CHAPTER 461: IN DEVIL’S HANDS

Rushing to the floor, Arabella didn’t hesitate even for a heartbeat. Her skirts tangled at her knees, her breath caught in her throat, yet her hands moved with desperate precision. She drew a circle upon the cold floor as swift as a dove and flung salt along its edges as she whispered an incantation beneath her breath. Each word left her lips like smoke, faint but haunting.

At the end of her spell, she tipped the candle, letting molten wax drip into the circle’s heart. A hiss — the sound that one would hear when burning something so badly in a kitchen — and it broke through the air. From the corners of the room came the sound of sizzling, and when she turned, the walls themselves seemed to blister and weep.

"Grab what’s burnt," she ordered, her voice cutting through the mounting heat.

Isaac did not question. He darted forward, his boots striking against the stone floor, his eyes wide as the air grew thick as he could smell the scent of salt and sulfur. Upon the walls, he saw fragments of blackened parchment — strange, brittle things that clung to the plaster like dead skin. He tore one free, then another, until five in total rested in his trembling hands. The last, half-hidden beneath her bed, came away with a sound like tearing flesh.

He hurried back, presenting them to her as though bearing cursed relics.

Arabella took them without a word. Her fingers tightened, her knuckles whitening until the papers crackled beneath the strain. Rage flickered through her — smoldering in her blood as if it was starting to turn alive

"Those papers... were they made to overhear our conversation?" Isaac asked, his voice low in a whisper, afraid that they would once again be noticed with their secrets.

"They are watching me," Arabella whispered, pressing a hand to her temple as fragments of memory clawed their way back to her.

She could still hear that man’s voice — the one who had saved her the SS,e night — deeply entering her ears with a stern voice, half-laced with warning.

"Everyone in this castle cannot be trusted. Not even the walls or the floors." He said.

At the time, she had thought his words metaphorical — a grim proverb meant to caution her against the false loyalties of servants and courtiers. She had even turned her suspicion toward Isaac. But now... now she understood.

He hadn’t spoken in riddles. The man had meant exactly what he said. The walls, the floors — the very bones of this cursed castle — were watching her.

"We don’t have time," she breathed sharply. "Isaac, fetch me new oil papers."

He obeyed at once, darting away while she seized her ink and quill. With the precision of a blade, she began inscribing a new spell upon the walls where Morpheus had once fastened his parchments. Her hand moved in fluid circles, every stroke alive with dark purpose.

Isaac returned, glancing at the writing — his brow furrowed as he recognized fragments of symbols, though not their full meaning.

"Milady... aren’t you repeating the same spell from before?"

"Similar," Arabella replied, her tone calm but edged with steel. "He needs to believe his control remains unbroken. If the castle suddenly falls silent, he’ll know I’ve uncovered his deceit. So let him watch — but what he sees will no longer be truth. It will be the beginning of his nightmare."

Isaac blinked, awe mingling with fear. "Then we can speak freely now," he murmured, half to himself. "Without watching every word we say."

Arabella’s lips curved faintly — not a smile, but something colder. "For the first time," she said, "yes."

He stared at her with something close to reverence. She had always been formidable, but this... this was brilliance woven from madness. He understood now why destruction had not been her first instinct. To tear down Morpheus’s spell would have been foolish — to deceive it, however, was pure genius.

Destroying the papers would have sounded the alarm. But letting them see what she wished them to see? That was war in silence.

Still, curiosity gnawed at him.

"Milady," Isaac ventured softly, "how did you manage to stop Lord Morpheus’s magic earlier? For a moment I thought we’d both die."

Arabella turned toward him, the candlelight catching on the pale line of her cheek. She said nothing at first — then, from her palm, she revealed a single bead.

It was small, dark as midnight — a deep onyx stone that seemed to drink the light around it.

"He gave it to me," she said quietly.

Isaac froze. "He? Lord Morpheus?"

Her silence told him enough.

"But... how?" he stammered. "Wouldn’t he have known? Unless—" His eyes widened with a dawning horror. "Unless there are two souls inside him. I’ve heard of such possessions before. One host, two minds—"

Arabella almost laughed, though the sound came out brittle. "No. It isn’t him."

She exhaled slowly, her gaze distant, shadowed by thought.

"When we were separated, someone intervened. A stranger. I had assumed he was one of Morpheus’s men — but he wasn’t. He shielded me, even from Morpheus’s sight. And when Morpheus used his magic... it failed. It was as though the air itself refused to obey him."

Isaac’s mind raced. "A man who can silence magic at will?" he murmured, astonished. "Then he isn’t merely immune — he nullifies it. But that would mean... he isn’t a sorcerer at all."

"No," Arabella said softly, tracing her finger along the rim of the onyx bead. "He’s something else entirely."

And for a moment, she swore the bead pulsed faintly — like a heartbeat buried within the stone.

"But the fact is he has this beads and they seem to inactivate magic," Arabella raised her hand and placed the bead near the candles’ flames, seeing the golden red hue over the black bead and saw how something inside it have swirled. "And it smells like a demon."

"You meant that it was a demon who had saved you?" Isaac shook his head in his own question. "That couldn’t be true. They say demons cannot stay far from Hell. As a punishment for turning away from god, they are never allowed to touch the mortal world or leave a step out of Hell."

"It must be someone else but he smelled like a demon, so strongly, especially these beads. They seem to hold the blood of a demon. Perhaps it was made on purpose to inactivate all magic Morpheus made in this castle, who knows perhaps this person had used this bead as a meant to enter the castle as well."

Isaac thoughtfully hummed, "It does seem that man is extremely learned in magic. Not a sorcerer, have a demon blood but could know well about them and even have the blood of a demon. Something about him is special... or was it a curse?"

"Curse..." Arabella wondered if the owner knows the closer his blood smell like a demon, the more dangerous it could be? After all no demons are allowed in mortal world. His blood being slightly demonic, perhaps due to a contract he made with a demon but if he continues tapping into that demonic power, he would be cursed for worse and perhaps even be dragged to Hell as one of their demons.

"What should we do now, Milady?" Isaac questioned gently, worried on his face as he knew now they were up against a bigger situation which was Morpheus.

"For now I’ll keep this bead with me and... this," she pulled up to show him the forbidden book she had took. "We need to find a way for me to return whatever memory that had been tampered inside my head. Find the one person kept around us to weaken my memories and heart, and... we don’t have much time. I had created a fake book to hide that the forbidden book is in my hands but in a week, that copy is going to disappear."

"I understand, Milady," Isaac bowed, "First your memories and I’ll find the person-"

"No, actually Isaac I want you to learn magic. I want you to find a way from this forbidden book to return my memories."

"I couldn’t-"

"You can— I’ll teach you. I need someone to help me fix what’s broken in me and I can’t do it alone but you know this castle belongs to him."

Pursing his lips, Isaac nodded his head a few time. Arabella was right. He didn’t have any time to hesitate. Even if it’s hard he had promised to protect her.

"I’ll find the person who had helped Morpheus alter my memories. That cloaked woman," she then whispered, recalling something.

By the next morning, maids rushed to help her, adorning her in a white gown while she stare at the entire situation, frowning in return.

"Milady please, this tiara on your head—"

But Arabella didn’t move. She didn’t let herself be dressed or accessorized. She stared at the door until it opened and Morpheus had walked inside with his silver hair tied with a ribbon and a smile on his lips.

"What else o you dislike from your wedding gown, dear?"