BAM!
The door exploded inward.
A man stood in the shattered frame, draped in a purple regal robe trimmed with gold. A crown sat heavy on his head. King Octavia II. His cold eyes swept the room and locked on the small child shivering in the corner, surrounded by guards with swords already drawn.
"Where is it, Hazel?" the king demanded.
"Father?" The little girl's voice trembled with confusion.
The king's face twisted. "Don't call me that. The orb. Where did your mother hide it?"
The guards drew their blades in perfect unison.
Terrified, the child shook her head. Her mother had only told her one thing before she vanished: Survive at all costs. She had clung to her, sobbing, begging her not to leave. And now her own father was looking at her like she was nothing.
Seeing her confusion, the king snarled and ordered the room torn apart. His gaze burned into her like a brand.
"You." He pointed at one guard. "Take her away. Add her to tomorrow's death games."
The temperature in the room plummeted. The guards exchanged uneasy glances. The girl, too young to understand, simply let the guard drag her out.
The memory slammed into Hazel like a blade between the ribs.
She was no longer that helpless child. But the betrayal felt exactly the same.
The arena air was freezing. No one dared cheer. This was madness — a child of blue blood thrown in with the condemned. The king watched coldly from the royal box above, his queen smiling sweetly beside him.
The three wolves, already fat from devouring the other participants, stalked slowly toward their tiny prey. The girl crouched low, heartbroken. Her mother was gone. Her father had changed. Now she was going to die too.
Perhaps I deserve this. The mockery, the names — they had haunted her for so long. Half-blood. She still didn't understand what it meant.
The wolves lunged.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Survive. Never give up, Hazel. Her mother's voice echoed in her head.
Her heart rate surged. Blood stirred hot in her veins. Fire flickered behind her eyelids.
A ring of golden flames erupted from her small body, cleaving straight through the wolves. The beasts howled as fire seared their fur and the metallic stench of burning blood flooded the arena.
Disbelief painted every face.
The king's eyes gleamed — shocked, yet something darker flickered there. The queen instantly ordered the sleeping darts fired. The king surprisingly refused.
"So this is it, eh, Evangeline?" he chuckled low. "Well played indeed."
* * *
The memory, long suppressed, still haunted her. Especially now, when the betrayal was crystal clear.
The demon before her oozed raw power — nothing like the weaklings she had faced in the forest. This one was ancient.
Dangerous.
Signal the men. Cause chaos. Forget the casualties. Survive.
The demon flashed forward. His blood-red blade kissed her throat.
Hazel twisted with perfect footwork. The sword missed her by a hair's breadth and carved a deep gouge into the stone wall behind her.
"Hazel, is it?" The demon didn't even bother chasing. "Something interests me. Why let yourself be used like this?"
He stepped closer, black eyes calm. Too calm.
"Half-bloods like you are pathetic. A waste of our glorious blood. Yet here you are, acting like a loyal little human dog."
Hazel's lips curled. Flames licked across her twin daggers.
"Like hell I care what you think." Her eyes burned molten gold. "Half-blood this, half-blood that. You demons are the real joke. You despise humans but you need them. All that talk is bullshit. In the end, the strongest walks away alive."
The demon's smile widened. "Well said. But what makes you think you can survive? It's clear you're still so weak."
He attacked again.
The impact hurled her straight through the wall. Stone and wood exploded outward. Hazel groaned, rolling to her feet, ribs screaming.
The two guards who had been outside were gone.
"Oh, them?" The demon laughed. "They're busy disposing of those pesky pests you brought with you."
Rage ignited.
Flames roared across her blades. Her eyes blazed. She vanished in a streak of fire, unleashing a storm of slashes that left after-images in the air.
The demon blocked every strike effortlessly, that unnerving smile never fading.
"It's too late, Princess."
He laughed as he parried her final blow, clearly enjoying the growing despair on her face.
Hazel staggered back, breath ragged. This demon was on another level. She had to injure him — had to buy time to save Simon and the others.
She closed her eyes.
Flames condensed into a small, pale-blue orb between her palms. The heat warped the air. Her arms trembled from the strain.
Boom!
The explosion ripped through the upper floor like a miniature sun. A mushroom of golden fire erupted. Downstairs, nobles screamed and scattered in panic.
Dorian and Simon whipped their heads toward the blast.
Up in the ruined room, the demon laughed hysterically. He wiped blood from his mouth, burnt flesh already knitting back together — slowly, but healing.
"Impressive. Your flames really are potent against our kind."
Hazel's eyes burned with pure hatred. She had to take them both down. No other choice.
Her body screamed from the backlash of her own attack. Every breath hurt. Yet the demon stood there, almost untouched.
"Well done, Princess."
That voice.
Her blood turned to ice.
She hadn't been hallucinating on the dance floor. He was here.
"Let me offer you a deal," the velvet tone slid into her mind, dark, sultry, and far too familiar. "Tell me… what is it you truly desire?"