, her voice rising in indignation.
"My intuition knows no rival," Antiochus answered, standing tall and defiant. "She will return soon, and we must flee before they arrive."
"I am Queen of Delphi, I will not spend the rest of my days in hiding!" Arabella snarled, her voice trembling with fury. Her hands clenched and unclenched, nails digging into her palms.
Antiochus's eyes blazed with a cold fire. "Then remain here and rule over the demons," he spat back.
"You utter fool!" Arabella sneered, her voice shaking with rage as she seized Antiochus by the collar. "All I need to do is plead innocence, and you will bear the brunt of her wrath! I'm not running with you," she cackled. "You had one job, to deal with her father, but you couldn't resist ordering the massacre of the entire family! I'll tell her the truth—that you paid assassins to butcher…"
Antiochus's hand shot out, a flash of lightning in the darkness. The force of his backhand sent Arabella sprawling to the floor, her cheek burning from the impact. Antiochus loomed over her, his face contorted with rage.
"I did it for our son!" he roared. "And I would do it again, a thousand times over. I regret nothing!"
With that, he stormed out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him with a resounding bang.
Antiochus stalked through the castle's hushed corridors, his rapid footfalls a symphony of dread and desperation. Freedom, escape—those were the only thoughts consuming his mind, pushing him further away from the Kingdom of Delphi and the imminent threat of Chara's revenge. Arabella was nothing but a distant afterthought.
As he hurried through the castle, the memory of his son's death replayed in his mind like a broken record, each note piercing and relentless.
He recalled leaving Estaben outside that fateful day, the healer's solemn gaze lingering in his memory. "Wait here," Antiochus had said, turning on his heel to meet with the three castle servants who had retrieved Estaben from his infirmary. The jingle of coins changed hands as Antiochus paid the servants, their eyes gleaming with greed and complicity. While Estaben waited outside, unaware of the unfolding tragedy, Antiochus was sealing the fate of the healer's family with each word he uttered.
Antiochus's thoughts were shattered by a sudden presence materializing from the darkness of the hallway. He faltered mid-step, his mind racing to identify the shadowy figure.
The specter stood its ground, a hand resting on its hip, the other lifting its chin in an inquisitive gesture. "What do we have here, Your Highness?" it drawled, its voice dripping with amusement.
The figure stepped into the light, and Antiochus felt a shudder of recognition: Magnus.
Meanwhile, Arabella staggered to her feet, tears pricking at her eyes from the sting of Antiochus's slap. The pain was still raw, a silent reminder of his brutality.
Slamming the chamber door behind her, Arabella rushed down the hallway in pursuit of her husband, her heels clicking against the marble floor. Suddenly, she stopped short in her tracks, her eyes widening as she heard voices echoing from around the corner.
Cautiously, she crept forward, pressing her back against the wall.
Her breath held, Arabella peered around the corner and her heart skipped a beat. Antiochus was there, standing face-to-face with none other than Magnus, the demon. She watched, mesmerized, as the demon tilted his head and regarded Antiochus with a bemused expression.
"Where might you be off to in such a hurry?" Magnus pressed, his voice as smooth as a purring cat. But Antiochus remained stubbornly silent, determined to push past the demon.
With a flick of his hand, Magnus blocked Antiochus's path, his face contorting into a coy grin. "Let me see what you're carrying," he demanded, his words laced with curiosity.
Antiochus's fists clenched at his sides.
"This is none of your concern," he growled, his voice strained as he attempted to mask his nerves. "Now, if you would kindly step aside…"
"When someone says something is none of your business, that's usually when it's the most interesting," Magnus observed, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "Now, let me have a peek…"
Antiochus's patience snapped. With a swift movement, he flung the satchel behind him and his hand shot to the sheathed sword at his side. In one fluid motion, he drew the blade, leveling the tip of the weapon at Magnus's chest.
"Don't test my patience, demon," he hissed. "Step aside. Now."
Magnus's amusement melted into a mocking sneer.
"Oh-ho," he chuckled darkly, unfazed by the blade at his chest. "A sword? How…quaint. You're like a mouse threatening a lion with a toothpick."
Antiochus's knuckles tightened as he clutched the sword hilt, a savage snarl rippling through his clenched teeth. With a savage roar, he lunged forward, intent on skewering the demon with his steel blade.
But Magnus moved like lightning, his hand blurring as he intercepted Antiochus's attack. With a casual flick of his wrist, the demon's grip locked around the blade, halting its deadly advance.
Antiochus stared in disbelief as Magnus's fingers tightened around the sword, halting its momentum with ease. The demon's eyes gleamed with amusement, the corners of his mouth twisting into a sadistic grin.
"Tsk, tsk," Magnus scoffed, his lips curled in a smirk. "You must have rocks in your skull if you thought a simple sword could harm one such as me."
Arabella's eyes widened in shock as she watched the terrifying display. From her hiding place, she could scarcely believe the sheer power radiating from the demon.
Her heart hammering in her chest, Arabella sucked in a sharp breath, her hand instinctively flying to her mouth. Her knees threatened to buckle, overcome with disbelief. She was witnessing the true might of a demon, and it was more terrifying than she could have ever imagined.
"Kindly put away your weapon," Magnus urged, his voice dripping with feigned civility. But Antiochus's grip only tightened on the sword, his muscles straining as he refused to yield.
"You know I'm stronger than Marina," he said, a mocking sneer curling his lips. But at that moment, a sound pierced the silence—the unmistakable echo of footsteps, coming from the hallway just beyond the door that stood before them.
The tension in the air seemed to intensify as the footsteps drew closer, their cadence an ominous drumbeat in the dimly lit hallway.
"Stronger than who?" The voice, feminine and brimming with malice, rang out from the shadows beyond the door, its words laced with derision.
Antiochus froze, his gaze riveted on the door as it slowly swung open, the creak of its hinges seeming to echo the sinister cackle of the voice that emanated from the darkness beyond.