It was a peaceful morning in the palace, though the air buzzed with energy. Today was the long-awaited coronation of the crown prince. After weeks of preparation, the grand celebration had finally arrived. Servants moved through the halls like clockwork, hauling silks, banners, golden platters, and ornate chairs into place. The scent of roasted meats and sweet pastries drifted from the kitchens.

At the heart of the commotion stood Vexen, head of the royal maids. She barked orders crisply, her sharp tone cutting through the morning air.

"Double-check the archway ribbons! And who set this table like a tavern feast? Fix it—now!"

Though she moved with her usual grace and authority, something felt off. Her mood was darker than usual. Her voice tighter. Her glare, sharper.

Two younger maids whispered as they folded linens.

"Do you think Lady Vexen's having a bad morning?"

"Maybe… something must've happened."

Before either could say more, an older maid with a stiff back and a crown of silver hair interrupted, her voice firm.

"Mind your tongues. Don't gossip about the head maid if you want to keep your posts."

They straightened immediately. The elder woman, Silva, continued on and approached Vexen, who had just finished berating a butler for misplacing the coronation robes.

"Ah, Miss Silva. You're here," Vexen said, trying to compose herself.

Silva raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter? You look like you've swallowed a nail."

Vexen exhaled through her nose. "It's nothing. I just saw something… unpleasant this morning."

But she wasn't being honest—not entirely. What she had seen was Dameon asleep in his chambers… with Nyxtriel beside him. The sight had clawed at her like betrayal. That woman. That thing. Curled up next to the one she swore would lead them to vengeance.

Silva smirked knowingly. "Then get rid of the roaches, girl. Let the celebration begin clean."

Vexen's eyes sharpened, and a slow smile curled her lips. "You're right. Soon, I'll be rid of that pest."

As Silva nodded and walked off, the moment was broken by hurried footsteps.

"Lady Vexen!"

She turned to see Varian and William approaching.

Ugh. The mutt and the errand boy.

She smiled anyway. "Yes?"

"His Highness is asking for you," Varian said.

"Me?" Vexen blinked, masking her surprise.

He nodded. "He said it's urgent."

"I see," she said, smoothing her dress. "And where might you two be off to?"

Varian grinned. "To mess with the guards and maybe steal some cake."

William groaned. "We're going to help with security and make sure no one's sneaking into the ceremony."

Vexen chuckled politely. "Of course you are. Run along."

As they darted off, her smile faded. If Dameon was calling for her personally… it meant plans were shifting again.

And that meant blood was going to be spilled—sooner than anyone thought.

•••••••

Vexen walked briskly through the corridor, heels clicking softly against polished marble, when she caught sight of Dameon and Gabriel up ahead. The two brothers were deep in conversation—Gabriel's tone tense, his brows drawn despite the day being his coronation. Something was off.

As soon as they noticed her approaching, Gabriel fell silent.

"Greetings, Your Highness Prince Dameon. Your Highness, the Crown Prince," Vexen said with a respectful bow.

Gabriel nodded briefly, placing a hand on Dameon's shoulder. The only thing Vexen caught was a low murmur: "Prepare yourself. And make it quick."

Then he turned and walked off down the hall, his cloak trailing behind him.

Dameon remained, hands in his pockets, his gaze unreadable.

Vexen took a breath and stepped forward. "Your Highness… is Saintess Lilac still with you?"

"Oh, yes," Dameon replied casually. "I sent her back to the Holy Temple."

She blinked. "You… let her go? Won't she report you to the temple for kidnapping her? I could've helped you get rid of her, you know."

Dameon's eyes flicked toward her, sharp and curious. "Get rid of her… for me?"

Vexen hesitated. "I only meant—I'm your loyal servant, after all."

Dameon sighed and raked a hand through his hair, clearly unamused. "Let's talk about that. Your sudden loyalty to me—it's strange. Suspicious, even. I want to hear it from you, Vexen. Why serve me? You know what kind of plan I'm carrying out. You know it isn't heroic."

Vexen stepped closer, her voice quieter now. "Your Highness, I—"

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Voices.

"Hmm? I could've sworn I heard Miss Vexen's voice," one maid said.

"You're imagining things," the other replied. "Come on, let's finish the decorations before the head maid yells at us."

They paused in front of a nearby door.

"Wait, should we clean this room?"

"No need. We're not here to clean—just decorate. Let's go."

The two maids disappeared down the hall.

Inside that very room, Dameon held Vexen by the mouth, her back against the wall. She could feel his breath, warm and calm, far too composed for someone hiding.

"Looks like they're gone," Dameon muttered, releasing her and stepping deeper into the room. He scanned the modest furnishings—just a couple of chairs, a dim lamp. One of the many unused guest rooms in the palace.

Vexen adjusted her dress and tried to steady her breathing. "If you don't mind me asking… where's your partner? Nyxtriel?"

"Oh, I sent her on an errand," he replied, tone dry. "By now, she should be delivering a very special gift to the Holy Temple… as a show of my gratitude."

The way he said it sent a chill through her. A gift?

She didn't dare ask what kind.

Still, the moment brought a rare opportunity. They were alone. No guards. No Nyxtriel. No eavesdroppers.

And in her heart, the seed of ambition pulsed again.

She smiled faintly. This was her chance to draw even closer.

"Your Highness… I've been meaning to speak with you privately." Vexen's voice was soft, careful. "I know we didn't start off well. I sent assassins after you, you cut off my fingers—but even then, I watched you grow into the man you are now. And I'm proud of you."

Dameon didn't respond. His expression was unreadable.

"But," she went on, stepping closer, "the real reason I'm serving you… it's not just about loyalty to the crown. It's about your mother. I think you deserve to know the truth about her."

She smiled inwardly. This was the moment. All she needed to do was feed the truth, stoke the right fire, and she could push Nyxtriel out of the picture—then make Dameon rely on her.

Dameon turned slightly. "What are you saying about my mother?"

Vexen's eyes narrowed. "She's evil, Your Highness. She's treated you like nothing—ignored you, blamed you, even feared you."

"I always thought it was because of my demonic blood," he muttered.

She leaned in. "No, Your Highness. It's much worse. What I'm about to say may sound shocking, but I need you to trust me."

He looked at her carefully, coldly. "If you're lying, Vexen, I won't take it lightly."

"I'm not," she said quickly. "The truth is… Queen Bianca isn't your biological mother."

Silence fell.

Dameon's eyes widened, his breath catching. "What…?"

She could see the disbelief twisting through him. Good. The seed had been planted.

"I was there," she said, lowering her voice. "I saw it. And I know for a fact—Bianca erased every maid who knew the truth."

Dameon's fists clenched. His eyes dropped to the floor.

"I still don't know if I believe you… but if what you're saying is true…"

"You don't have to be alone in this anymore," she whispered, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him. "Let's destroy everything they've built—together."

She cupped his face gently. "But first, let's ruin the coronation. You've got the mind for it. Just tell me how to help. I'll do anything."

Dameon tilted his head. "Anything?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation.

"Then if my father truly is as rotten as he seems—help me get rid of him. Poison him."

Her breath caught. "You… you want me to do that?"

"Can't you?" Dameon asked smoothly.

She blushed. "I'll do anything for you."

He tapped her shoulder. "I knew I could count on you."

Her heart fluttered. This was working. He trusted her.

"But…" she said, stepping back slightly. "I want something in return."

"A reward?" Dameon asked. "Money? Position?"

"No," she said, looking down. "Spend a night with me."

Dameon's brows lifted. That was bold—even for her.

"Do you… have a crush on me?" he asked with a faint smile.

"I don't know what this feeling is yet…" she muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled. "Fine. If you succeed, I'll grant your wish."

She nodded eagerly. "Then I'll make sure it's done." She bowed, then turned and left the room with a victorious smile.

The door clicked shut.

And Dameon burst into laughter.

"So naïve. Even more predictable than I thought."

Meanwhile, atop the temple roof, Nyxtriel crouched in the shadows, watching the scene unfold with cold satisfaction.

Below, two holy guards approached the large, blood-streaked box that had been left at the temple gates. The foul stench coming from it made one of them grimace.

"Should we open this thing?" the younger guard asked, stepping closer. "Who would leave something like this in front of the Holy Temple?"

"Don't touch it," the older one snapped, reaching out to stop him. "I've got a bad feeling—"

But curiosity had already won. The younger soldier flipped the latch and slowly opened the lid.

Silence.

Then he staggered back violently, choking as he turned and vomited onto the temple steps.

Inside the box lay the severed head of Saintess Lilac—her once holy features now twisted in pain, her eyes glassy, lifeless.

The older guard stared, frozen. Then he turned, his face pale. "By the Goddess… I must report this to the High Temple immediately!"

He sprinted toward the temple doors, yelling for the priests.

High above, Nyxtriel folded her arms, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the morning light.

"Looks like our lord's plan worked perfectly," she murmured with a smirk. "One piece at a time… Varyndor will crumble."