Thailra searched his face for mockery—for arrogance. She found none.
"If there truly is another," Duncan said again, his voice quieter now, "then keep him far from this war. Because once he steps into it, I cannot promise mercy."
"And if there is no other?" she challenged softly. His gaze darkened.
"Then stop pretending there is," he muttered coldly as he lowered his hand from her chin.
A shiver ran down her spine.
He folded his arms behind his back, breaking eye contact and turning his gaze away from her to survey the room instead.
Thailra swallowed hard.
She lifted her arm to her forehead, only then noticing the thin trail of sweat that had slipped down her skin.
"The only thing binding us is that you hold what belongs to me—the Silver Stone. That's the only connection I recognize," Thailra said, her voice trembling slightly, fists clenched tightly on her clothes.
"You being my Eclipse and me being your Moon does not stop either of us from loving someone else."
Duncan turned his piercing gaze on her, one dark eye locking onto hers, a slow, dangerous smirk curling his lips—sending chills down her spine.
"The Silver Stone is not a chain," he said. "It is not a trinket passed between hands. It does not bind flesh." His gaze dropped briefly to her chest—where the Stone rested—before returning to her eyes.
"It binds souls, little moon"
She suddenly stepped toward him, standing tall—suddenly fearless—as she met his gaze without hesitation.
Duncan held her stare, a flicker of admiration crossing his expression at the boldness in her eyes.
"If I lift your curse," she asked, raising her chin and arching a brow, "will I still be bound to you? Will I still be your Moon? Will I still be unable to love another?"
For a moment, Duncan did not answer.
Thailra swallowed hard, a flicker of doubt creeping into her thoughts. Had she phrased it poorly? Had her question sounded like mockery?
Was he angry?
Or worse—ashamed?
She had not meant to wound his pride. The question had not been a challenge, nor a taunt. Yet the silence stretching between them made her wonder if he had mistaken her words for ridicule.
His one dark brow lifted slightly.
"You do not even carry the energy of true power within you. You have not mastered even the first of the Six Eclipses of Souls—a fragile human standing before me, speaking of lifting my curse."
He muttered the words lowly, his gaze piercing so intensely into her that she could see her own reflection in the darkness of his eyes.
"Tell me, little Moon," he continued, his voice colder now—deeper—"how exactly do you plan to lift my curse?"
The shift in his tone made her flinch.
She instinctively stepped back, but her spine met the edge of the table behind her. Her palm braced against it at once, steadying herself before she could stumble.
In the same breath, he closed the distance between them, erasing the space she had tried to create.
The air between them tightened.
He stood so close now that she could feel the heat radiating from him—dark, restrained, dangerous.
One hand came down beside hers against the table, caging her in without quite touching her.
"How," Duncan murmured.
"It is for me to know," Thailra said steadily. "I may be weak now, but I believe I will find a way to lift your curse—and give Ashkaroth a better future."
Her voice did not tremble this time.
"I may not yet possess the spirit power required to master any of the Eclipses," she continued, her chin lifting with quiet determination, "but I believe I can learn. With or without spirit power, I will find a way to master it."
The conviction in her words settled heavily in the space between them.
Duncan stared at her in silence.
For once, there was no smirk curving his lips. No dark amusement flickering in his eyes.
Only stillness.
"You speak as though destiny bends to will alone," Duncan said at last, his voice low but no longer cutting. "Do you even understand what the Six Eclipses demand?"
"Sacrifice," she murmured, her eyes locking onto his without fear.
He found himself wondering where this sudden boldness had come from—yet he could not deny that he was enjoying it.
His hand remained braced beside hers against the table, close enough for her to sense the tension coiled within him, his restrained power humming just beneath the surface.
"You would gamble your life," he murmured, studying her as though she were something both fragile—and unbreakable at once.
"For Ashkaroth… and for you, Mr. Eclipse," she answered.
He stared at her, momentarily speechless.
A fragile human like her—so easily broken, so seemingly powerless—now speaking of lifting his curse as though it were within her reach.
How could fate have given him such a delicate, powerless human to be his Moon?
And yet, despite her fragility, she stood before him without fear.
Duncan stepped away from her, folding his arms behind his back as he turned and began walking toward the door.
Thailra exhaled deeply, only then realizing she had been holding her breath. She swallowed hard, clutching her chest as though to steady the rapid beating of her heart.
Duncan reached the door, and it swung open on its own at his approach.
Before crossing the threshold, he glanced back at her over his shoulder.
"You are my Moon, and I am your Eclipse. You cannot possibly lift my curse—you are as fragile as dry leaves. An Eclipse exists to shield its Moon," he said quietly.
The door remained open behind him, darkness pooling at his back like a living thing.
Thailra's fingers tightened against her chest.
"If you die," he said finally, "the sky will not forgive me." The confession was barely louder than a whisper.
He stepped through the doorway.
The door closed with a low, echoing thud.
Thailra swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest as countless questions raced through her mind.
She glanced around the room, wordless, her chest rising and falling with each uneven breath.
Power or not, she would find a way to lift his curse.
*
*
*
Prince Kealric stood before the gates of Albaton Palace, his hands folded neatly behind his back.
He was dressed in simple, worn clothing—nothing that would betray his royal status—and an old hat rested low upon his head.
Beside him stood Princess Arabella, also dressed in modest attire.
Without the palace crest, no one was permitted entry. Any intruder daring to approach the gates without it would be beaten nearly to death before being thrown out.
They stood watching as people moved about, trucks laden with food and palm wine being pushed into the palace with all their strength.
Arabella's lips curved into a smile as her eyes fell on a child chasing a butterfly.
Ashkaroth was indeed a beautiful town, filled with cheerful spirits—so different from Morazana, where smiling and laughter seemed almost forbidden.
Arabella watched the child struggle to catch the butterfly and, seeing that Prince Kealric wasn't paying attention.
She hid her fingers behind her back and snapped them together.
Miraculously, the butterfly fluttered back to the little boy, perching gently on his arm. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she watched him clutch it and run around, laughter spilling freely.
"Ashkaroth forbids dark magic. If you should get yourself killed, know that the blame will not rest with me—your own folly will deliver you to your grave. I shall merely grant you the courtesy of digging it and seeing it properly closed," Prince Kealric said.
Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, shifting her gaze back to his profile.
His eyes remained fixed on the guards as they collected the palace crests from the visitors, his expression unyielding and unreadable.
He was not looking at her, yet somehow he knew what she had just done.
She had not performed any dark magic—but in Ashkaroth, any power beyond the ordinary, save for the Six Eclipse of Souls and the Ten Dominion of Souls, was deemed black sorcery.
Such acts were strictly forbidden and punishable by death.
She had every reason to tread carefully. Magic was forbidden in Ashkaroth, and its laws were neither merciful nor forgiving.
Fifty years ago, many witches from Morazona who had journeyed into Ashkaroth met a brutal end.
They were cast into a dreadful contrivance of iron and blades—a grinding machine designed for execution—its merciless gears reducing their bodies to ruin.
Since that day, Ashkaroth had earned its reputation as the most perilous of the Five Kingdoms, a realm where power was feared, and mercy was a stranger.
Arabella exhaled softly as she adjusted the small sack slung over her shoulders, its modest weight made up of the few garments she owned.
Together, they set off.
Prince Kealric had purchased nothing.
He was already ill at ease in the plain attire he wore, the fabric foreign to a man raised in silk and ceremony. Yet he had no choice but to accept the truth: in Ashkaroth, he was no prince—only another ordinary soul among many.
Should anyone in that unforgiving realm discover that he was a prince of Morazana, the consequences would be swift and disastrous.
Their mission would not merely falter—it would collapse into ruin.
"I did not use any dark magic," Arabella said quietly.
"I was merely indulging a child. He was far too irresistible to ignore." Her gaze drifted back to where the boy had been moments before—but he was gone.
She scanned the area, frowning slightly, wondering where he had vanished.
"And death is just as irresistible in this realm," Prince Kealric replied, his voice low and edged with cold steel.
"Do not forget why you are here, Arabella. If you intend to sabotage my plans, then I suggest you return to Morazana at once, I do not know why Mother insisted that you accompany me in the first place." His eyes remained forward, his expression hard.
"I am being careful. Besides, no one even saw me—and even if they had, no magical flames escaped from my fingers. They would never suspect a thing. And don't drag Mother into this," Arabella added, rolling her eyes.
"You know why she insisted I come with you, and you know very well that with me by your side, I am more than useful."
Prince Kealric's lips curved into a faint, amused smirk as he turned to leave—only to have a man come running straight into him.
The man's keg of palm wine spun in his grasp, colliding with Kealric, and in the chaos, the man's palace crest—the one he was meant to deliver inside—tumbled to the ground.
Kealric staggered but forced his maddening anger under control.
Slowly, he turned to face the fool who had dared to bump into him—and saw a dirty, disheveled old man.
His white beard threatened to reach his stomach, his hair and eyebrows equally white, and his hands trembled with age and exhaustion.
Arabella crouched and retrieved the royal crest.
Its circular form was crafted from polished wood, centered with a silver stone and adorned with intricate designs that spoke of noble heritage.
"I… I am terribly sorry," the old man stammered, his voice quivering. "It was an accident. I was hurrying to answer the princess's summons to refill the royal wine jars. I never meant to spill it on you, son"
His eyes darted nervously between them, and Prince Kealric adjusted his hat, his expression sharpening with barely restrained irritation.
"It's all right. Accidents happen," Arabella said, holding out the royal crest. The old man hesitated for a moment, eyes fixed on it, before taking it carefully from her hands.
She turned her gaze to Prince Kealric and caught him attempting a smile—awkward, strained, almost painfully forced.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips; she had never seen him smile like that before. Clearly, this was the closest he allowed himself to appear approachable.
"You may continue with your summons. It's quite all right," Kealric muttered, moving to leave.
But the old man's trembling voice stopped him.
"I know I should not ask," he began, hesitation thick in every word, "but I have three trucks of palm wine jars not far from here. Could you both assist me in bringing them into the palace? I will gladly offer this royal crest in return for your help."
Kealric's fists clenched tightly, and his jaw locked with visible tension. Arabella stared at him, eyes wide, unable to hide her disbelief.
"Of course we're more than willing to help," Arabella said, her tone casual but confident.
Kealric's eyes widened, and he turned to fix her with a piercing stare. Their gazes met for a brief moment before Arabella looked away first, shifting her attention back to the old man.
"We will both help you," she continued evenly.
"In fact, carrying other people's loads is practically our specialty. And you will need to keep your promise about giving us the royal crest."
The old man nodded eagerly, his face lighting up with a wide, grateful smile. Kealric drew in a sharp breath, still unable to believe what he had just heard.
___
Prince Kealric bent down and gripped the barrel.
The wood was rough beneath his fingers, and the weight far heavier than he had anticipated.
Humiliation burned in his chest.
He had traveled to Ashkaroth only to be subjected to this—carrying barrels like a common laborer, a crown prince of Morazana reduced to this.
His gaze flicked to Arabella, who was effortlessly helping the old man push his own truck. She moved with ease, her strength and grace a sharp contrast to his own awkward struggle.
Kealric shut his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling in soft, angry breaths.
Then, forcing his pride aside, he leaned into the weight and pushed.
Every ounce of strength he possessed as a human was required to move the truck forward, the effort leaving his arms trembling and his body aching.
Arabella glanced over at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
"You know," she said, her voice light, "if you're going to complain, you might at least grunt like a proper laborer. It adds… flair."
Kealric shot her a glare, teeth gritted.
"I am a prince of Morazana," he growled, his arms trembling as he strained to push the barrel forward.
"Flair is the last thing on my mind"
"Ah, yes," Arabella replied, effortlessly guiding the truck alongside him. "The prince with muscles of silk and nerves of gold. Truly intimidating."
She chuckled softly, clearly enjoying herself.
Kealric's jaw tightened, though a reluctant flicker of amusement crossed his eyes.
"You're insufferable," he muttered, pushing harder. The barrel shifted, scraping against the courtyard stones, forcing him to dig deeper into his strength.
The old man trailed behind them, muttering thanks with every step, his hands trembling but his relief evident.
"I cannot tell you how grateful I am," he said, voice wavering.
Arabella glanced at Kealric. "See? Your suffering isn't in vain. We're heroes in someone's story."
He let out a low groan but didn't reply, focusing instead on moving the next barrel. Still, he stole the briefest glance at her and noticed the spark of amusement in her eyes—and for the first time that day, he allowed himself a small, grudging smile.
Step by step, they pressed forward, the bustling courtyard of Ashkaroth fading around them.
Titles, pride, and royal airs seemed meaningless here, replaced by the simple, exhausting effort of moving barrels—an experience far more humbling than anything Kealric had anticipated.
They pushed the trucks into the palace, the wheels scraping lightly against the polished stone floors.
Prince Kealric paused for a moment, letting his gaze sweep across the massive hall.
Gold gleamed from every surface, catching the light from the towering chandeliers, and the scale of the architecture left him momentarily speechless.
Indeed, Ashkaroth was the wealthiest city in the nation, and Albaton Palace a testament to that opulence—more than thirty buildings clustered within a single sprawling compound, each more elaborate than the last.
Arabella couldn't help but be awed by the beauty of Albaton Palace; they had never seen a palace so vast and magnificent.
Meanwhile, in her chambers, Princess Aurelia stood before the window, dressed in her red royal attire.
Her hair was swept up and secured with a golden ribbon, gleaming in the sunlight. Her eyes roamed over the palace grounds, then fell on him—Prince Kealric.
She watched as he grunted and pushed the truck, every movement betraying the effort it took.
A handsome man like him, reduced to the work of a commoner—life could be so cruel, couldn't it?
She leaned slightly closer to the window, her fingers brushing against the cool glass, her eyes never leaving him.
A smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she tapped her fingers lightly against the windowsill, watching him with quiet amusement.
"Commanding the fulfillment of the palm wine jars isn't such a bad idea," she murmured under her breath, her smirk widening.
Meanwhile, at the shooting practice field, Princess Helena stood in her armor, practicing her archery.
A quiver of arrows was slung across her back. She straightened, drawing her bow and taking careful aim at the target—a single apple perched on the head of her personal maid.
The maid trembled, fists clenched tightly, hot sweat sliding down her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut.
Helena narrowed one eye, steadying her aim, and released the arrow. It soared through the air with precision.
Her eye opened just in time to follow its flight.
The arrow struck the apple dead center, driving it toward the wooden stand the maid had been leaning against.
Princess Helena's lips curled into a satisfied, triumphant smile.
The maid burst into tears and collapsed onto the ground, clutching her chest.
_____
«ROYAL WINE—HOUSE»
Prince Kealric, Arabella, and the old man were busy filling the jars when Princess Cassandra entered, gracefully fanning herself with a wide handfan.
Kealric's gaze flicked toward her, taking in her presence with a sharp, sidelong glance. Her elegant attire marked her unmistakably as a princess.
Orange curls cascaded over her shoulders, and she brushed a loose strand from her face as she fanned herself with effortless poise.
Kealric quickly looked away, letting an empty jar clatter to the floor.
He seized another and continued filling it, forcing himself to focus on the work before him despite the sudden distraction.
"Tonight will be our welcome party, so I want every jar in here filled," Princess Cassandra commanded, fanning herself with deliberate elegance, her personal maid trailing silently behind her.
"And if any jar is broken, you'll be responsible for replacements. Not that it's even possible—your entire earnings couldn't cover the cost of one of these jars. So, be careful. Am I clear?"
Arabella scoffed under her breath, briefly tempted to grab a jar and smash it over Cassandra's head—but she forced herself to restrain the impulse.
Prince Kealric smirked faintly, casting Cassandra a sharp, piercing glance, his teeth lightly gritted.
If he were in Morazana, he thought wryly, her tongue would have been on the floor by now.
"Yes, my princess, we'll be careful. Only ten jars remain—we're almost done," the old man said with a respectful bow.
Cassandra scoffed, then suddenly shifted her gaze to Prince Kealric, who had just dropped an empty jar on the floor. Their eyes met, and she froze mid-fan, her mouth forming a small, surprised oval.
Arabella noticed the moment and swallowed hard, wondering if Cassandra had recognized him as the prince of Morazana.
Prince Kealric, equally tense, thought the same—was she aware of his true identity?
Kealric's grip on the next jar tightened slightly, the wood rough against his palms.
His heart beat faster, but his expression remained calm, controlled—just enough to mask the sudden tension creeping up his spine.
"Have we met before? Are you… my future husband? Or perhaps my Eclipse?" Cassandra suddenly asked, rushing to Kealric's side.
She grabbed his arm, locking it with her own.
Prince Kealric's eyes widened in surprise, caught entirely off guard by her forwardness.
Arabella let out a low chuckle, pressing her lips together as she turned away. She began to leave the wine house, shaking her head slightly.
Cassandra—the infamous, unpredictable princess of Ashkaroth. Her personality announces itself before she even speaks.
Arabella halted as she saw Princess Helena approaching the wine house.
She paused, taking in Helena's presence, but the princess didn't spare her a second glance, striding past without acknowledgment.
Arabella's eyes followed her retreating figure for a moment, then she shook her head.
That must be the first daughter, Princess Helena, she thought, raising her eyebrows in quiet disbelief.
With a final shake of her head, Arabella turned and walked out herself.
"You're mistaken, my princess," Prince Kealric muttered, gently prying her hand from his arm. He bowed briefly, then picked up the empty jar and began to leave.
He froze, however, when he nearly collided with Princess Helena standing in his path.
He offered a slight bow before finally walking away.
Princess Helena turned her head, watching his retreating figure. His face seemed vaguely familiar—had they met before?
And that aura… there was something about him that she couldn't quite place.
Shaking her head, she turned and entered the wine house, only to see Princess Cassandra fanning herself, swirling in place, and humming softly to a tune, completely lost in her own world.
She even sniffed her arm absentmindedly, as if caught in a private reverie of affection.
Helena let out a soft sigh, exhaling in quiet exasperation, wondering what on earth was wrong with her.
*
*
*
SALTARIAN—JUNGLE»
Thailra did not even know where she was going. She only knew she needed fresh air—that was why she had slipped out. None of the monkeys had seen her leave, not even Allon's daughter.
Isobel was nowhere in sight.
Yet she was certain of one thing: she was safe here.
She walked slowly, the cool breeze lifting her hair and brushing it gently across her face. Her robe trailed down to her feet, and she gathered the hem in one hand as she moved forward.
Her gaze lifted to the forest around her—dense, ancient trees rising high and mighty, their towering forms stretching toward the sky as though they meant to claim it. They looked formidable, almost threatening.
And yet, she found herself smiling.
Surprisingly, she was not afraid.
She noticed a single flower blooming at the base of one of the towering trees. Drawn to it, she stepped closer and crouched down, studying it for a moment before gently touching its petals.
After a brief hesitation, she plucked it carefully from the earth.
A soft smile curved her lips as she rose to her feet and continued walking, absentmindedly twirling the flower between her fingers.
Unbeknownst to her, perched high atop one of the massive branches above, a huge black cat crouched in silence. Its yellow eyes glowed sharply against its dark fur, fixed intently on her every movement.
A low growl rumbled from its throat, revealing teeth as sharp as razors.
On another towering tree, a massive python lay coiled around a thick branch. Its scales were a deep crimson red, gleaming faintly beneath the filtered sunlight.
Cold blue eyes tracked her every step, unblinking and patient.
A low hiss slipped from between its jaws, its tongue flicking in and out, sharp and precise as it tasted the air around her.
Unaware of the silent watchers above, Thailra closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sky, letting the cool breeze wash over her.
Ashkaroth truly had a remarkable atmosphere. And the Saltarian Jungle, despite its ominous reputation, was not nearly as terrible as she had imagined.
"The atmosphere here is perfect," she murmured softly, a quiet giggle escaping her lips.
Her gaze dropped to her wrist, where the silver bangle still rested. It remained intact, cool against her skin.
A warm smile spread across her face as she remembered the moment Duncan had fastened it around her wrist.
The memory made her smile widen even more.
"That terrifying demon," she whispered under her breath, quickly pushing the thought away. She refused to let him invade this rare moment of peace.
Just then, a low, menacing growl sounded from somewhere behind her.
Thailra froze.
Her fingers tightened instinctively around the flower she still held. For a brief second, she wondered if she had imagined it—perhaps her thoughts of Duncan had unsettled her mind.
Maybe she was only hearing things.
Her heartbeat quickened, the forest suddenly feeling far less gentle than it had moments before. The breeze no longer felt playful against her skin—it felt watchful.
Slowly, carefully, she began to turn.
She shook her head and took a cautious step forward—but the growl came again, louder this time.
Her eyes widened.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, she turned.
A massive black cat stood a short distance away, its claws extended and digging into the earth. Its teeth were bared, sharp and glistening as strands of saliva dripped from its mouth. Its furious yellow eyes were locked onto her.
The beast's body lowered, muscles coiling as it drew back into a poised crouch—ready to spring.
Before she could even react, a sharp hiss sounded from above her.
Her breath caught.
Slowly, she lifted her head—and her blood ran cold.
A massive python was coiled around a thick branch overhead, its enormous body wrapped tightly around the trunk. Its cold blue eyes were fixed on her, unblinking, calculating—its head lowering slightly as though preparing to strike.
For a split second, she stood frozen between predator and predator.
Her soul seemed to leave her body.
"AHHH!"
The scream tore from her throat as she spun and bolted through the trees.
The chase began instantly.
The black cat lunged, claws tearing into the earth as it sprang after her. Above, branches shook violently as the python slithered forward, its massive body shifting with terrifying speed.
Thailra ran blindly, her robe gathered in one hand, heart pounding wildly in her chest. The forest that had seemed beautiful moments ago now blurred into a maze of danger.
Meanwhile, atop the towering heights of Mount Saltarian, Duncan stood with his arms folded behind his back. His dark robes stirred in the mountain wind as he watched Giantica, the great dragon, soaring high in the sky—rolling and diving through the clouds as though playing with the open air itself.
His expression remained unreadable.
Thailra's voice echoed sharply through his mind.
"If I lift your curse, will I still be bound to you? Will I still be your Moon? Will I still be unable to love another?"
His lips curled into a dark smirk, a quiet scoff escaping him as his eyes remained fixed on the dragon above.
Then— A sharp pulse flickered around his wrist.
Duncan lowered his arms, his gaze shifting downward. The silver bangle encircling his wrist began to glow, a faint red light blinking rapidly against his skin.
His expression hardened.
Before he could fully process what was happening, three sudden slashes tore across his forearm—as though invisible claws had raked through flesh and fabric alike.
His sleeve ripped open.
Dark lines marked his skin.
The mountain wind stilled around him.
His eyes snapped toward the distant stretch of forest below. She had left the chamber.
And Allon had allowed her to leave—without sending Isobel to accompany her. A dangerous glint flashed through Duncan's gaze.
In the next instant, the air around him fractured.
With maddening speed, he vanished from the mountain peak, descending toward the forest like a shadow unbound.
Meanwhile, Thailra stumbled backward, her breath ragged. The black cat had already struck once—its claws tearing into her arm when it had leapt at her.
She had thrown her arm up instinctively to shield her face, and the blow had raked across her forearm instead.
Blood stained the fabric of her sleeve.
She scrambled back across the forest floor as the beast prowled toward her, its growl low and satisfied.
Her heart pounded violently in her chest.
Then—Her eyes caught sight of a fallen branch lying a few feet away.
Without hesitation, she lunged for it, her fingers wrapping tightly around the rough wood. She pushed herself upright and thrust the stick forward, pointing it toward the advancing predator as if it were a weapon forged of steel.
Her lips trembled slightly.
Sweat slicked her face, her breathing uneven—But she did not run again.
"Stay back!" she gasped, her voice trembling as she jabbed the stick toward the black cat.
The beast responded with a sharp snarl, baring its razor-sharp teeth, saliva dripping from its jaws as it prowled closer.
Then— A loud hiss sounded behind her.
Her breath hitched.
She spun around, thrusting the stick toward the python now lowering itself from the tree. Its massive body shifted against the bark, blue eyes gleaming with cold intent.
She stood trapped between them.
Her lips trembled uncontrollably. Strands of hair clung to her damp face, sweat sliding down her skin. Her gown was smeared with dirt and blood, no longer the soft fabric she had walked out in so confidently.
She shouldn't have come out for fresh air.
She should have stayed inside.
Her chest tightened painfully. She wanted to cry—but tears would not save her. Tears would not stop claws or fangs.
Is this how I die?
Alone.
In a forest she had just begun to admire. Her grip on the stick tightened, even as her arms trembled.
"No…" she whispered to herself.
Not like this.
A sharp growl echoed behind her. She spun around, pointing the stick back at the cat, now trapped in the middle of two predators with no escape.
"Stay back… back off!" she muttered weakly.
The cat responded with a maddening leap. The stick flew from her hands, clattering to the forest floor.
She shut her eyes tightly.
A cold hand suddenly circled her waist, yanking her backward with impossible speed. In that instant, she felt herself lifted out of danger just as the black cat and the crimson python lunged—and collided.
Time seemed to shatter.
The predators froze midair, their bodies encased in ice, suspended as if caught between moments.
Frost crept along their fur and scales, glinting in the filtered sunlight.
The forest itself seemed to halt.
Leaves shimmered, coated in delicate frost; droplets of water hanging from branches solidified like tiny crystals.
Even the birds above stilled in the sky, wings outstretched and frozen in mid-flap, their feathers glazed with ice.
Thailra's breath caught in her throat. The sudden cold pressed against her skin, sharp yet strangely protective.
Around her, the forest had become a crystalline world, silent and impossibly still—a frozen cage from which she had narrowly been snatched.
Thailra slowly opened her eyes. She lifted her gaze to the figure holding her—dressed in white royal robes, a small crown perched atop his hair.
The sunlight struck his side profile, making it hard for her to focus, her eyes squinting as she tried to discern the details of his face.
His arm still circled her waist, firm and protective.
"Found you, bad kisser," he muttered, a mischievous note in his voice.
Her chest flared, a bright blue light shimmering across her skin, as if answering him. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
Then the sunlight shifted, and a sudden breeze brushed through their hair and robes. The obstruction lifted. His face came fully into view.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes widened, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks.
The man before her… bore the face of Daniel Harrison, her BOYFRIEND.
"Indeed, I recognize you when I saw you, cute protector," Prince Dracula muttered, his smirk deepening. Another tear slid down Thailra's cheek.
Before anyone could even blink, a merciless, inhuman hand shot forward with maddening speed, gripping Prince Dracula by the neck.
In a blur, he was slammed violently against a tree.
The trunk cracked under the force, and blood welled from his nostrils.
Standing before him was Prince Duncan Tharagon—fully revealed in his demon form. His eyes blazed with red fire, jagged horns stretching longer than ever, his aura radiating raw, terrifying power.
Thailra staggered back, clutching her chest, her body trembling.
She shook her head, hot tears streaming freely as she tried to comprehend the horror before her.
"Touch her, and you will die by my hands, Dracula, Ice Prince of Alvaro. You are indeed welcome to my kingdom, but the audacity to lay a hand on her—who gave you such insolence? On your very first visit, you crossed the line. And the penalty for crossing that line… is death. I will crush your bones piece by piece and send your head to your ancient father as a gift, a reminder of what happens when his son trespasses in my land."
Duncan's voice rumbled like the earth itself, cold and merciless, his ruthless smirk deepening with every word.
"If he dies, then be prepared for the two of us to join him, Duncan Tharagon, Crown Prince of Ashkaroth."
Thailra's voice came from behind him.
Duncan's grip around Prince Dracula's neck loosened slightly.
Slowly, he turned his head. One piercing red eye cut toward her, his hair falling partially over the other as he stared.
She stood there trembling but unyielding, a sharp stick pressed dangerously close to her own neck.
Her eyes were filled with raw determination.
Prince Dracula's lips curled into a painful, blood-stained smile as his gaze locked onto her.
"That's my little bad kisser"
*
*
*
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