Lucien's POV
I entered the castle slowly, every step measured, posture rigid beneath the stolen armor.
No one stopped me.
Good.
The main hall was dimly lit by torches burning with dark crimson flames. The air smelled of iron and incense.
Ahead, a group of guards marched in formation up the grand staircase.
Perfect.
Without hesitation, I fell in line behind them, matching their pace and posture precisely. My head lowered just enough to avoid unnecessary attention.
No one questioned me.
We ascended the stairs and turned down a long corridor lined with obsidian pillars. At the end, massive doors swung open.
The guards entered.
So did I.
And there he was.
The King.
Reclined lazily upon an elevated bed-like throne, draped in dark silk. Demons surrounded him — some feeding him sliced fruit, others kneeling beside him, massaging his shoulders and arms as if he were a god being worshipped.
He looked relaxed.
And calm
While I suppressed a smile.
