Everyone stood in respect, offering him a bow as he stepped into the room, young and old. He gave them a dismissive wave as he settled into his seat at the edge of the long table.
Once he had settled in, the rest of the hall slowly followed suit. Chairs scraped softly across the polished floor as the nobles returned to their seats, though the earlier noise never quite returned. Conversations that had been loud moments ago dropped to cautious murmurs.
Azazel leaned back slightly, resting one arm against the carved armrest of his chair. His gaze drifted across the hall without hurry, studying the sea of faces gathered before him. Lords in embroidered coats, ladies draped in silk and jewels, foreign envoys whispering behind raised goblets—every one of them pretending not to stare at him.
At the far end of the table, the Queen Mother sat poised in her seat, her back straight as a drawn blade. The faintest smile rested on her lips as she chatted with the Lady of Lourdes, though her eyes held none of the warmth the expression suggested.
Servants moved carefully through the hall, refilling goblets and setting fresh platters of food before the guests. The smell of roasted meat, spiced wine, and sweet pastries slowly filled the room.
Azazel reached for the goblet placed beside his plate, turning it slowly between his fingers before raising it to his lips. He never tasted it.
"Your Majesty," a voice spoke from somewhere to his right.
Azazel didn't look up immediately. He let the man wait a moment longer than necessary before finally turning his head.
A nobleman sat a few seats away, his smile polite but strained.
"It is an honor to share the table with you tonight."
Azazel regarded him quietly, his expression unreadable.
Then he gave a small hum.
"Is it?"
The nobleman's smile faltered.
Around them, the table grew noticeably quieter. Even the clinking of utensils seemed to pause, as though the entire hall were holding its breath.
Azazel set his goblet down with a soft sound.
"So tell me," he said calmly, his burgundy eyes resting on the man, "which one of you has been stealing from me?"
The words settled over the table like a stone dropped into still water.
For a moment, no one moved.
Several nobles exchanged uneasy glances. A goblet paused halfway to someone's lips. Farther down the table, a woman quietly set her fork back onto her plate as if afraid even the smallest sound might draw attention.
The nobleman Azazel had addressed blinked rapidly.
"Y–Your Majesty?"
Azazel tilted his head slightly, studying him as though considering something mildly interesting.
"You heard me."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried easily through the hall. He knew of the Queen Mother's little adventures, but he had turned a blind eye to them. Still, since he would have to spend a few hours with these people, he might as well make the best of it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a servant walking behind the chairs freeze mid-step before slowly retreating toward the wall.
"I have been reviewing the royal accounts," Azazel continued, lazily turning the stem of his goblet between his fingers. "And it appears gold has been disappearing from my treasury."
No one spoke.
The torches along the stone walls crackled softly, their flames dancing against polished silver plates and jeweled rings.
Azazel lifted his gaze, letting it drift slowly along the table. One by one, the nobles lowered their eyes.
"Curious," he murmured.
At the far end, the Queen Mother watched him over the rim of her cup. Her expression remained composed, though the faint smile from earlier had faded.
Azazel leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table.
"I dislike thieves," he said, almost thoughtfully.
A bead of sweat rolled down the temple of the man sitting closest to him.
"And I dislike liars even more."
The room had grown so quiet that the distant music from the palace corridors could faintly be heard drifting through the doors.
Azazel's gaze stopped on one particular lord halfway down the table.
The man had not touched his wine.
Nor had he lifted his head.
Azazel's lips curved just slightly.
"Well," he said softly, "this should be interesting."
"What an accusation! Do you not trust your subjects,my King?" the Queen Mother exclaimed after she had managed to collect herself.
Azazel chuckled softly. But before he could respond, the doors of the banquet hall swung open again.
The head servant entered and offered the nobles a bow.
"The King has prepared a special surprise for you, ladies and gentlemen. If you would please follow me."
The men and women at the table rose almost immediately, as though eager to escape the hall.
Azazel was the last to stand. He strolled lazily behind them, his hands tucked into his pockets. Several torches lit the path as they went.
The servant led them out to the palace's great maze.
"The King has prepared a special game. Inside the maze are slaves freshly obtained from the market. Untouched and undefiled. Find them, and they are yours to play with."
The audience's eyes glimmered with excitement. Demons did love live prey.
Azazel's gaze met the Queen Mother's across the gathering. A sinister smile curled on her lips. He knew it was her doing.
Unbothered, he returned the smile, playing along.
"Outfit has been prepared for you. Let me lead you to the dressing room" The servant said.
Soon, the happy chatter returned as they followed the servant.
Azazel didn't follow them this time. While the others drifted toward the palace, he moved the opposite way, his hands tucked lazily into his pockets. Without a word, he stepped through the entrance of the maze.
The hedges closed behind him, swallowing his figure almost at once.
Once they were inside the palace grounds, the guard led them into a large maze. Up close, it looked even larger than it had from a distance. The hedges rose high above their heads, thick and tangled, the paths between them narrow and winding.
They were forced inside.
The guards walked ahead while the chained slaves stumbled after them, turning corner after corner until the entrance was long out of sight. The deeper they went, the quieter it became. Even the palace noise faded until all that remained was the scrape of feet on gravel and the faint rattle of iron links.
Finally, the guards stopped.
They had reached the center of the maze—a small clearing surrounded on all sides by towering hedges. Several narrow paths stretched out from it in different directions like crooked fingers.
One of the guards turned and unlocked the chain that had been fastened to his belt.
The sudden slack made a few of the slaves stumble.
For a moment, no one moved.
The guard didn't explain anything. He didn't even look at them again. He simply turned and walked back the way they had come.
The sound of his boots grew fainter with every step until it disappeared completely around one of the bends.
They were alone.
Elysia slowly turned her head, scanning the tall walls of green around them.
Francesca looked just as lost.
The two girls stared at each other.
"What… what are we supposed to do now? It's kind of hard to believe that they just left us here, right?"
Francesca asked quietly.
Elysia shook her head. Her throat felt tight, like something was pressing down on it.
"Something isn't right, we should leave this place"
Another slave, a tall slender girl with tangled dark hair—took a cautious step toward one of the paths.
We should leave this place," she said quietly. "Standing here won't help us."
A few others nodded.
Slowly, uncertainly, the group began to disperse choosing directions. Some moved alone, while the children went together, disappearing into the narrow passages between the towering green walls.
Within moments, the clearing became almost empty.
Francesca looked at Elysia.
"What do we do?"
Elysia glanced down each of the twisting paths. They all looked the same—long, narrow corridors of hedge that curved out of sight.
Her stomach twisted.
"You are not planning on splitting up, right?," she said.
Francesca shook her head quickly.
"Of course not."
"Oh thank God."
The two of them stepped toward the path to their left and began walking.
The gravel crunched softly beneath their feet. Their chains had been removed, but their wrists still ached from where the iron had rubbed the skin raw.
They walked in silence for a while.
The deeper they went, the stranger the maze felt.
Every turn looked identical to the last. The hedges loomed high on either side, thick enough that nothing could be seen through them. Even the air felt different here—cooler, heavier.
Elysia glanced over her shoulder.
"Do you hear that?"
Francesca stopped.
At first, there was nothing.
Then—
Somewhere far away in the maze, a scream echoed.
It was brief.
Sharp.
And then it cut off.
Elysia looked back only to realise she was alone.
"Francesca?" She called
No response.
Her chest tightened.
Another sound followed. Not a scream this time.
Laughter.
Low.
Amused.
It drifted faintly through the maze, carried by the twisting paths.