Maximilian carried Liam through the towering halls of the demonic palace, each of his measured steps echoing ominously against the obsidian walls. The air was heavy with an unspoken tension, amplified by the presence of servants and guards who stopped to gape in disbelief at the sight. Their king, the epitome of ruthlessness and might, held a fragile angel in his arms—a being of light amidst their world of darkness.
Liam clung to the silence as his wide, sky-blue eyes darted nervously around the grand halls. The towering arches seemed to stretch endlessly, their surfaces adorned with intricate carvings of battles and conquests, each telling a story of the demon kings' might. Fiery sconces cast flickering shadows across the polished black marble floors, creating an ethereal dance of light and darkness.
As they reached a set of massive double doors, two guards pushed them open, revealing Liam's chamber. The room was nothing short of extraordinary, a masterpiece of demonic craftsmanship. Obsidian pillars lined the walls, their surfaces glittering with embedded rubies that glowed faintly like living embers. A massive canopy bed stood at the center, its dark wood carved with depictions of ancient demons entwined in victorious battles. The sheets shimmered in the dim light, woven from silver threads and adorned with deep crimson silks.
Liam's gaze was drawn upward to a grand chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Its twisted blackened horns cradled flickering flames that illuminated the room in a warm, otherworldly glow. The walls were lined with enchanted mirrors, their surfaces reflecting not only the room but faint glimpses of the demonic realm beyond, a haunting yet captivating touch.
The floor beneath Liam's bare feet was polished marble, its black surface streaked with veins of deep red, as though the room itself pulsed with the essence of the demon kings' power. At the far end of the chamber, a grand balcony opened up to the kingdom, offering a breathtaking view of the sprawling land shrouded in mist.
"This…" Liam's soft voice broke the silence, his breath hitching as he took in the magnificence around him. "It's… beautiful." His words were barely audible, spoken more to himself than anyone else, yet the sincerity in his tone was unmistakable.
The maids and servants stood stiffly along the walls, their postures rigid as they watched the scene unfold. Their gazes flickered with a mix of curiosity, disdain, and unease. For many of them, this was the first time they had ever seen an angel, a creature they had been taught to despise.
Some of the servants exchanged glances, their lips pressed into thin lines to hide their displeasure. To them, Liam's presence in their sacred castle was an insult, a reminder of a history steeped in betrayal and bloodshed. But their bitterness remained unspoken, stifled by the fear of incurring Maximilian's wrath.
Maximilian set Liam down gently, his strong arms releasing the angel with a calculated precision that betrayed no emotion. He straightened, his towering frame imposing as ever, and looked at Liam with an expression of detached authority.
"Stay here," he commanded coldly, his tone sharper than it needed to be. "The servants will take care of you. They'll prepare a bath."
Liam's gaze flickered to the servants, then back to Maximilian. The coldness in the king's voice made his chest tighten, but he nodded, his small hands fidgeting nervously. As Maximilian turned to leave, Liam's heart sank. The vastness of the room, the unfamiliar faces, and the weight of the unspoken judgment pressing down on him made him feel utterly alone.
Without thinking, Liam reached out, his delicate fingers clutching the hem of Maximilian's sleeve. The room fell into a stunned silence, the air growing heavy with shock.
The servants' eyes widened in disbelief. They knew all too well how much their king despised physical contact, his aversion to such acts deeply rooted in his unyielding nature. To see the angel—this fragile, unwelcome guest—daring to touch their king was nothing short of blasphemous.
A senior maid quickly stepped forward, her movements hesitant but urgent as she gently removed Liam's hand from Maximilian's sleeve. The angel's touch lingered like a ghost, leaving a faint imprint on the dark fabric.
Liam's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he realized his mistake. His hands fell to his sides, trembling slightly as he averted his gaze. The sadness in his eyes was fleeting, quickly masked by an expression of quiet composure.
Maximilian remained motionless for a moment, his sharp eyes lowering to the spot where Liam's fingers had grasped his sleeve. Something in his gaze softened—an emotion so fleeting it was almost imperceptible. But just as quickly, his expression hardened again, the cold mask slipping back into place.
Liam's heart ached, though he didn't fully understand why. He had only wanted to stop Maximilian from leaving, to ask for reassurance in a place that felt so foreign and hostile. But the silent rejection stung, and he bit his lip to keep the sadness from showing.
Maximilian turned away, his cape billowing behind him as he strode toward the door. He paused briefly, his fingers brushing the hem of his sleeve as if to erase the sensation of Liam's touch. Without another word, he stepped out of the chamber, leaving Liam alone with the servants.
The maids and attendants exchanged uneasy glances, their rigid postures softening slightly now that the king was gone. But their unease didn't fully dissipate, especially as they regarded Liam with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
"Let's prepare the bath," one of the maids muttered, breaking the tense silence. She gestured for the others to follow, their movements swift and efficient as they set about their tasks.
Liam stood in the center of the room, his gaze wandering once again to the enchanted mirrors and the glittering chandelier. Despite the opulence surrounding him, the ache in his chest lingered, a reminder of how out of place he felt in this world of demons.
As the servants worked, Liam caught snippets of their whispered conversations. Words like "spy" and "enemy" floated through the air, each one a tiny dagger to his already fragile heart. He clenched his fists, determined not to let their judgment affect him, but the weight of their hatred was hard to ignore.
One of the younger maids approached him hesitantly, her eyes darting nervously as she held out a fresh set of clothes. "Here," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "For after your bath."
"Thank you," Liam replied, his voice equally soft. He took the clothes carefully, his fingers brushing against the fine fabric. It was unlike anything he had ever worn before, the material smooth and cool against his skin.
The maids led him to the bath, a grand pool of steaming water surrounded by dark stone and lit by the soft glow of enchanted crystals. Liam hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against the blood-stained fabric of his clothes.
The maids hesitated as Liam began to unbutton his tattered, bloodstained garments, his slender fingers working delicately. The fabric slipped off his shoulders, revealing pale, unblemished skin that seemed to glow faintly in the dimly lit chamber. His body was so flawless, so smooth, that it looked almost unreal—like a marble sculpture brought to life.
His snow-white complexion was interrupted only by the faintest flush of pink on his elbows and knees, adding an innocent, almost childlike charm to his ethereal beauty. As he turned slightly, the soft curve of his back and the elegant lines of his neck became visible, framed by strands of raven-black hair that clung to his skin.
The maids, stood frozen for a moment, their tasks forgotten as they gazed at him. They had never seen anything—or anyone—like this before. His beauty was otherworldly, a stark contrast to the rugged and fierce features of the demons they were used to.
The long, dark lashes that framed his sky-blue eyes fluttered briefly as he glanced around, clearly unaware of the effect he was having. His delicate collarbones and slender arms moved gracefully, every motion unintentional yet mesmerizing.
One maid whispered under her breath, "He doesn't look real… He's like a porcelain doll."
Another clenched her fists, her expression torn between admiration and resentment. "An angel… no wonder. But why should something so perfect walk these halls?"
They couldn't decide whether to bow to his beauty or loathe him for what he represented—a being of light in their realm of darkness. Yet as they prepared to bathe him, their hands trembled slightly, caught between awe and bitterness.
As he stepped into the warm water, the tension in his body began to ease, but his mind remained restless. He thought of Maximilian's stern gaze, the weight of his cold words, and the fleeting softness he had glimpsed in the king's eyes.
For the first time since entering the castle, Liam allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. He closed his eyes, the warmth of the water enveloping him like a fragile cocoon, and whispered a silent prayer to himself.
"Please… let me belong here."