The Damned Demon



A week later on Zalthor,

A disconcerting silence permeated the streets of the Bloodburn Kingdom.

Underneath the palpable tension, an ominous energy clung to the air, winding its way through the narrow streets and enveloping the historic structures in a tangible dread. 

The citizens, once bustling with vivacity, now retreated into the shadows, eyeing the approaching spectacle with a mix of trepidation and curiosity.

Prince Drakon, the 79th prince of the Draconis Kingdom, made his way through the center of the town, his stature formidable and his presence commanding an indomitable respect – or at least, a cautious distance. 

He along with a middle-aged draconian dressed in elegant robes just like Drakon, were seated on an open dark red chariot which seemed to be made out of the finest metals.

He, along with his army, a formidable entourage of draconians, all armored with gleaming, dark scales and wielding weapons forged from the rarest ores, loomed over the realm with an oppressive air.

Their wings, enormous and bearing a daunting span, cast long shadows over the streets as they marched. 

Drakon's scales – a rich, dark burgundy, nearly black that blended well with his pale skin – shimmered eerily under the flickering flames of the street lamps, and his eyes, a deep, impenetrable red, scanned the surroundings with an air of cold yet scornful authority, "These fools pride themselves over these ugly towns and cities? Tch, I am already feeling like I entered a ditch. I should make this worth my while by coming here all the way, just like those insignificant kingdoms we sometimes visit. Don't you think so, Consul Belthor?"

Belthor, the old man sitting beside Drakon, rubbed his short gray beard with a hint of mirth in his black eyes, "Of course, my prince. The Bloodburn Kingdom might be stronger than most of the kingdoms we visited but still it's nothing in our eyes. So there is probably nothing in this lowly kingdom that might catch your eye except for one thing, which I am sure you don't need to be enlightened about."

"Hehe, why do you think I was motivated to come all the way here? After hearing all those rumors, I have to see for myself," Drakon said with a lazy curve of his lips and added, "...and maybe play around with a dragon. Dragons are the only other thing this kingdom can barely boast about, which all should have been ours to begin with, keh!" Drakon snorted.

The people around watched their chariot pass, though they made sure to stay out of sight lest they catch his eye.

Everybody knew how Prince Drakon was one of the favorite sons of the Draconis King and was very close with Prince Agonon, who was one of the two sons of the Draconis Queen Consort.

If they sent Prince Drakon here, it only meant things were serious, and they could already guess the reason.

It must be regarding the spar involving the royal consort, though their queen had yet to give an answer. And so, the draconians must have sent Drakon here to get an answer from their queen. It was evident that the queen may not be able to delay any longer.

But the question was whether their queen would agree to such an unfair scheme. Surely, the draconians were planning to kill their royal consort through this spar.

As the draconians progressed, the windows of the surrounding structures lit up, eyes peering through the curtains, watching, waiting, but daring not to step out. 

Drakon's arrival, flanked by his menacingly magnificent entourage, heralded not only an implicit threat but also symbolized the disparity that had burgeoned between the two kingdoms. 

The Draconis Kingdom, with its burgeoning might, dwarfed the now vulnerable Bloodburn Kingdom, a stark contrast to the evenly matched rivalry of the years gone by.

Whispers passed through the closed doors, speculations and worries being exchanged in hushed tones. 

Their kingdom, once formidable under the rule of the late Bloodburn King, had seen its powers wane, its might diluted by the consequent weakening of their forces and the loss of their charismatic leader.

Still, their present queen, his daughter, had worked hard to recover from the loss of strength over the past few years. However, they still had a long way to go to match up against the might of the Draconis Kingdom, which was at least multiple times stronger than them!

The intense atmosphere only thickened as the entourage made its way toward the Dragonstone Castle, the very heart of the Bloodburn Kingdom, where decisions would be made that could very well spell out the fate of their kingdom.

The austere silence that lingered heavily over Dragonstone Castle shattered abruptly, pierced by the arrival of Drakon and his entourage.

Seron, attired in sweeping black robes that whispered of subtle elegance, maintained stoic cordiality. 

Behind him, a line of maids and servants stood, their forms bent in a deep bow, eyes downturned, though a shiver of unease danced visibly through them.

"Welcome, Prince Drakon, Consul Belthor. I am Prince Seron and the royal advisor to our esteemed Queen Drake. Her majesty awaits your presence within," Seron articulated with a poised grace.

However, Drakon sneered, his voice a toxic drawl dripping with undisguised contempt, "Is this a jest, Advisor Seron? This prince travels leagues to grace this not-so-big kingdom, and I am welcomed by mere subordinates?"

A twitch flickered across Seron's face, rapidly extinguished as he mustered a courteous smile, "Your arrival honors us, Prince Drakon. Please, accept our sincerest greetings and do not take offense."

Drakon's response was immediate and disdainful: a glob of saliva, spat contemptuously upon the ancient, immaculate steps of Dragonstone Castle.

It glistened momentarily under the reluctant dark sun before slinking down the stone, a tangible emblem of his scorn. 

The Bloodburn guards, standing like specters at a distance, tightened their grips on their weapons, their faces contorting into silent snarls of outrage.

Seron's expression hardened for a brief moment before maintaining his previous expression.

Serenity fractured, Drakon jabbed a scaled finger towards the imposing doors of the castle, a malicious smirk twisting his features, "Tell your queen to escort me inside, advisor. It is the least she can do for a guest of my caliber, wouldn't you agree?"

Seron, his expression wearing amiable diplomacy despite the venomous words spat in his direction, did not waiver. 

His eyes, however, sparkled sharply as they met Drakon's, reflecting a quiet, yet potent defiance, "I beseech you, Prince Drakon, to refrain from making this meeting more arduous than necessary. It is unbecoming for our queen to personally receive guests at the entrance, even one of your esteemed standing."

Undeterred, Drakon scoffed with a sharp furrow of his burrows, his arms folding imperiously across his chest, wings rustling with a whisper of contained aggression, "Unbecoming?? The queen of this little kingdom dares feign arrogance before the Draconian Kingdom after you people violated the Devourer's Pact? I shall not step one foot inside until she appears before me. And if she doesn't come out, then I will leave, and her answer to my father's proposition would be a given."

A standoff ensued, the air practically vibrating with the tension caused by Drakon.

The scathing undercurrent of Belthor's smug grin nicked at Seron's composed exterior, "Advisor Seron," the consul drawled, "I would advise against prolonging our wait. Prince Drakon is laden with responsibilities far outweighing this...visit."

A taut nod from Seron, and he murmured, "A few minutes of your patience, if you will."

Within the stalwart walls of the castle, Rowena stood regally upon the grand staircase, an elegant vision swathed in a gown of deepest black. 

Her crimson eyes flickered, icy yet aflame, as they gazed afar, toward the formidable doors separating her from Drakon.

Rebecca was ensconced beside her, her own gown cascading luxuriously off her smooth shoulders, her uncanny red eyes ablaze with a fiery indignation.

"That impudent brat!" Rebecca seethed, her voice a venomous hiss, "How dare that draconian brat demand you to escort him inside! Not only is he a junior, but his status is far below yours. If only I could teach him a lesson, he won't forget. Never before had any one of them tried to do something like this. They are getting too bold these days!"

Rowena's response was but a quiver of her aloof expression, a silent contemplation that veiled the tempest of her emotions, even as Seron, hurriedly, made his entrance, his bow deep and apologetic.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice strained yet steady, "I deeply apologize. You must be aware of the prince's insolent demand. I endeavored to dissuade him, yet he remained stubbornly adamant. My advice in this situation, distasteful as it is, might necessitate a compromise on our part."

Rebecca's eyes flashed, her voice sharp and edged, "Apparently, you didn't try well enough, husband."

Seron cast a sharp glance at Rebecca before looking away.

Rowena's eyes held the universe of thoughts whirling in her mind, the crimson in them flaring like a coiled serpent, deliberate and deadly. 

The Draconians, she mused, had more in their sights than a mere parley – this was a display, a deliberate jab cloaked in diplomatic veneer. 

A message transmitted not through the subtle channels of written correspondence but via the pomp and insolence of a prince's visit.

She knew sending a prince, especially Drakon, to her kingdom was a blatant display, not a courteous visit. They intended not just to receive an answer but to birth chaos under her roof. 

But Asher's and her people's future was hanging in the balance, and she had to act carefully.

She can't let an impudent fool like Drakon ruin everything. Yet she also shouldn't do anything unbecoming as the one who bears the burden of the crown.

A delicately articulated brow arched just perceptibly as Rowena began to speak, her voice a calm, measured cascade of steel and velvet, "He wishes for me to come out? Very well. But he will not set foot inside my castle. If he wants to meet me outside, he can, but he and his men will remain standing outside."

Rebecca's brows arched upwards, while Seron expelled a resigned sigh, his gaze fixed upon the queen, a quiet respect lurking there. 

He couldn't have expected her to react in any other way, though this could make things worse.

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