In a lavish room adorned with the finest luxuries, a man of middle age sat in the centre, engrossed in paperwork.
His clothing—a suit of impeccably made perfection—delineated him as someone of importance, but his stern face did not reflect the reality that he was one of the most powerful individuals on the continent.
Duke Renard Draquemort.
He was at that time going through a reviewing of a report—one riddled with data on a specific boy. The same boy who had beaten his son to the point of near-death.
Abruptly, the doors of his study swung open. A man in a black uniform walked in without warning. He moved silently, carrying an air of unshakeable discipline. This was the Duke's shadow—the head butler of House Draquemort.
Sebastine.
"I greet the Lord," Sebastine said, bowing his head as a gesture of respect.
Renard did not look up. "How did it go?" he asked in his characteristic cold, measured voice.
"The meeting with young master Daemon went much more smoothly than anticipated, my lord."
Renard's keen eyes darted up from the papers. "I know you have a soft spot for him , but don't make excuses for what he's done, Sebas."
Sebastine showed no reaction. "I think you have misunderstood, my lord. What I said is the absolute truth. Young master Daemon has accepted your descision."
Renard looked at him for a long time. He understood his son very well—impulsive, obstinate, and sometimes even harsh. It was hard to believe he had accepted something without protest. But Renard was also familiar with Sebastine's personality. Regardless of the circumstances, his shadow would never deceive him.
"Good." A simple, final response.
Sebastine hesitated briefly before speaking again. "However, my lord. the young master has asked me to convey a request."
Renard's expression darkened, though he was unsurprised. He had expected this. Daemon was not one to let matters go so easily.
"What is it, Sebas?"
"He wishes to have the necklace that my lady gifted him on his first birthday."
For the first time, a glimmer of humor crossed Renard's features.
That necklace, of all things?
Daemon had long abandoned any hold on sentimentality towards his family, and yet here he was asking for his mother's keepsake.
"And did he tell you why?" Renard inquired.
"I am afraid not, my lord."
There was a pause between them. Renard slumped back in his chair, his mind a thousand miles away. Sebastine, always patient, stood still, waiting for his master to speak.
At last, Renard breathed out. "I will allow it. Give him the necklace."
Sebastine bowed his head a little, accepting the command.
"But," Renard went on, his eyes narrowing, "break the other news to him first before sending it out to the press."
A fleeting look of puzzlement passed Sebastine's face. "My lord, would that not be cruel? In young master's eyes, it would look as though you were purposefully tormenting him."
"You don't understand, Sebas," Renard told him, his tone one of unmistakable finality. "If he were to hear it from the press, the harm would be infinitely greater than I am causing here and now."
Sebastine bowed his head. "I apologise for questioning you, master."
"Have the necklace and the draft of the announcement sent to him," Renard commanded. And then, pausing a moment before continuing, "And then—make it public."
Sebastine bowed. "I understand, my lord."
And so the discussion came to a close, and Sebastine went off to fulfill his instructions.
Renard sat on, his fingers tapping against the desk,lost in his thoughts of his son ...
What changed ...daemon?
The news had been delivered.
Daemon, recovered somewhat, was finally released from the hospital. His destination? His new home.
Or rather, the palace that had been bestowed upon him by his father—a palace he was now free to retain. It was his.
Because the Draquemort estate, the house he was born and raised in, no longer had a place for him.
The palace lay outside the capital, distant from the stern north that his father governed. It had been a present—initially intended as a token of his engagement to Princess Merlin. Today, it was merely a domain for him to live in, a consolation gift for having been banished.
Daemon sat relaxed in his private jet, looking out over the rolling landscape below. The more he traveled south, the freer he felt, as if leaving behind an invisible weight that had chained him for so long.
He broke out into a wide smile, exuberance coursing through his body. He tossed back his head, extending his arms.
"This is fucking life… Hell yeah!"
Mark—now Daemon—hadn't even dared dream of such luxury in his previous life.
The flight had been brief, and soon enough, he landed.
As he emerged and took in the palace, he couldn't help but breathe softly, "It's… fucking beautiful."
The building was magnificent but understated, constructed of pale stone that glowed in the sunlight. Towering spires rose against the sky, their peaks topped with softly glowing runes. In contrast to the cold, foreboding halls of his father's manor, this was a place of soft isolation.
As he strode through the doors, his eyes raked across the gleaming floors, the vaulted ceiling, and the dancing crystal chandeliers with their soft-glowing crystals casting shadows of light across the room. Fresh parchment and the hint of flowers scented the air.
Daemon let out a breath.
This was home now.
And if he played carefully, it might be something greater than that.
Daemon went into his room, spending a few moments adjusting. The quiet was soothing—until a gentle knock sounded at the door.
"Young Master, may I enter?"
"Enter," Daemon said, his tone firm.
The door creaked open, and a young maid with brown hair neatly tied back and a calm face stood there. She bowed minimally before she spoke.
"Hi, Young Master. My name is Lizzy. I have been tasked as your personal maid."
"Hi, Lizzy."
His eyes fluttered over her. "Where are the others?"
Lizzy fidgeted, lowering her head. "I'm sorry, Young Master, but… I am alone. I am the only servant the Young Master was assigned."
A soft sigh issued from his mouth.
"I thought as much. Frankly, to be given as much as this is more than I hoped from my father."
Daemon rocked back in his chair. "Well, Lizzy, tell me—can you manage palace work by yourself, or will we have to employ more people?"
"You don't need to worry about it, Master. I can certainly do everything myself," she answered firmly.
"Is that so? Good, then."
"Is there anything I can do for you right now, Master?"
"No. I'll call for you if I need anything."
"As you say. I'll leave, then." Lizzy curtsied before making her way out, only to come to a stop abruptly.
"Master." She looked over her shoulder. "I had forgotten."
She walked back into the room and put a daintily wrapped package on the table next to him.
"This just came for you."
Then she curtsied again and left him, alone once more.
He sat for a time looking at the package before smiling to himself.
"That was quick."
Shaking off his mind, he walked towards the package, sitting on the edge of the bed as he unwrapped it slowly. Within was a black box.
Daemon's eyes widened as he picked up the necklace from the black box. It was not just an ornament—it was a mystery wrapped in heritage.
"This necklace… it's origins unknown," he whispered. "It was given to my mother by my father, and then my mother gave it to me on my first birthday.
For generations, this family necklace has circulated through our clan, its secrets unknown. No one really knew what it was or how it was made—except me."
He clasped it gingerly, the heaviness of its meaning weighing down on him. "I know precisely how precious this necklace is. and what's inside. This is my starting point for acquiring power and securing survival in this world."
Daemon's voice dipped to a devout whisper as he disclosed the secret that only he knew.
"It contains the life essence of the.....
" demon king Asmodeus."