Daemon could hear it the whispers, the low murmurs trailing behind him like shadows. Every step he took echoed with suspicion. The nobles' glares burned against his back, their eyes branding him with silent judgment.
Hmph. Weaklings, he thought. Soon, those eyes will hold something else fear.
"Let's go, Nyxtriel," he said, not bothering to look behind him.
"Yes, Father," she replied quietly, walking a half-step behind.
As they exited the grand hall, Daemon used the detour to take in the palace gardens. It was quite unnaturally so. The hedges were trimmed to perfection, the trees perfectly aligned, and flowers of all colors bloomed in ornate beds as if they had been placed by hand.
Nyxtriel tilted her head, her crimson eyes flicking over a bed of dark roses. "Those roses are beautiful, Father."
The word hit him again Father. He was beginning to get used to it. Oddly enough, it didn't sound as strange as it once did.
He glanced at her. She didn't smile. She never did. She didn't eat. She didn't laugh. She was like a living sculpture obedient, cold, perfect. But the way she had complimented the roses... there had been something there. A flicker. Not warmth. But... something.
"They're indeed pretty," Daemon said, "like the color of your eyes."
Nyxtriel paused mid-step and turned to him. "My eyes... I'm glad you like them, Father. You used to tell me that all the time." She caught herself. "Ah—sorry. You don't remember."
"It's okay, Nyxtriel."
But it wasn't. Not entirely.
He studied her out of the corner of his eye. Thoughtful. Controlled. Powerful. She didn't want to remind him of his past self, that much was clear. But Daemon couldn't shake the unease. For all her loyalty, there was still a void around her. A question unanswered.
What does she really want? he thought.
He had trusted people before and died for it. Nyxtriel hadn't shown a single sign of betrayal, but if it ever came... he would be ready. He'd use her power. Use her trust. And if she turned? He'd end her, too.
"I guess we should walk around a bit more," he said aloud, brushing a rose petal between his fingers. "The king's in a bad mood, and I don't feel like standing near the blast."
Nyxtriel nodded. "Wise, Father."
Then Daemon felt it subtle, crawling on his skin.
Eyes. Dozens of them.
He turned his head slightly, scanning. The guards. The gardeners. Even the maids watering flowers. All moving, all busy but something was off. Every movement was too fluid. Too precise.
He felt it in the way they blinked. The way they didn't blink. They're not watching the garden. They're watching me.
Daemon's smile didn't falter, but his eyes darkened.
So, even the king doesn't trust me... good. I'd be disappointed if he did.
"I can see the rats watching you, Father," Nyxtriel said softly beside him.
"Yeah, I've noticed it too," Daemon muttered as they walked slowly beneath the arch of the palace garden. "There's something off about this place... and the people. These servants aren't enchanted. They're not dolls. They're human."
Nyxtriel glanced sideways. "Humans? But they move like dolls."
"Because fear breaks people," Daemon said, his voice low and calm. "When we first stepped into this palace, we were blinded by suspicion. But now? Look into their eyes. You'll see it restraint, dread. They're not bound by magic. They're bound by terror. And I think I know the source."
"You believe the king is the reason?" Nyxtriel asked, tilting her head. "But he looks so... weak. I saw him shake when that other human threatened him."
"That's exactly why he's dangerous." Daemon's tone sharpened. "The worst monsters are the ones who appear harmless. Cowards like him they'll burn a kingdom if it means saving their own skin. Just like the skeleton king who sealed you away. All for control. All for survival."
Nyxtriel went quiet for a moment. Then she smiled faintly. "You speak like someone who's lived a thousand lives. Your wisdom... I want to understand more."
"You will," Daemon said, eyes narrowing. "In time."
Just then, a small shadow passed overhead. Daemon raised his gaze a raven, wings stretched wide, circled once before diving low and releasing a scroll from its claws.
With reflexive grace, Nyxtriel snatched it midair.
"A letter," she said, handing it to him.
Daemon opened it, eyes scanning the elegant, sharp writing. Then he smiled a slow, dangerous smile.
"It's from Duke Elias."
Nyxtriel's eyes narrowed. "Already?"
"Yes. He wants to meet. Privately." Daemon folded the parchment and tucked it into his coat. "Looks like the traitors are eager to pick sides. And here I thought I'd have to manipulate them into it."
"What does he want?"
Daemon glanced over his shoulder toward the palace. "Information. Leverage. Maybe to test me. Or to turn me against the king. Doesn't matter."
"But you opened the letter in front of the palace staff," Nyxtriel said, eyeing the nearby servants warily. "They may have seen. Should I eliminate them?"
"No. Let them see." Daemon tucked the letter into his cloak. "This is exactly what the king needs proof that I'm 'loyal.' Once I present this to him, I'll earn his trust. And the deeper he lets me in..."
"The easier it'll be to destroy him," Nyxtriel finished.
Daemon smiled. "Exactly. Let's go inside. I think it's time we show our beloved king the first act of our loyalty."
Side by side, they turned from the garden, the flowers rustling faintly in their wake the only witness to a web tightening around a throne.