CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
"Go and change into your military uniforms. We're heading to the Main Castle."
Damiel's command was brief.
"Yes, Commander."
Kael, Roan, and Zaiel answered in unison.
War meetings were not occasions for ordinary clothing. Every soldier was expected to appear in uniform, and Damiel was no exception.
Especially Damiel.
He was not merely a prince.
He was Avalon's Supreme Commander.
And when war was involved, even royal blood did not excuse a failure to follow military protocol.
Damiel turned toward his chambers.
"Reyna, dear."
High Stewardess Inez gestured for the young woman to approach. Reyna, who had been helping the others unload their belongings, immediately walked over to her.
"You must be terribly exhausted. You look pale," Inez observed, studying her face with concern.
"I'm fine, High Stewardess," Reyna replied quickly.
Inez studied her for another moment.
She wondered what kind of life Reyna had lived before coming to the palace. Was this constant insistence that she was fine simply a habit of what she had endured for years, or pure survival instinct in a foreign realm.
"Very well. First, I want you to help Prince Damiel change into his military uniform. Afterward, you can eat something and rest. There's nothing else you need to do today."
Inez glanced toward the castle main door, I've already prepared his uniform. He usually cleans himself with a towel and fresh water rather than taking a bath when he's pressed for time. That way, he won't be late for his meeting. I had everything arranged as soon as I received word of his return."
Reyna listened carefully, taking mental note of every instruction.
"Yes, High Stewardess."
She turned and headed toward Damiel's chambers.
She had barely stepped into the corridor when she noticed a familiar figure walking in the opposite direction.
Vaelith.
The demon maid's face was partially covered with a white cloth, but it did little to conceal the burns Damiel had inflicted upon her.
Her eyes found Reyna.
And stopped.
There was no greeting.
No pretense of courtesy.
Only a cold, venomous glare.
Reyna's steps faltered.
She remembered that face.
And that face remembered her.
The cruelty.
The humiliation.
The pain.
And the punishment that had followed.
Vaelith's expression twisted beneath the bandages.
Reyna quickly lowered her gaze and continued walking.
She wanted no trouble, especially not now.
But one thing was clear.
Vaelith had not forgiven her.
And judging by that look, she never would.
The door to Prince Damiel's chambers was slightly ajar.
Reyna knocked gently, but the door shifted beneath her touch, creaking as it opened a little farther.
"Come in."
Damiel's voice was cold yet calm.
Reyna pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it properly behind her.
She walked farther into the room, stopping near its centre.
Her eyes found Damiel at the far end.
His face and upper body were still damp from the water he had used to clean himself. The water in the basin rippled faintly as he lifted the towel from his neck and dropped it back into the bowl.
He was shirtless, his travelling clothes already discarded.
After drying his neck, he stepped away from the basin and approached the bed, where his uniform had been arranged with meticulous care.
His gaze travelled over the neatly folded garments.
Inez still takes good care of my things. He thought feeling nostalgic.
"Are you planning to stand there all day?" he asked without looking at Reyna.
"No, Your Highness."
She hurried forward and began examining the uniform, trying to determine which pieces she should hand him first.
She had never seen anything quite like it.
The fabric was black, almost swallowing the light around it. Fine silver embroidery traced its edges, forming intricate patterns that resembled ancient symbols. The fitted military coat featured silver fastenings across the chest, while a dark belt rested beside it, its buckle bearing the insignia of Avalon's Supreme Commander.
A long black cloak, lined with silver thread, completed the ensemble.
It was elegant, but there was nothing delicate about it.
Every detail spoke of authority, discipline, and war.
This was not the uniform of an ordinary soldier.
It belonged to a man who commanded armies and expected them to obey.
Reyna carefully lifted the first garment.
"Your Highness."
Damiel turned toward her
She helped him into his uniform, fastening the clasps with careful fingers. Once he had settled the coat over his shoulders, she straightened the fabric and adjusted its silver-trimmed edges.
Next came the belt, which she secured around his waist.
Finally, she arranged the long cloak, ensuring it fell properly behind him.
When she finished, she stepped back.
Damiel glanced down at his uniform before turning toward the mirror.
Everything was in place.
He adjusted one of the fastenings himself, then looked at Reyna through the reflection.
"You're exhausted."
She blinked.
"I'm all right, Your Highness."
His eyes narrowed.
"Did I ask for your opinion?"
"No, Your Highness."
"Then stop giving it."
Reyna immediately fell silent.
"You will return to your quarters and rest."
She hesitated.
"But—"
Damiel turned his head slightly to face her.
The word died on her lips.
"If I return and find you wandering around the castle instead of resting, I will personally ensure you regret it."
His voice remained calm.
Somehow, that made the threat worse.
He knew she would ignore her own exhaustion if she believed someone needed her help, or not.
And he had no intention of allowing it.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Good."
He walked toward the door.
Reyna instinctively picked up the basin and the towel he had used earlier and followed him.
Damiel stopped.
Slowly, he turned to look at her.
"Don't make me punish you."
She froze.
Then, realizing what she was doing, she lowered her head and nodded.
"Yes, Your Highness."
Satisfied, Damiel continued walking.
They left the chambers together.
At the staircase, Reyna turned toward the servants' quarters still holding the bowl and towel, while Damiel proceeded toward the courtyard, as he briefly looked towards her direction before walking off.
For once, she decided it was wiser not to test his patience.
Kael, Roan, and Zaiel were waiting outside.
Their uniforms were unmistakably those of Avalon's elite forces: black and crimson armour edged in gold, heavy cloaks, and weapons secured within easy reach.
Their armour was made for war, not ceremony.
Kael stood perfectly still, the scar cutting across his face making his already severe appearance even more intimidating. His expression remained as cold as ever.
Roan looked considerably more relaxed, but the sword at his side and the alertness in his eyes betrayed the experienced soldier beneath his easygoing demeanour.
Zaiel stood beside them in the same military colours.
Having joined their ranks more recently, his uniform differed slightly from theirs. Nevertheless, he wore it with pride.
After all, he was one of Prince Damiel's close men.
A carriage waited nearby.
Four massive demon beasts stood harnessed to it, their dark hides marked with faintly glowing patterns. Smoke curled from their nostrils as they pawed impatiently at the ground.
Damiel approached.
The beasts immediately lowered their heads, as if paying respect.
He entered the carriage first.
Kael followed, then Roan and Zaiel.
The door closed behind them.
"Move."
The demon coachman snapped the reins.
The beasts surged forward, dragging the carriage toward the Main Castle.
No one spoke.
There was too much at stake.