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 windows, two figures stood hidden beneath the trees, cloaked in shadow and moonlight.
Daemon watched silently.
Inside, King Aleric stumbled across his chambers—pale, trembling, his once-mighty presence broken.
He muttered to ghosts.
He screamed into the dark.
He begged forgiveness from things no one else could see.
Daemon's lips curved into a small, patient smile.
He wore a torn maid's uniform, the skirt ripped by wind and dust. A long black wig rested over his head, braided perfectly—an exact replica of the woman burned into the king's memories.
Lady Vexen stood a few steps behind, clutching the discarded cloak Daemon had shed.
She couldn't hide her horror.
The resemblance to the late Rose—the king's old lover—was terrifying. For a moment, she could almost believe it was her ghost standing there.
"My prince… will this really work?" she whispered.
Daemon's crimson eyes gleamed. "Of course it will."
He turned, pulling the wig free and tossing it to her carelessly.
"I'll be in my room. I have training to do," he said. "Make sure no assassins disturb me."
Lady Vexen bowed low, almost collapsing under the weight of the night's terror.
"As you command, Your Highness."
Daemon disappeared into the mist without a sound.