Here she was again.
The woman from his dreams...or his nightmares. He wasn't sure which anymore. She came every night to haunt him.
Azazel sat up in bed and watched her stand by the window, staring at the moon. The light spilled across her frame, soft but unsettling, like she didn't fully belong in the room. She felt foreign yet familiar at the same time.
When she turned, it felt as though she'd known he was watching her the whole time . Her face was hidden behind a black veil, leaving only her bright blue eyes in sight.
She moved toward him, slow and deliberate. Her hand teasingly played with the strap of her thin silver gown. Slowly pushing them off her shoulders, the dress pooled at her feet almost immediately. He tried to shift, to speak but he couldn't instead his eyes stayed locked onto her naked body his body unresponsive as though he was in a trance. He had been here before way too many times. He knew what was coming.
She stopped at the foot of the bed. A silver tattoo rested against her thigh, shaped like a flower, its thin lines curling unnaturally around her skin. He stared at it, as he has done almost every night trying to figure out how she could have gotten it.
Her lips moved, forming words he would never hear.
Then her eyes glowing faintly, and the air seemed to leave his chest. Cold spread through him as his strength drained away, as if something unseen was pulling the life out of him. Every night, he watched himself die by her hand.
He woke with a sharp breath, sitting up.
His body was damp with sweat, his heart racing as he lay there in the dark. The room was empty, silent, but the feeling lingered.
She had been there.
And somehow, he knew she would return.
Every detail of the dream remembered like as though it has happened in real life but yet it didn't.
As if on cue, a knock shattered the quiet of the room.
"Come in."
"Forgive me, Your Majesty." The servant bowed low.
Silence stretched between them.
The woman offered a silent prayer that she would not be murdered by this short-tempered man. She regretted offering to wake the King in place of his usual servant.
"Might as well speak."
Azazel's burgundy pupils flashed with barely restrained anger.
She swallowed. "Your guests are awaiting your presence in the Great Hall…"
"I recall giving orders not to be disturbed."
"Forgive me, Your Majesty. The Queen Mother insists the banquet shall not begin without you present."
Azazel threw his head back and laughed. His father's wife was beginning to test his patience.
"Tell my beloved mother I will join the banquet when I see fit. No one gives me orders in my own chambers. Let them sit hungry, for all I care."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She bowed again and hurried from the room.
The King might have spared her—but the Queen certainly would not.
Once the door clicked shut, Azazel pushed himself out of bed and reached for the small bell resting on the table beside him. He rang it once, the clear sound echoing softly through the room to summon the servants to prepare his bath.
They arrived almost at once, as though they had been waiting just outside for his call.
Azazel sat at the edge of the bed, watching in silence as they moved about the chamber. None of them dared meet his eyes. They walked quickly and quietly, carrying basins and cloths, moving back and forth between the bedroom and the bathing chamber with careful steps.
The room filled with the faint sounds of water being poured and metal basins shifting against the floor.
When they were finished, only one of them spoke.
"Your bath is ready, my King."
Azazel rose to his feet.
"Leave."
The single word was enough. They bowed their heads and filed out of the room without another sound.
Once the door closed behind them, Azazel walked into the bathing chamber and lowered himself into the large tub, letting the warm water settle around him.
Azazel remained in the bath longer than he intended. The warm water loosened the stiffness in his shoulders, but his mind refused to settle. His fingers traced idle circles along the surface of the water while silence filled the chamber.
His thoughts drifted back to the woman in his dreams. He felt this particular dream was different though it was exactly the same as the others.
Eventually, he exhaled and pushed himself upright. Water spilled over the edge of the tub as he stepped out. A stack of fresh linens had been left neatly folded on a nearby stool.
He dried himself slowly, running the cloth over his arms and chest before wrapping the linen around his waist. The marble floor was cold beneath his feet as he walked back into the bedchamber.
His clothes had been laid out across the long table near the window.
The first layer was simple—soft black trousers and a fitted tunic. Over it came the heavier garments meant for court: a dark coat stitched with silver thread, the fabric thick and formal. The embroidery along the collar and cuffs glimmered faintly whenever the light touched it.
Azazel dressed without haste, fastening each clasp with steady hands.
For a brief second,he stared into the mirror across the room. His reflection stared back at him.
King.
The title had never felt lighter.
He turned away.
Outside the chamber, the palace corridors were already alive with movement. Servants hurried along the walls carrying trays and lanterns, their heads lowering the moment they noticed him approaching.
Azazel walked past them without giving them as much as a glance.
The sound of distant voices drifted through the hallways as he descended the grand staircase. Laughter. Music. The banquet had already begun.
Torches burned along the stone walls, their flames flickering as he passed.
The closer he drew to the banquet hall, the louder the noise became—cups clinking, nobles talking over one another, chairs scraping across the floor.
Two guards stood before the tall double doors at the end of the corridor. They straightened immediately when they saw him, pushing the doors open without needing to be told.
The sound from inside spilled into the hallway.
Azazel stepped forward.
And the moment he crossed the threshold into the banquet hall, the entire room went silent.
"His majesty, King Azazel." One of the guards announced.