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Authors pov
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The following day dawned with a blinding, tropical brilliance, the kind that cast harsh, wavering shadows beneath the palm fronds lining the palace walls. The heat shimmered above the courtyard stones, curling the air in hazy ripples.
DASH!
Gillaï ran, her bare feet whispering against the polished marble. Her breath came in sharp bursts, her composure fractured by a fear she could barely articulate. She skidded to a halt beneath the towering archway, clutching the hem of her apron as she tried to steady herself.
"GILLAI!"
She jolted at the sound of his voice—Hakan's voice—calm, resonant, but carrying that familiar undertone of danger that made her bones tighten. He stood with effortless regal poise near one of the great pillars, draped in a loose lavender tunic that caught the light like silk water. His long, dark hair flowed around his shoulders, framing eyes as crimson and cold as garnets.
He was beautiful, yes…
But intimidatingly so.
A creature carved with elegance and power, unbothered by the suffocating heat.
"What's the matter?" he asked, lifting a brow. "It's not time for your lesson yet…"
Gillaï swallowed hard. The sun pressed down on her, thickening the air, making her tongue feel clumsy in her mouth.
"I… I need to talk to you before Lucina gets here."
Hakan's expression didn't shift, but the subtle narrowing of his eyes told her she now had his full, and dangerous, attention. He never cared much for these tutoring sessions with the King's new bride—always dismissing them as political obligations—but the mention of Lucina always sharpened him, just a bit.
"It's about the King," Gillaï forced out. "I heard he was furious when he read Lucina's letter."
Hakan went utterly still. Even the breeze seemed to hesitate.
"Ah… the letter."
He remembered it. Too well.
The letter Lucina wrote for him.
The letter he had personally screened.
Had the naive little maid actually caught something?
Gillaï fretted, twisting her fingers together. "I KNOW you checked that letter yourself," she whispered shakily. "D-did you notice she wrote something odd… but decide not to change it?"
Hakan's jaw tightened.
He had noticed.
A tiny anomaly. A strange phrasing. Something easily dismissed by anyone else—but not by someone who handled Lucina's writing daily.
He'd ignored it, brushing it off as harmless, thinking nothing in the world could possibly link it to his secret.
Now?
Cold paranoia slithered up his spine.
He lowered his gaze, shadows veiling his eyes.
"WHAT?"
A dangerous thought coiled in the back of his skull.
Has she figured out that I've been using black magic?
It was absurd. Impossible.
A simple maid, no magic, no influence.
And yet—
His fingertips tingled with the pull of his power, reacting to his anxiety.
He lifted his head sharply, pinning Gillaï with a gaze that made her breath hitch. She flinched, but to her credit, didn't back down. There was something in her eyes—a flicker of fear, yes, but also a stubborn glimmer of truth she believed in.
"Tell me exactly what was in that letter, Gillaï," he ordered, voice low, controlled, coiling with something unnamable. "And don't even think about lying."
She wilted under his tone but nodded rapidly.
Hakan leaned back slightly, trying to feign a calm he didn't feel.
"There were a few spelling mistakes," he said smoothly, the lie sliding off his tongue like silk. "But there wasn't anything wrong with what she wrote."
Gillaï blinked, thrown. "R-really? That's right…"
"In fact," he added, shrugging with practiced ease, "I chose not to correct them. I thought the King would find it charming—her effort to write personally."
Gillaï slowly deflated, her suspicion loosening but not gone.
"D-did he get upset… because of those spelling errors, then?"
Hakan paused.
Her question shouldn't have shaken him. But his own silence felt heavy, damning.
She fidgeted, her anxiety spiraling. And finally—
In a tiny, terrified whisper:
"Maybe he lost his mind after reading the letter because he was under the influence of… black magic."
Everything stopped.
The courtyard.
The air.
Hakan's heartbeat.
She said it.
STEP.
STEP.
A shadow glided between them.
Delicate, pale green slippers touched the sunlit stone.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"
Both froze.
Lucina stood there, silver hair cascading like moonlit water, her icy blue eyes widening as she sensed the tension hanging thick and poisonous in the air.
"DASH! GASP! MY LADY!" Gillaï yelped, scrambling toward her. "W-why did you come here all alone?"
Lucina clutched her hands nervously. "I couldn't find you anywhere… so I thought you'd be here." She turned toward Hakan, worry tinting her voice. "Did Hakan get upset after he read my letter?"
Gillaï gasped. "DID YOU REALLY MEAN IT WHEN YOU SAID HAKAN WAS FURIOUS?!"
Lucina's eyes shimmered with tears as she looked up at him.
"Was it because my writing skills weren't good enough…?"
Hakan inhaled sharply.
She truly believed she was the problem.
And worse—
Gillaï's accusation still throbbed in the air like a curse.
He forced a smooth, calming smile, though his mind churned violently.
"My Lady," he said gently, his voice regaining its cool control. "Your writing is impeccable. The King's reaction—"
He looked at Gillaï.
The maid flinched.
"—had nothing to do with your skill."
---
Hakan's mind was a frantic, tightening knot of tension, but his face remained a mask of aristocratic serenity as he shifted his full attention to the newly arrived Queen, Lucina.
"MY LADY! DID YOU COME HERE ALL BY YOURSELF?" Gillaï cried, rushing to Lucina in a near stumble of panic.
"Yes," Lucina replied softly, her voice tinged with worry. "I couldn't find you anywhere… so I thought you might be here." Her mint-green gown fluttered lightly in the courtyard breeze as she stepped closer, every movement gentle yet deliberate. Her thoughts, however, were far from calm. She looked between Gillaï and Hakan, her slender fingers twisting anxiously. "Did Hakan get upset… after he read my letter?"
Gillaï froze, guilt overtaking the fear on her face.
"DID YOU REALLY MEAN IT WHEN YOU SAID HAKAN WAS FURIOUS?" Lucina asked her maid. The tremor in her voice betrayed how deeply the idea unsettled her.
Then she turned her wide, trembling eyes to Hakan.
"Was it… because my writing skills weren't good enough?"
For a moment, Hakan could only stare at her. Her voice was so small, fragile enough that a single harsh word might shatter her.
He stepped forward.
"There were a few spelling mistakes," he said smoothly, gently. "But there wasn't anything wrong with what she wrote."
His gaze slid sharply to Gillaï—a silent warning.
Gillaï swallowed the message whole. "R-really? That's right," she muttered weakly. She had been thinking about the letter's strange phrasing, not its spelling, but Hakan's tone left no room for argument.
Hakan continued weaving his lie with practiced precision.
"…I decided not to correct those mistakes because I thought he would be touched that she made the effort to write the letter herself."
He tilted his head, feigning mild confusion.
"Did he get upset with those spelling errors, then…?"
Lucina hesitated. Her brows knitted, her lips pressing together in doubt.
"IS HAKAN THE TYPE OF PERSON TO GET ANGRY OVER SOMETHING LIKE THAT?" he asked her, guiding her thoughts away from the truth.
"N-no…" Lucina whispered. "He isn't."
Hakan could see her calming. For a heartbeat, he felt relief—until the light shifted in her silver eyes, revealing a new, firmer resolve.
His chest tightened.
A low, quiet CHUCKLE escaped him—one laced with bitter self-mockery.
Why did I say that to her?
Why did I protect her from the truth?
His goals were clear.
Crystal clear.
"I NEED LUCINA AND THE KING TO STOP TRUSTING EACH OTHER… TO GROW MORE DISTANT."
Because only then—
"LUCINA WILL CHOOSE ME."
But beneath the calculation, another truth pulsed, painful and unwanted:
"BUT I DON'T WANT TO SEE LUCINA LOOKING SO UPSET."
He despised the contradiction.
His mind led him one way, but his heart tugged another.
Lucina suddenly lifted her chin, determination burning in her eyes.
"But… I need to go and talk with Hakan in person."
Gillaï stiffened, her panic reawakening. "NOD NOD! I'll be fine… There's something I have to tell him."
Hakan felt every drop of blood drain from his face.
The King—unstable, unpredictable, often forgetting the very rage that overtook him—was dangerous. Especially now.
If Lucina walked into that room…
If the King lost control even for a moment…
Hakan couldn't finish the thought.
Lucina mistook his silence for permission. Her expression brightened with mild relief and budding confidence.
"You're right!" she said earnestly. "The most effective way to resolve misunderstandings is to engage in an honest, face-to-face conversation!"
She turned sharply.
"I'LL BE GOING NOW."
Hakan moved before he even realized it.
GRAB.
His hand closed firmly around her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
Lucina gasped softly, turning back with a startled, questioning look. "?"
He needed a reason—fast. One that wouldn't frighten her. One that fit the role he played.
He forced his eyes wide, feigning surprise.
"OH… AHEM…! ARE YOU GOING TO SKIP TODAY'S LESSON?"
Lucina blinked.
"OOPS!"
Her face flushed with embarrassment. She had forgotten entirely.
Seeing her mistress flustered, Gillaï leapt in to help. She squeezed Lucina's hands and winked.
"I'll tell you everything you've missed later. That's fine, right?"
Lucina exhaled, visibly relieved. "Okay. Thanks, Titi."
She offered Gillaï a grateful smile. "GOOD LUCK!"
With that—
DASH.
Gillaï hurried away, her steps light but her panic unmistakable.
Hakan watched her disappear down the hallway, dread settling like iron in his stomach.
He had saved Lucina from walking straight into the storm—
But he had sent Gillaï into it instead.
I should follow her, he thought darkly. Just in case something happens.
The King's strange behavior had escalated recently—fits of rage followed by confused amnesia. He claimed it was his "potent period," or the effects of stopping a certain medicine.
But Hakan knew better.
Lucina tugged softly at his sleeve, pulling him from his thoughts.
"A-are you feeling a bit better now?" she asked, worry etched across her delicate features.
Hakan forced a small, weary smile.
"I'm a bit tired," he murmured. "I think I'll feel better once I bathe in the holy water."
It was the perfect excuse. Believable. Harmless.
And it allowed him to leave without alarming her further.
He cast one last glance in the direction Gillaï had run—the direction of danger—and steeled himself for what awaited him.
Hakan left Lucina with a gentle, reassuring smile.
"I'm a bit tired. I think I'll feel better once I bathe in the holy water."
As expected, Lucina's brows drew together in worry, her empathy immediate and genuine.
"Are you sure…? Please take care of yourself," she murmured.
He watched her disappear down the corridor toward her lessons, her mint-green gown trailing softly behind her. Only when she was safely gone did the calm on his face fracture.
Hakan spun on his heel and RUSHED, his footsteps silent but swift. His purple robes billowed behind him as he sprinted in the direction Gillaï had taken.
He had to catch her.
He had to prevent disaster.
Because Gillaï, trembling and emotional, was heading toward the one person who could not—must not—hear the truth.
The King's Chamber
In the gilded quiet of his private chambers, the Dragon King sat alone.
This room was a throne in all but name—polished metal, rippling silk banners, and light refracted through gemstones set into the walls. But the man seated within its luxury looked nothing like the unshakable ruler he was known to be.
The King leaned forward in his carved chair, dark hair tied back in a rough, careless knot. His shoulders were tense, his expression bleak. His eyes burned red, but not with power this time—only frustration.
He ran a hand over his face.
Something was wrong with him.
He knew it.
Recently, his temper had begun snapping like brittle glass, erupting into uncontrollable rage without warning. One moment he would feel the surge of fury, the next—
nothing.
Only an empty space in his memory where the anger should have been.
His courtiers tried to soothe him with simple explanations.
"Your potent period is to blame, Your Majesty."
"Your Dragon King powers naturally intensify at this time."
But he wasn't convinced.
He had considered the medicine he'd been consuming for years—an ancient compound said to "harmonize" his draconic bloodline. When the episodes grew worse, he had crumbled the packet in his fist and sworn to stop taking it.
Yet the strange mood swings continued.
"Ridiculous…" he muttered under his breath, jaw clenching. "If it isn't the medicine, then what…?"
His eyes drifted, landing on a small, innocuous candle flickering on a side table.
Just then, a maid (not Gillaï) slipped into the room. She bowed deeply.
"Your candle has gone out. Would you like me to light it again?"
The King SPRANG UP, startling her.
A memory—sharp and violent—struck him like a blow.
That candle.
There had been a candle burning when he read Lucina's letter earlier.
The moment he opened the envelope, he had felt a sudden, searing fury. Not ordinary irritation—something monstrous and foreign.
It had swallowed him whole.
He stared at the candle now, its flame wavering softly, casting a gentle glow that betrayed nothing.
But his instincts screamed.
"…The candle was lit then too."
His pulse quickened.
His breath hitched.
A dreadful realization twisted through him:
There could be something wrong with that candle.
Something unnatural.
Something deliberate.
His voice dropped to a harsh whisper.
"I have to summon the cleric immediately and have her check—"
He stopped.
A sound echoed from the hallway.
Footsteps.
A hurried voice.
"HAKAN!"
His heart jolted.
Lucina?
He strode to the door, urgency overtaking him. His anger, confusion, paranoia—all of it vanished beneath the instinctive need to protect his queen.
But when he opened the door—
It wasn't Lucina standing there.
It was Gillaï, her face pale and her breath trembling.
And just behind her—
Hakan, his purple robes rumpled, chest rising and falling from the run.
The King's red eyes narrowed.
Gillaï stared up at him, wringing her hands.
"Your Majesty! I need to talk to you about the Queen!"
Hakan stepped forward immediately, placing himself between her and danger.
"Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "Gillaï is merely concerned about the Queen's recent fatigue from her lessons. She's only seeking reassurance."
The King wasn't fooled.
His gaze sliced straight through Hakan's polite tone.
Hakan felt a subtle coil of tension tighten in his stomach.
The King was already on edge from his candle revelation—this was the worst possible time for Gillaï to speak.
And Gillaï…
Gillaï looked ready to spill everything.
She took a shuddering breath.
"My Lady said he probably lost his mind after reading the letter because he was under the influence of black magic—"
"STOP."
Hakan moved instantly.
He stepped in front of her, shielding her from the King's line of sight. His stance was protective but also commanding. His eyes flashed a silent warning:
Not.
Another.
Word.
"Your Majesty," Hakan said, voice low, controlled, and laced with urgency, "I came because I wanted to tell you that you don't have to do that anymore…"
The King blinked, thrown off.
"Do what?"
Hakan softened his tone, appearing weary and conflicted.
"Your Majesty… I know you've been taking special measures."
He exhaled, as though burdened.
"But seeing Lucina so distressed—I don't want to see her looking so upset. It's affecting her health."
For the first time, the King's expression wavered.
Lucina's name always reached him.
Even through madness.
His features gentled.
"…Is it alright if we go inside?" he muttered, glancing between them.
Hakan nodded.
Gillaï, trembling, couldn't speak.
The King's heavy hand rested on Hakan's shoulder, guiding him into the room.
But then—
the King's eyes halted, widening slightly.
Hakan's robe had slipped open during the sprint.
On the smooth planes of his chest—
spiral-shaped markings
glowed faintly beneath his skin.
The King froze, stunned.
Before he could speak—
"HAKAN!?"
Lucina's voice rang down the hall, breathless with worry.
She had run to catch up.
The King reacted instinctively, pulling Hakan farther inside like shielding a secret.
"I can't let anyone find out that I have the ability to heal!" he whispered sharply, panicked.
Then he turned toward his queen's approaching figure.
"Lucina! I don't really know what's going on, but sure," he called awkwardly, trying to mask his confusion. With a stiff, uneasy smile, he pushed the door shut.
CLICK.
The room sealed with a finality that made Hakan's pulse spike.
Inside, the King guided him to sit.
He drew closer, lowering himself opposite Hakan.
Dark smoke curled, tendrils of black magic rising like cold breath against Hakan's skin.
The air crackled.
Hakan's eyes fluttered shut.
He could feel it—
the wrongness of the magic, its weight, its hunger.
The King leaned in, eyes glowing crimson.
His voice was deep, commanding, edged with desperation.
"Now tell me.
WHAT DID YOU SAY?
YOU HAVE THE POWER TO HEAL?"