Night fell with a cold wind.
The halls of the royal palace, so full of celebration just hours before, now stood quiet—almost too quiet. The guards rotated their shifts. The nobles slept in luxury. The servants moved like whispers in the dark.
And in the highest chamber of the eastern wing, King Aleric Dominick III poured himself another glass of wine.
The bottle was half-empty. Maybe more.
He didn't count anymore.
He sat in silence, armor removed, crown resting on the velvet cushion nearby. His back was slouched. The lines on his face showed deeper under the golden lamplight.
Here, alone, he wasn't a king.
Just a man.
Tired. Fractured. Drowning in what-ifs and things left unsaid.
He lifted the glass to his lips, then paused, staring into the red swirl.
Daemon.
That boy hadn't flinched in court. Hadn't looked ashamed. Hadn't begged for attention like he used to.
He'd just smiled.
And bowed.
Like a blade being sheathed.
Aleric exhaled.
He finished the glass in one swallow.
Then—
A breeze stirred the curtains.
He turned.
The window was slightly open. Odd. He didn't remember opening it.
The white silk curtains billowed gently, dancing like ghosts in the moonlight.
The room was dim, heavy with silence.
He sipped.
And then—
A voice.
"You traitor."
Soft.
Clear.
Feminine.
His breath caught in his throat.
It was a voice he hadn't heard in thirteen years.
A voice that used to hum lullabies in corridors no one else dared walk. A voice that had once whispered in his ear when the world was at war.
Rose.
His heart pounded.
He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head.
"...I've had too much wine," he muttered.
He leaned forward and poured himself another glass. It sloshed slightly over the rim. He didn't care.
"Maybe I'm drunk. Maybe it's the stress."
He downed it in one gulp.
But the wind began to howl through the windows. The white curtains rustled, growing more violent, swirling unnaturally.
Aleric squinted.
There was a figure behind them.
Still. Shadowed. Waiting.
He stood up slowly.
His hand reached for the curtain.
And when he pulled it aside—
She was there.
Black hair. Pale skin. Red eyes. Maid's uniform.
She looked young—just like the last day he saw her.
Just like the last time she screamed as she was dragged out of the palace, belly swollen with his sons.
His throat dried.
"...Rose?"
Her eyes locked onto him.
Glowing. Crimson.
"Aleric," she said softly.
That voice.
It hadn't aged. It hadn't faded.
It cut through him like a knife dipped in honey.
He staggered back.
"No," he whispered. "It's not real. It's my imagination. It's the wine."
She stepped forward. Bare feet soundless on marble.
"Aleric, my king... why didn't you find me?"
His hands trembled.
"I—I tried," he stammered. "I... I didn't know where they took you. It all happened so fast—"
She smiled.
And touched his cheek.
Her hand was cold. Ice and silk.
"You abandoned me," she whispered. "And you let her—Bianca—take my children. You let her bury me with silence."
His eyes welled up.
"I didn't want that! I—I was weak. I thought I'd protect them this way. I was wrong—I was a coward, Rose!"
Tears spilled.
"I didn't want it to end like this..."
Her smile faded.
Her eyes began to bleed.
Thick, black tears rolling down her pale face.
"Aleric," she whispered. "You didn't just abandon me..."
"You killed me."
His knees buckled.
"No. No, Rose, please—!"
"You let me rot in the dark. And now... you want to abandon my son too."
"I'm trying—" he begged. "I'm trying to fix it—"
"You can't."
She walked backward—slowly—toward the window.
"Aleric..." she said softly.
Then smiled wide—too wide. Not human. Not kind.
"I curse you."
She climbed onto the edge of the window.
"I'll haunt you until your last breath. Until your kingdom rots beneath you. Until Daemon bathes in the blood of your line."
"ROSE!" he screamed.
He rushed forward to grab her—
And she vanished.
The wind stopped.
The curtains fell still.
The fire crackled again like nothing happened.
Aleric stood frozen.
Sweating. Shaking.
Staring at the empty window.
Alone.
....
Outside the royal tower, just beyond the candlelight spilling from the king's window, a figure stood beneath the tree line, cloaked in shadow and moonlight.
He watched as King Aleric stumbled around his chambers, pale and shaking, eyes wide with madness. The man was talking to nothing. Screaming into the wind. Begging ghosts for forgiveness.
Daemon watched it all.
Silent. Smiling.
His form—draped in a maid's uniform, the hem torn from wind and dust. A long black wig rested over his head, braided exactly like the woman in the king's memory.
He looked just like her.
Just like Rose.His mother.
Daemon's laughter was soft at first.
Then sharper.
Hollow. Cold. Almost joyful.
"Worked like a charm," he whispered, pulling the wig off slowly, strands catching in the breeze.
He reached into his sleeve and held up a half-empty wine flask—the same one he'd switched earlier in the king's chamber. A faint shimmer still clung to the inside.
The cursed hallucination water.
"Wine always did loosen your spine," he said under his breath. "Just needed a little poison in the right memory."
He stripped off the maid's clothes and let them fall to the grass.
Beneath them, he wore black—tight-fitting, smooth, and clean. The true Daemon.
The one that planned every step.
The one that smiled while you drowned.
He looked up at the king's window one last time.
Aleric was on his knees now. Breathing hard. Alone with ghosts.
Daemon's voice was low—sharp and promising.
"Father..."
"I'm going to break you. Slowly. Quietly. From the inside out."
He turned, walking back toward the palace through the garden path.
Not rushing.
Just calm.
Cold.
"You don't deserve a warrior's death. Or justice. Or a blade."
"You deserve to beg for it. One hallucination at a time."
And then he laughed.
A laugh that didn't sound like it belonged to a twelve-year-old boy.
A laugh that could only come from a demon with a plan.