-The NARRATOR'S POV-
Here we go!
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The moon cast an eerie silver glow across the snow-draped towers of Velmourn Citadel. Its ancient spires, once the pride of the vampire dominion, stood solemn beneath the night sky, their silence veiling the storm brewing within.
Inside the prince's quarters, Agira stood motionless, his instincts sharper than any blade. The wind outside had shifted—silent but foreboding. From beyond the walls, faint footsteps broke through the hush of the night. Many. Too many.
He moved toward the window slit. The snow-covered courtyard below shimmered faintly with movement—ranks of soldiers, their dark armour barely distinguishable from the surrounding shadows, were converging on his wing. The outer perimeter had already been sealed.
A mental whisper reached through the bond.
"Kael," Agira mindlinked with precision. "Are you alright?"
There was a pause. Then Kael's voice responded, strained but resolute.
"Don't come here."
"What happened?"
"No matter what... don't come here."
That was all he said before the link was severed.
A heartbeat later, his door burst open.
Steel clanked and boots thundered against the stone floor as a battalion of guards flooded into the room. Their weapons were unsheathed but held low—ready, but not yet drawn.
Then came the click of heels.
From behind the line of armoured soldiers, emerged a tall, elegant figure robed in crimson, his silver-plated shoulder guards glinting faintly under the flickering lanterns.
Prince Zephiron Vaystriel.
The King's heir.
He stepped into the room like a predator in a lion's den, regal and composed.
"Arrest him," Zeph said coldly, without a shred of hesitation.
Agira raised an eyebrow, unflinching. "Can I know my offence, dear brother?"
Zeph's smile was all ice and venom. "I hope you're this bold when standing before Father."
He didn't resist as two guards grabbed his arms. His eyes flicked toward the sealed chamber door. The runes were fading—his illusion dispelled. The girl was no longer there.
He allowed himself a breath. Good.
The great throne hall of Chirosa loomed like a temple to power and fear. Intricately carved obsidian pillars flanked the room like sentinels of the past, bearing the stories of blood and conquest in their etched runes.
At the far end of the hall, seated on the towering throne of midnight stone, was King Varzeth Vaystriel—the Crimson Tyrant.
He stared down with eyes as old as war itself, unreadable and cold.
Agira was thrown to his knees, chains clinking at his wrists. The court gathered, the air thick with tension.
To the left, three elevated chambers concealed by sheer curtains shimmered with candlelight. From behind them sat the queens, veiled in shadows but visible enough to witness every word spoken and judgment passed.
It was the second queen, Nyxara, who spoke first.
"How disappointing," she said with a sigh that sounded more like disdain. "I had hoped that at least you, of all people, would show some class in choosing a companion. A lowly human, Agira? Is that what you think our bloodline deserves?"
The words dripped with scorn.
But from the chamber next to hers, the first queen's voice rose, calm and cutting. "It is not confirmed. Do not conclude the shadows. And even if she is human... how dare you speak so without restraint? Your tongue reveals more about your character than his."
"You—!" Nyxara hissed, her screech muffled but unmistakable.
Agira's voice rang clear, silencing the whispers. "I have done no such thing," he said, lifting his gaze to meet the king's stare. "The girl is likely a messenger from the Temple of Sanctity. She is not some wandering stray."
"You speak with certainty," the king said, his voice deep and sharp as a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. "Why?"
Agira's gaze remained steady. "Because she carried the seal of the main temple. Her presence was not accidental. I found her in the forest while strolling, bleeding and half-conscious. I took her in to save her life."
"I have no shame in claiming to be her saviour," he continued, voice unwavering, "but beyond that, there is nothing—neither bond nor betrayal. She was kept in secrecy, not out of rebellion, but out of caution. I intended to present her to you, Father, when I had uncovered the full truth."
The court fell silent. Even Zeph, who stood just beside the throne, did not speak.
King Varzeth leaned forward. "Then I shall judge you by your word." His voice was slow, thoughtful—dangerous. "If your intent was true, then you will have no issue with her being placed under my custody for questioning."
A flicker of tension passed over Agira's features.
"And," the king added, eyes narrowing, "you will remain in the dungeons... until the girl's loyalty—and your truth—are confirmed."
"My lord!" came the first queen's voice, sharp with protest.
"No objection allowed," the king declared, rising from his throne like a tidal wave.
With a wave of his hand, he turned away, descending the stairs and disappearing through the great archway that led to his private chambers.
Zeph's smirk reappeared as he gestured to the guards. "Bring the girl. Let's see what secrets she holds."
The soldiers stormed into Agira's quarters, flanked by Zeph and the king's enforcers. They made for the sealed chamber.
With a flick of runic touch, the door opened.
But the bed was empty.
The girl was gone.
No sign of struggle, no broken glass, not even a hint of lingering scent. It was as if she had vanished from the room—and the world.
Zeph's smirk faded. "Where is she?"
No one answered.
His crimson eyes turned to the runes on the wall. They pulsed faintly with residual energy. Faint... but unmistakable.
A field of concealment.
"She was never truly here," Zeph said coldly. But doubt crept into his voice.
And in the silence that followed, Agira's words echoed faintly in his mind:
"Listen to your conscience, if you still have one."
-To Be Continued-
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See you in the Comments.
-P.S. CONSTRUCTIVE ADVICE WOULD BE APPRECIATED. REFRAIN FROM SPREADING HATE.-