"Camilla, you have no right to enter my chambers—without a knock, without a command… nothing," he snapped, zipping his trousers as he stepped closer, his presence menacing, like he might strike her. Yet she was the only woman Tenebrarum seemed to respect.
"Your father sent me," she said, her voice steady but careful.
"And how does that concern me?" he growled, his rage barely contained. "I told him I would come soon, didn't I?"
Camilla's words struck him harder than she expected. "Velmara… the last witch still lives."
He froze for the briefest moment, the air thickening between them. "She…" Her words continued, deliberate, "she has aided the humans. They have reclaimed the eastern lands in her name."
Tenebrarum's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a storm he could not easily control.
"Why am I only hearing about this now?" His chest tightened, each beat like a drum of panic he couldn't control.
"Did you ever get my letters," she asked, her voice calm, almost teasing, "or… should I say, did you ever read them?"
The question lingered between them like a blade, sharp and undeniable, and for a moment, Tenebrarum found himself unable to answer.
"I love you so much… why are you always doing this to me?" Camilla's voice cracked, every word trembling. "Every rumor… every whisper about us…"
"I've said it a long time ago," he snapped, his voice sharp as ice, "I do not care about your feelings."
"I'm leaving," Tenebrarum said sharply, moving with purpose. He needed to know what his father had planned—what scheme was in motion to stop Velmara from reclaiming the lands and conquering the dark creatures.
Tenebrarum and Camilla boarded the carriage, its wheels carved with imperial sigils, and it sped off down the marble road toward the Shadow Capital. Torch-light blurred past the windows, casting gold across Tenebrarum's face, sharpening every line of tension. He sat rigid, as if carved from obsidian, but the fear beneath his stillness was unmistakable.
Why did a ruler like Tenebrarum—a prince feared across kingdoms—tremble at the name Velmara?
Velmara was no ordinary witch. She was the founder of the Great Wall, a structure as legendary as the old Roman fortresses—raised by her blood, her power, her sacrifice. The world believed she had perished centuries ago in that final act of creation.
But she had not died.
She had endured. Hidden. Gathering strength like an exiled empress waiting to reclaim her throne.
And now she had returned.
Her power had awakened again, strong enough to rally the human legions and reclaim the eastern provinces in her name. The dark creatures whispered her name with dread, the way old Rome once whispered of barbarian kings rising beyond their borders.
Velmara was Aurelia's idol—her symbol of courage, hope, and defiance.
Yet while Velmara rose like a returning conqueror, Aurelia lived like a captive in Tenebrarum's empire, robbed of freedom, stripped of choice, and unable to fight for humanity or even for herself.
Velmara fought to save the world.
Aurelia fought simply to survive it.
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Aurelia had been taken to one of the smaller rooms in the servants' quarters. It wasn't horrible—just modest, quiet, with a single lantern glowing against stone walls. It reminded her painfully of her room in the human world, the one where she still believed she had a future.
She lay on the narrow bed, clutching a pillow to her chest as if it could hold her together. Her sobs were muffled into the fabric, shaking her shoulders. She felt foolish. Broken. Humiliated.
What had she been thinking?
Tenebrarum cared about her?
Tenebrarum? The demon prince who carved his path to the crown through blood and war?
The prince who loved nothing—not even his own people—unless it served him?
He cared only for himself. Everyone in the Dominion knew that.
Why didn't she?
Aurelia pressed the pillow harder against her face, trying to quiet the trembling in her chest. The memory of what just happened kept replaying—his voice, his anger, the way he pushed her aside as if she were nothing but dust on his floor.
How had she allowed herself to believe she meant more?
Her breathing hitched, and she curled into herself, swallowed by a mix of shame, fear, and confusion. She didn't understand him. She didn't understand herself.
And here she was, Aurelia of Velmara's world—admiring a legendary witch who fought for nations—yet unable to even protect her own heart inside Tenebrarum's empire.
She felt completely, devastatingly lost.
Aurelia knew it wasn't completely her fault. She would swear he had been using his powers on her—pulling her in, bending her emotions until she couldn't tell what was hers and what was his.
She pushed herself up from the bed and moved toward the small window. With one quick breath she wiped her tears away, refusing to let even one more fall. Her hair hung wild across her face, but she didn't bother smoothing it down. Let her look chaotic. Let her look furious.
Because she was done breaking.
Aurelia stared out into the night, jaw clenched, hands trembling not from fear anymore—but from resolve.
If Tenebrarum thought he could treat her like she was helpless, like she was nothing, he was wrong.
She would punish him.
She would make him regret ever underestimating her.
And if she had to fight him—trick him—outsmart him—she would.
She wasn't planning how yet.
But she promised herself one thing with absolute certainty:
She would not let him destroy her again.
She will complete what she wanted to do all her life...
KILL HIM.
"He was always a monster," Aurelia said, breathing hard. "How couldn't I see it… how stupid was I?"
Her fingers shook as she pushed her hair out of her face.
"This demon… he will pay for what he's done. I swear it. To me, to my family… to the whole of humanity."
Aurelia laughed once, bitter.
"Does he thinks he own me."
Her voice broke, then hardened.
"He thinks I'm weak. He thinks he can do anything and walk away. But he has no idea what I can do. No idea what I'm capable of."
Aurelia wiped her tears roughly.
"He will pay. One way or another… he will."
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To be continued...