Melody had managed to convince the duke, thus earning the rare privilege of entering his impressive library. The moment she stepped inside, she froze in awe, her eyes wide. It was immense—a true sanctuary of knowledge. Shelves soared to the ceiling, crammed with books of every size and color. She had never seen so many in one place—not even in her dreams.
This place, she thought, would be paradise for Melibeth. Her sister, an insatiable reader, would surely lose herself here for days, exploring without pause. Melibeth had always been a bookworm—an almost tragic passion in a village where books were scarce and rarely new. Melody often lamented that.
She approached the librarian: an elderly man with a stern face and gray hair.
"Can Lilly come in with me?" she asked, trying to sound neutral, though her impatience betrayed her.
The man studied her for a moment before replying. "Yes, as long as she stays by your side. You have one hour. You may take one book, and it must be returned within two days."
She pursed her lips but didn't give up so easily.
"Couldn't you make a small exception?" she tried, deliberately raising her voice to a honeyed pitch.
The man chuckled. "Nice try, young lady. But being allowed in—and with your friend—is already an exception. Nothing personal, Lilly. I'm simply following Master Eriol's orders. I'm sure you understand."
Lilly, ever composed, nodded. "Don't worry, Mr. Louis. I understand His Excellency's rules perfectly," she replied politely.
Resigned, Melody sighed. "All right. Come on, Lilly. We don't have much time."
She led her friend toward the geography and history section. She knew what she was looking for: information about Azrrahen. She didn't fully understand her curiosity, but something about that lost kingdom pulled at her.
As they browsed, Lilly carefully picked up a book and exclaimed, "Look, Mel—this one's called Stories and Legends of Azrrahen."
Melody blinked. As far as she knew, servants couldn't read—or so Marina had claimed.
"Lilly… you can read?" she asked, surprised. "I thought you couldn't—I mean, that you didn't know how."
Lilly lowered her voice. "In theory, we're not supposed to. But the former duchess taught a few people: Mrs. Adelaida the cook, my mother, and the gardener. Then my mother taught me—and Marina. But please, don't say anything."
"I won't," Melody said quickly. "But come on—let's find a quiet place to sit."
They found a secluded corner and settled in. As Melody turned the pages, she stopped at an illustration: women with wings adorned the cover—clearly fairies. She dove into the stories, her mind racing with the possibility that such beings had truly existed.
"Could they still be among us?" she murmured, consumed by curiosity.
Suddenly, Lilly pointed to another page. "Melody, look at this," she said excitedly. The illustration showed an ocarina—one that looked exactly like hers. For a moment, Melody felt as if fate had led her here. It can't be a coincidence, she thought, heart pounding.
But her excitement faded when she found text written in a language neither of them could understand. Still, she wasn't ready to give up. When their time was up, they left with the book in hand. Perhaps the answers were closer than she thought.
⋯ ❈ ⋯
He waited for his father in the royal office. It was strange—King Darius was late, and that wasn't like him. Moments later, the doors opened. The king entered, accompanied by Rowena, the Marquise of Sohir—a widow with no lands or fortune, only her title. Everyone knew she was the king's concubine, though he denied it. What was obvious needed no explanation.
The prince stood and bowed. The king gestured for him to sit, then ordered the marquise to leave.
She obeyed, though not willingly. The echo of her heels down the corridor said as much. The guards closed the doors behind her, leaving father and son alone.
"Well? What does Your Majesty desire?" the prince asked with ironic detachment, narrowing his eyes.
"I want many things, my son. One of them is for you to stay out of trouble—but that may be too much to ask," Darius replied, matching his son's sarcasm.
"I can't promise anything," Damien said, clicking his tongue.
"I'll be brief, Damien—"
"Thank you, I appreciate it, Your Majesty," the prince interrupted mockingly.
Darius sighed. "Your birthday is approaching, and I intend to celebrate it properly. For several reasons," he added, cutting off any reply.
He already knew what Damien would say. He wouldn't give him the chance. Too much freedom had made his firstborn a headache. He'd once hoped Damien would embrace his role—but instead, he'd raised a restless young man with no sense of duty.
Damien's aquamarine eyes widened. His smirk vanished. He wanted to object, but his father silenced him with a gesture. Reluctantly, he obeyed.
"Son, I want you to choose a wife. My reign is ending. Yours is beginning. I know you have doubts—I know you don't feel ready—but this isn't about you or me. It's about Alkarya. Our duty is to the people. We are not individuals, Damien…"
He didn't let him finish.
"Father, I don't disagree. But you're forgetting one small detail. What happens when my wife finds out her husband is a demon? What are the chances she'll want a child? Do you think she'll agree to bear the child of a cursed man? It's not a question—it's what will happen. She'll talk. The secret will come out. It's better to wait until Odette is old enough to rule…"
"Damien, Odette is ten. She's far from ready. And remember the Salic law. Besides, with the kingdom's current state, we can't afford to wait. And I will not leave my crown to Eriol. That will not happen."
"Please, Father. You speak as if death were at your door. You're still strong," Damien snapped, resting his head on his arm. "Is being king so awful that you're eager to pass it on, Darius?" he asked with a crooked smile.
"Damien, not everything is as it seems. Today we're here—tomorrow, who knows. And besides, little fox, it's time to settle down. As long as the Amulet of Hirios is with you, your secret is safe. I still believe your darkness will fade one day. You must never lose hope."
"But Father, no—!"
"I'm not asking for your opinion, Damien Mountbatten. It's decided. You will obey. Understood?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Understood," the prince replied stiffly.
He rose and left the room, seething—angry, powerless, trapped. Damien the prince had a duty. But Damien the man… didn't he have a voice? He didn't deny his father's motives. But what about his own? Didn't his choices matter?
He felt suffocated. He would leave the palace today. He was done. He headed to the stables for Orion, his loyal companion. He needed to be far—far from all this. Otherwise, he'd explode and burn it all down again.
⋯ ❈ ⋯
He didn't know how long he had been riding. The cold night wind whipped his face as his mind spun in a whirlwind of thoughts. At last, Damien reined in his steed before the palace stables.
The dark wooden structure slumbered under the dim torchlight. He dismounted nimbly, though his muscles protested from the long ride. Orion, his faithful black horse, looked exhausted—legs trembling, coat drenched in sweat.
The prince led him to the trough, where the animal drank eagerly. As he watched Orion regain his strength, Damien gently stroked his muzzle, feeling the ragged breath against his hand.
"You deserve a reward, old friend," he murmured, his voice low and warm. "I'll leave fresh oats in your manger to make up for waking you so late."
He carefully removed the saddle, letting Orion move freely. The horse drank deeply, his body slowly relaxing.
Damien couldn't shake the guilt. He knew he'd pushed the animal too far—but the wild gallop was the only way he knew to silence the storm inside.
As he finished, a deep, familiar voice broke the silence.
"Riding Orion to exhaustion in the middle of the night won't help, Damien," said Andreas, arms crossed, his tone a mix of reproach and concern. "And neither will drinking and brawling in Aldremir's worst taverns. When are you going to grow up, prince?"
Damien didn't turn. He kept stroking Orion's neck, replying with indifference:
"At least it helps me breathe, Andreas. And don't start with your lectures—I'm not in the mood. This time you're wrong. I'm sober. I didn't go to town. I went to see old Ursula."
Andreas raised an eyebrow, incredulous. He stepped closer, boots echoing on the wooden floor.
"Ursula? What could you possibly want from that eccentric woman at this hour?"
Damien let out a dry, ironic laugh.
"That's none of your business, Rutden. But if you must know, I went for one of her remedies. Maybe it'll calm this chaos in my head. Though I doubt anything can."
Andreas' expression darkened. There was something in Damien's voice—a shadow he hadn't heard before. He changed the subject.
"Your father was asking for you."
Damien paused, unreadable. Then, without looking at him:
"Oh, of course. Let me guess—His Majesty has found me a wife. Or better yet, set the date for my coronation."
Andreas shook his head slowly.
"Alkarya needs its king, Damien. It's your duty."
"So?" the prince muttered, rolling his eyes as he poured oats into Orion's trough. "That doesn't change anything. I'm not a child, Andreas. I'm tired of my father, fed up with the council, and now you—my so-called best friend—come with the same speech. If I'd known returning from war would be like this, I'd have stayed in Euldor. Even King Maximus is less insufferable than my father."
Without waiting for a reply, Damien led Orion to his stall, made sure he was comfortable, and closed the door. Then he left, saying nothing more.
Andreas stood there, watching the prince vanish into the dark. He knew Damien was fighting something deeper than duty—something even he didn't fully understand. But he also knew he couldn't give up. Alkarya depended on it.
As he turned to leave, a delicate figure appeared in the torchlight. Anel—one of the court's ladies-in-waiting—stepped into view. Her long, wavy brown hair shimmered under the moons of Alkarya, and her emerald eyes held a calm that contrasted with the tension in the air.
"Good evening, Captain Rutden," she said softly, bowing her head.
"Good evening, Miss Anel," Andreas replied, returning the gesture.
She glanced toward the path Damien had taken, her expression thoughtful.
"The moons are beautiful tonight," she said, turning back to him. "I went for a walk and crossed paths with His Highness. He seemed… troubled. He's changed so much since his return."
Andreas nodded, gaze distant.
"You know how the prince is."
Anel laughed gently, remembering.
"I've known Damien since he was a boy. I remember him running through the palace, dreaming of being king. He was full of curiosity and fire. But now… it's as if he carries the weight of the world."
Andreas studied her. There was something in her voice that stirred him.
"Do you think there's still hope for him?"
Anel met his eyes, her smile calm but unwavering.
"Of course. Damien is a good soul. He's confused, wounded—maybe even afraid—but that doesn't mean he's lost. When the time comes, he'll be a just and noble king. He just needs time… and someone who believes in him."
Her words echoed in Andreas' mind. He nodded slowly.
"It's late for a lady to be out alone, Miss Anel," he said, offering his arm. "May I accompany you?"
She accepted with grace, and they began walking through the palace gardens. Crickets chirped, fireflies flickered, and the scent of roses from Queen Marion's garden filled the air.
"It's beautiful here," Anel murmured. "Sometimes I think this garden is the heart of Alkarya. Even in darkness, it still blooms."
Andreas glanced at her, soothed by her presence. There was something about Anel that reminded him: even in chaos, beauty endures.
They walked on, wrapped in the hush of night. Elsewhere in the palace, Damien stood at his window, staring at the same moons that lit the garden. In his mind, Andreas' words and Anel's laughter mingled with his own thoughts—a storm he wasn't ready to face.