I'll admit, I was starting to enjoy the silence.
Not the silence of emptiness or loneliness—but that rare, weighted calm that only came with Lysa. She didn't need to speak to be heard. Her presence hummed like a soft lullaby, always in the background, always grounding me.
The others—were loud in their own ways. Not just in sound, but in spirit. But Lysa? She was the quiet moon to their burning suns. And tonight, I needed that.
We were alone in the training chamber that looked more like a candlelit bedroom—because, well, it was. But to her, everywhere was a place of discipline. Of sharpening the mind and spirit.
She called it "soul syncing." I called it... whatever helped me hold back from accidentally vaporizing a bath towel with a sneeze.
We sat cross-legged across from each other. I had my eyes closed. She didn't.
"Breathe in... slow," she whispered.
I did.
"Now hold. Feel the air. Listen to your heartbeat. That's you. That's who you are."
I almost chuckled. A month ago, I was eating instant noodles in my boxer shorts and wondering if I could survive another rent hike. Now, I was doing demon yoga with my sixth magical bride, trying to learn telepathy before bedtime.
Life. Huh.
Her hand reached out and gently touched mine. I felt it again—that spark. Not lightning. Not heat. Something else. A signal.
"Can you hear me?" her voice echoed in my head.
I gasped. My eyes flew open.
I stared at her, mouth parted, heart thudding. "That was you... in my head..."
She gave me the faintest nod, a serene smile playing on her lips.
"I did it?"
"You're learning," she said aloud. "Your mind is... loud, but eager."
"Well, I've been told I'm many things. 'Loud and eager' is new, but I'll take it."
We both chuckled. A rare thing from her. It felt like hearing a bell in a storm—light, unexpected, and warm.
---
She sat across from me, legs folded neatly beneath her as we held the final pose of our meditation. Silence hung in the air like warm mist, the moonlight brushing across her bare shoulder where her robe had slipped. I'd tried to focus on breathing… tried.
But her presence—her softness, her scent, the gentle swell of her chest rising and falling—kept pulling my thoughts away.
I didn't mean to stare. But I did.
And Lysa felt it.
Her eyes slowly opened, glowing faintly like twin moons, and for a long breath she just gazed at me. Into me.
"You're loud, my King," she whispered, voice calm, but her lips curled in that small, knowing smile of hers. "In here." She tapped the side of her head gently.
I swallowed. "Sorry. Guess I'm not exactly the quietest mind to read."
"You were wondering what I'd look like…" she trailed off, glancing at the thin fabric barely clinging to her. "…without this."
My breath caught. "Lysa—"
She stood with grace, almost floating, and with one smooth motion she untied the robe. It slipped from her shoulders like petals falling in slow motion, pooling at her feet.
"Anything you want," she said softly, walking toward me, "I will give. You are my husband… and my King."
She knelt in front of me, eyes shimmering—not with lust, but with devotion.
"You don't have to hide your thoughts from me."
I didn't speak. I couldn't.
She had seen what was in my mind—what I imagined beneath that half-dress—and instead of shame… she offered it to me.
Just like that.
Not because I asked. But because she was mine—and she wanted me to know it.
The way she stood there… calm, unafraid, beautiful. It undid me.
I thought I had power.
But Lysa? She owned me in that moment.
My thoughts—messy, hungry, tangled—spilled everywhere. She didn't push them out. She welcomed them.
She's mine.
And I swore—if anyone ever tried to take her from me… I'd burn everything.
---
The room was dim, the only light coming from the enchanted candles flickering near the windows. It looked peaceful.
But peace, I would soon learn, is a liar.
Suddenly, I felt it—a shift in the air. Not magic. Not heat.
Danger.
Swipppp—
An arrow tore through the silk curtains and bolted straight toward my face.
Without thinking, my hand snapped up.
Clack!
I caught it.
My heart froze.
I stared at the arrow in my palm—black iron, tipped with glowing red poison, humming with a rune I didn't recognize.
And then the glass exploded.
Three figures dove through the shattered windows, shrouded in night-ink cloaks, blades out, and fast.
"Lysa, down!" I roared.
But she was already moving—sliding behind the bedframe like water flowing to safety.
The assassins came for me.
I didn't wait.
With a flick of my wrist, fire surged from my palm like a living whip—wrapping around the closest one and melting him where he stood.
The second lunged.
Too slow.
My palm opened, and lightning surged. It tore through his chest, his scream echoing like a siren before he hit the ground—smoking.
The third... was smarter.
He feinted, then dove toward Lysa.
NO.
I slammed the ground with both hands. A wave of heat exploded from my body, melting the marble floor beneath me and launching him into the air.
He didn't land.
I caught him midair with a lightning spear through the heart.
Thud.
It was over.
I breathed hard, sweat dripping down my brow, my body humming with raw power. I hadn't even known I could move like that.
"Lysa?" I panted, turning toward the bed.
Silence.
My heart skipped.
"Lysa?"
I moved around the shattered mattress, my eyes searching the shadows.
She was gone.
No blood. No scream. No trace.
Just… gone.
A low growl escaped my throat. Rage climbed my spine like a beast waking up after hibernation.
The door finally burst open.
The guards charged in like heroes late to their own movie.
"Sire!"
"Oh, now you show up?" I snapped, holding up the half-melted arrow. "Care to explain how three assassins made it past the Demon King's personal guard?"
They fell to their knees.
"We—there was a disturbance at the south gate. A decoy."
I clenched my fist.
Of course. This was no random attack.
This was targeted.
A quiet, personal strike meant to unsettle me. Hurt me.
And they succeeded.
They took Lysa.
The calm in my life.
The one who taught me to breathe... now gone.
I looked at the bloodied floor. At the twisted, broken window. At the shattered arrow in my hand.
"You," I growled at the captain. "Raise the war horn."
He flinched. "Sire, the war horn? That would—"
"Do I look like I'm in the mood for permission?"
He bowed. "At once."
"And tell the rest of my brides... war begins at sunrise."
As he ran out, I turned and looked back at the room.
The silence felt different now.
Not peaceful.
But hollow.
Something inside me had cracked. And the part of me that wanted to stay calm? To stay soft?
It burned.
They took her.
They're going to learn the hard way...
No one touches what's mine.
---