CHAPTER 457: A LOYALTY LIKE NONE OTHERS-I

And there, in front of them all, stood Morpheus himself, his expression a mask of smug triumph, settling that gorgeous expression with a merciless cruelty.

His green eyes gleamed beneath the torchlight venomous, illuminating the faint curl of mockery at the edge of his mouth.

Even from a distance, Arabella could feel the sheer weight of his presence, an invisible force pressing against her ribs, suffocating, as though she was going against the very nature of the world.

The air itself seemed to shudder under the gravity of his gaze, as though the flames of the torches bent toward him in unspoken submission and Arabella hated the feel of having to also bow down under his authority.

Isaac, despite the deep bruise spreading like spilled ink across his cheek, lifted his head and squared his shoulders. His voice, though hoarse, carried defiance sharp enough to offend Morpheus who had always been respected.

"I won’t tell you where she is."

For a fleeting second, there was quiet, an almost reverent stillness, before Morpheus’s lips curved into that slow, measured smile that never reached his eyes. It was the kind of smile that belonged to a man who knew how everything was going to play out, as if he had all the cards while facing a child.

"Oh, you will," he murmured, shrugging his shoulders with such a light scoff, "Everyone does, eventually."

He descended a step, boots clicking softly against the marble floor, making his way closer to Isaac whose shoulders were being pushed by his men. The torchlight licked across his pale hands as he clasped them behind his back, his shadow spilling across Isaac’s boots.

"Should I give you the chance to speak with honesty, Isaac?" Morpheus asked in that calm, unnerving tone, like a teacher coaxing a child to confess a lie. "Tell me where you really went, and where Arabella is right now."

Isaac’s jaw tightened. His expression, usually so quick with wit, faltered for a fraction of a second. He knew what kind of man stood before him; he knew that no mortal could outwit someone who wielded magic as if it were an extension of his lungs. In the face of such power, even all his lies became brittle, no matter how good he was at lying. Yet still—he tried.

"I walked to the hallway to fetch the items my Lady asked me," Isaac said through gritted teeth, every word scraped from defiance.

Morpheus chuckled softly, a low, humorless sound that rolled through the air like smoke.

"You are saying," he drawled, "that all this time Arabella has been in her room?"

"That is where I last saw her," Isaac replied, lifting his chin with a shadow of insolent pride. "But she said she felt confined. Restless. She wanted air, so she’s been walking about. If you didn’t know, then perhaps the Lady forgot to tell you."

That smile returned, crueler now, showcasing his patience that had thinned out.

Before the tension could settle, the sharp voice of a maid broke the moment.

"Milord! The Lady isn’t in her room!" she exclaimed breathlessly as she stumbled in, skirts rustling like whispers of panic.

Isaac turned sharply, eyes narrowing, his glare heavy enough to silence most. But the maid, trembling though she was, dared to lower her gaze and bow, her voice shaking. "Forgive me, my lord, but she is nowhere to be found."

Morpheus tilted his head ever so slightly, amusement glinting like glass.

"Would you look at that, Isaac?" he said softly, almost kindly. "She isn’t in her room. One lie you’ve spoken already. But if you insist it is the truth, then surely you can tell me, where is Arabella? And what was it she asked you to fetch?"

Arabella’s breath caught as she watched from the shadows, the distance between them both her salvation and her torment. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her palms slick with cold sweat.

If she stepped forward now, if she confessed, it would end this torment for Isaac. But it would also mean surrendering herself once again to Morpheus’s mind-breaking control. The memory spells he wove were subtle, and even until now she still cannot be sure of what had been added to her head and what was actually real.

If he tampered with her mind again, what would remain of her?

Would she forget her name? Her purpose?

Would she forget that she ever hated him?

The thought twisted her gut. The idea of becoming one of his pretty, hollow puppets, obedient doll who always held a smile, soulless, filled her with a terror far deeper than death.

She pressed a hand against her mouth, trying to still the tremor in her breath. She couldn’t let him win. Not again.

Not this time.

Clenching her palm, she turned away from the corridor.

Isaac who had seen her from afar breathed out in relief. If he was going to be punished so be it, as long as Arabella could run away far from here.

Though running away was good, he was still worried as no one could leave the castle as they wish. Even the lady before Arabella, the one named Ariel had to leave by using a trick, if not she would still be here, held as a hostage.

"Seems that you are never going to tell the truth, Isaac, how disappointing," Morpheus scolded him which annoyed Isaac as the man alwasy acted as though he was older and more knowing than him when Isaac knew Morpheus had always been the type of man who looks mature from the outside but nothing more than a child in his heart, so childish that it could burn his scalp with pure irk.

"What can we do than use a magic to force you spill the truth? I doubt that now even Arabella can safe your soul."

Isaac smiled while staring back at him and sighed, "I’ll tell you the truth. Come closer."

Morpheus found his sudden change of attitude was odd so he moved closer, leaning to hear what he have to say but when he was close enough, Isaac spat on him, the clear liquid dripping the side of his cheek followed by a chuckle of triumph slipping from Isaac who had grinned wide.

"Fuck you."

and the men behind Isaac immediately smashed his face to the ground, yelling in anger as they couldn’t accept such rudeness to their beloved master.