A knock.
Soft. Rhythmic. Too rehearsed to be sincere.
Queen Bianca stepped in, trailed by her handpicked maids like shadows. She wore emeralds and silk, her perfume thick with rose and poison.
"Time to prepare, my sweet," she said with a smile so sharp it could slit throats. "You must look presentable. Nobles are watching today."
Daemon didn't argue.
The maids moved quickly—draping him in ceremonial black, brushing back his hair into a neat, noble style. He watched them in the mirror. Watched Bianca, too. Always smiling. Always pretending.
She stepped forward and hugged him. Her perfume strangled him.
"You should smile more," she whispered in his ear. "You're still a prince, remember? No one loves a sour-faced royal."
Daemon forced a grin.
No one loves a demon either, but that never stopped me.
They left the room together, their footsteps echoing down the marble corridor. As they turned the corner, he saw Gabriel—bathed in gold and white, flanked by knights and flatterers.
He looked like a saint.
Daemon looked like his shadow.
The two brothers paused in front of each other. There was a flicker of awkwardness in Gabriel's eyes, but he masked it with a smile and clapped Daemon on the shoulder.
"You alright?" Gabriel asked. "You've looked pale since morning."
Daemon nodded slowly. "I'm happy for you, brother," he said. "The future king... has a nice ring to it."
Gabriel beamed. "So, have you made up your mind yet? About being my knight?"
A knight... to the boy who killed me twice.
How poetic.
Daemon smiled. "Let's get through your coronation first. I've got time to decide."
"Fair enough," Gabriel said, still grinning.
Bianca clapped her hands. "Boys, it's time."
The guards opened the doors to the Grand Hall.
Light spilled in like divine judgment.
Hundreds of nobles stood waiting—lords, barons, merchants, and priests—all dressed in velvets and silks, their jewels catching the chandelier glow. The air reeked of incense and ego.
The announcer's voice boomed:
"Presenting His Royal Highnesses—the Twin Princes of Varyndor!"
Gabriel walked tall. Confident. Golden.
Daemon followed beside him, the black to his white, the silence to his song.
Whispers followed them like smoke.
"That's him—the cursed one."
"Still alive after the Rite of Purification?"
Daemon didn't flinch.
They reached the dais. King Aleric Dominick III sat atop his throne, face unreadable. Time had worn grooves into his expression, but power still clung to him like armor.
The brothers bowed.
The king gave a subtle nod.
They took their seats—Gabriel to his right, Daemon to the left.
And as the crowd buzzed with excitement for the rising sun, no one noticed the shadow beside it was staring right back...
The hall dimmed as the ceremonial bells rang three times.
A hush fell over the guests, nobles straightening, priests lowering their heads. The Coronation Rite of the Crown Prince was about to begin—a tradition older than the royal bloodline itself.
From the marble steps of the altar, High Priest Orlan stepped forward, his golden robes embroidered with runes and sunbursts. Behind him came a parade of holy men: bishops, cardinals, and archbishops, each holding a relic of the Seven Pillars of Faith.
Everyone expected one more figure—Saintess Lilac—but her place remained empty.
The whispers began immediately.
"She's still shaken..."
"Poor girl. That fire... it must've broken her."
"The goddess weeps for the innocent."
Daemon kept his head low, but his eyes scanned the room like blades.
Good. Let them wonder. Let them mourn. Let them kneel to a broken church.
He noticed it then—the king.
King Aleric sat still and regal, but his eyes were hollow, shadowed by rings so deep they looked bruised. His fingers twitched slightly on the armrest.
Insomnia, father? No dreams left in that rotten soul of yours?
Daemon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He forced his gaze away just in time for High Priest Orlan to raise his staff and begin the chant.
"Bring forth the Crown of Lilies."
Two robed priests approached, carrying a silver tray. On it sat a crown of blue lilies, freshly woven that morning. In Varyndor, the blue lily symbolized rebirth, innocence, and divine favor. It was placed only on the head of one chosen by the gods.
Gabriel stepped forward.
His white and gold robes shimmered. His hair was kissed with light. The crowd watched as he knelt before Orlan.
Orlan raised the crown. "Do you, Gabriel of House Dominick, offer your life to Varyndor?"
"I do," Gabriel said with unwavering voice.
"Do you swear to uphold the laws of the realm, the will of the gods, and the legacy of the First Light?"
"I do."
"Then rise—as Crown Prince, Champion of the Light."
Orlan placed the crown upon Gabriel's head.
The crowd erupted in cheers, petals falling from the balconies as trumpets blared. Servants scattered blue lilies across the floor. Women wept. Men saluted.
Daemon clapped—slow, polite, precise.
He leaned in just enough to whisper to his brother:
"Congratulations, your radiance."
Gabriel turned, grinning.
"Thank you, brother."
But Daemon's eyes were still fixed on the empty seat at the temple's end—where Saintess Lilac should have been.
She wasn't coming.
Because tonight, her world still smelled like ash and innocence.
The cheering hadn't even died down when the next announcement echoed through the grand hall:
"His Highness shall now name his intended consort—his future queen!"
A pause.
All eyes turned to Gabriel, whose smile gleamed with certainty.
"I choose," he declared, stepping forward, "Vivian Starling, daughter of Duke Starling of the East."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The duke's daughter stepped forward gracefully, her white hair pinned with sapphire combs, her gown flowing like starlight. She curtsied deeply, then climbed the steps, bowing before Gabriel.
The High Priest raised his hand again. "Let it be known: Vivian Starling shall become the future queen of Varyndor."
Queen Bianca beamed, her eyes shimmering with triumph. The nobles applauded, murmuring blessings and congratulations.
Daemon just watched.
Exactly like last time, he thought. Same girl. Same title. Same fate.
Let's see how well you play your roles this time around.
But the celebration cracked too early.
As servants returned to pouring wine and presenting desserts, Daemon's eyes caught something.
A servant—too tall. Too stiff.
The way he moved... too calculated.
And then—
The glint of a hidden blade beneath a tray.
Daemon's eyes narrowed. Time slowed.
The assassin dropped the tray, lunging toward Gabriel, knife raised and aimed for his throat.
Gasps exploded across the hall.
Daemon moved first.
He surged forward like a black flash. With one swift kick, he struck the man square in the face. The knife flew from the assassin's hand and clattered across the polished floor.
The guards were seconds late—but now they swarmed in. They tackled the assassin, smashing his face into the marble.
"Protect the Crown Prince!"
"Seal the exits!"
"Don't let anyone leave!"
The nobles shrieked. Maids screamed. Chaos unfolded.
Gabriel was pulled back behind two royal guards, stunned but unharmed.
And Daemon...
Daemon calmly turned and knelt, one knee down, head bowed before the king.
"Forgive my boldness, Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "but I could not let the light of this kingdom be extinguished."
There was silence.
Then—thunderous applause.
"He saved the prince!"
"Is that really the cursed twin?"
"What a brave boy!"
Even King Aleric looked down at Daemon, eyes unreadable, and nodded once—deeply.
Gabriel stepped forward, still catching his breath. "You... you saved me."
Daemon lifted his head and smiled softly. "Of course. You're my brother."
The court melted.
Even Bianca looked briefly shaken, unsure if she should be proud—or worried.
And through it all, Daemon just stood there.