The air wasn't just heavy anymore; it was an executioner.
Castel's telekinesis was woven so deeply into the atmosphere that the square itself seemed to be breathing with his pulse. Lungs burned. Knees buckled. The sound of sweat hitting the stone was lost beneath the rhythmic, terrified gasps of the clansmen.
But at the edge of the circle, the pattern broke.
One woman stood like a spire of rock in a hurricane. She didn't kneel. She didn't even tremble.
Castel lifted a single finger. The pressure intensified instantly, a physical weight that forced the noblemen nearest to him to the ground, their foreheads cracking against the marble.
She remained standing.
Castel's mismatched eyes locked onto her, the blue and gold burning with a sudden, lethal curiosity. "Who is she?" his voice was dangerously smooth, like silk over a blade. "Speak."
Krince swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the silence. "A peasant from the mountains, sire. She... she comes for the market."
Castel's lips curved into a slow, dark smile. "There is nothing in the mountains," he whispered, "but the Void."
He didn't take his eyes off her. "Bring her to me."
A guard stepped forward, his form blurring. In a seamless display of power, the man split two, then four, then eight duplicates surrounding the girl before she could even think of retreating.
"Please," one of the shadows said with a chilling politeness, extending a hand. "Our King wishes to see you."
She hesitated for a heartbeat, a flicker of something not fear, but annoyance crossing her face. Then, she stepped forward. The crowd parted like a wound, fear carving a wide path for her.
When she reached the base of the throne, the guards merged back into a single man, vanishing into the shadows as if they had never existed. She set her basket down with a deliberate thud.
Then, she bowed. It wasn't the bow of a subject; it was the bow of a diplomat entering an enemy camp. She wore simple brown capri pants and an oversized white button-down, a black hooded cape swallowing her frame.
"Remove your hood," Castel ordered.
She obeyed.
The movement released a torrent of fire. Hair the color of a dying sun blazing red tipped in molten orange spilled down her back, catching the lantern light like living flame. She looked up, and for the first time that night, someone looked at Castel without blinking.
Her eyes were a pale, haunting violet. Along the backs of her hands, scales shimmered faintly red and white embers beneath the skin. Her ears were elongated, pointed sharply downward.
A collective gasp rippled through the square. A hybrid.
Castel didn't care about the gasps. He noticed the steadiness of her lungs. The way her heartbeat didn't skip.
"Greetings, Your Majesty," she said, her voice like cool water. "I am grateful to stand before you."
"Your name?"
A pause. I should have stayed home instead of being nosy, she thought, her violet eyes narrowing. "I am Arastella Getis."
Something shifted in the air. Castel stood, and the pressure in the square reacted to his movement, tightening until people began to moan in pain. He descended the steps, his gaze predatory.
"Your name," he said softly, stoping just inches from her, "is as beautiful as every part of you."
"Ouk," she muttered under her breath in the ancient Varack tongue. Men in this province. She actually rolled her eyes. So this is the King I'm meant to fear?
Castel stilled. "You speak Varack."
"Vaa."
Their eyes met fully. For one suspended heartbeat, the crushing pressure vanished. The crowd gasped as the weight lifted, but Castel didn't notice them. He felt a pull not a physical one, but something deeper, coiling around his soul like a chain.
"Are we going to pretend," she said coolly, "that you don't know what I am?"
"I care little for what you are," Castel replied, stepping into her personal space. "Only how I might make you mine."
Arastella straightened, entirely unimpressed. "You cannot covet what was never yours, King. Your people may fear you but dragons do not. Not now. Not ever."
The word Dragons rippled through the square like a curse.
Castel's amusement vanished. The air didn't just tighten; it collapsed. His telekinesis surged unchecked, a raw explosion of force that slammed everyone in the square to their knees. Ribs groaned under the weight.
Arastella did not bend. Not an inch.
"Even now," Castel said, his voice vibrating with a hunger that made the twins beside his throne flinch, "my heart races. I crave you. You have ignited something in me that cannot be extinguished."
Her expression remained frost. "I must go," she replied, turning her back on him. "Enjoy your festival."
He caught her wrist.
The contact burned. Up close, he saw the truth in her eyes. It wasn't fear. It was rage. It was hatred. It was the kind of fire that could melt his blackened throne.
He released her, his fingers tingling. "Seer," he commanded, not looking away from the dragon girl. "Come."
Relissa, the palace seer, rushed forward, her face ashen.
"Your hand, child," Castel said to Arastella.
Arastella hesitated, then allowed the woman to touch her. The moment their skin met, the world ended.
Relissa shrieked. Visions of the kingdom in flames, bodies littering the streets, and dragons blotting out the sun flooded the air. Blood ran through the streets of Sof like a river, and at the center of the carnage stood Arastella, her eyes burning like stars.
Relissa recoiled, trembling violently. "Sire! You must let her go! Marriage to her will destroy everything!"
A slow, dark smile touched Arastella's lips. Castel ignored the seer.
"Silence."
"I know what I saw!" the seer cried.
The pressure cracked the stone beneath their feet. Castel's jaw tightened. Then, slowly, he nodded once.
"For now," he said, his voice a low growl, "you are spared."
He turned to his wine. With a deliberate, chilling calm, he sliced his finger and let the toxic, dark blood drip into the cup. It turned the liquid black. He smeared the gore along the rim.
"Drink," he commanded. "Celebrate with me. Then go."
The crowd held its breath. Arastella stared at the cup, then at him. She lifted it and drank, her eyes never leaving his.
Castel stepped closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of fiery hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered, dragging slowly across her lower lip, smearing the trace of his blood there. It was a claim. A brand.
"You may go," he said, his voice strained with the effort of letting her move.
She bowed stiffly and turned, disappearing into the shadows of the forest. She left her basket behind. She didn't look back.
The moment she was gone, Castel's restraint snapped. He summoned Krince and Cion with a flick of his wrist.
"Follow her," he ordered, his eyes blazing with a terrifying light. "My blood is in her veins now. It will awaken soon. Retrieve her before the connection fades."
"B-but the seer—" Krince stammered.
Castel leaned forward. "Did I grant you permission to speak?" The invisible force crushed the air from Krince's lungs. "Go."
They vanished into the trees.
Castel turned back to the trembling crowd, a satisfied, monstrous smile spreading across his face. He lifted his empty cup to the moon.
"I have chosen my Queen," he declared, his voice echoing off the mountains. "The Choosing is over."
The pressure lifted as he vanished into the palace, but the fire had already been lit. And it was going to burn them all.