It had been a week.
Seven long days trapped in the heart of the Demon Queen's domain. Seven days of waking, eating, walking, sleeping—existing in a castle that should have felt like a prison, but somehow,
didn't
.
Elysia had expected worse.
She had expected chains. She had expected cruelty. She had expected to be paraded around as a
prize
, to have Malvoria watching her every move, reminding her that she
belonged
to her now.
But after the first night—after the
incident
at dinner—she hadn't seen Malvoria again.
Not once.
She had expected her to show up the next morning, expected to be summoned, to be forced into more tense conversations, more power plays, more suffocating encounters.
But Malvoria was
gone
.
Or rather,
avoiding her
.
Elysia didn't know why it
bothered
her.
It
shouldn't
.
She should be
grateful
that she wasn't being paraded around on Malvoria's arm, that she wasn't being forced into humiliating displays of submission.
But instead...
Instead, it left her
waiting
.
And the waiting was
worse
.
Because now, her mind had
time
.
Time to think. Time to settle. Time to realize that this castle—this dark, imposing place filled with demons—was starting to feel
routine
.
Her days had fallen into an uncomfortable pattern.
She would wake early, the soft glow of enchanted torches flickering against the obsidian walls of her chamber.
The bed was too comfortable—too soft, too warm—and it annoyed her that she had already grown used to it.
She would bathe, slipping into the warm water of the grand bath that had been provided for her, scrubbing away the feeling of idleness that came with being
stuck
.
Then she would dress.
The wardrobe was filled with gowns, finely made and tailored perfectly to her measurements—another sign that Malvoria had prepared for this long before Elysia had stepped foot in the castle.
She avoided the extravagant ones, opting for simpler designs, but even the plainest gown here was still finer than what she had worn back home.
And then, breakfast.
The meals were
always
extravagant, a reminder that Malvoria's wealth extended far beyond what Elysia had imagined.
At first, she had been wary, hesitant to eat too much, convinced that this was some form of manipulation.
But after the first few days, she had given in.
Because, damn it, the food was
good
.
The chefs were masters of their craft, and every bite was an exercise in restraint—not because she was afraid, but because she hated how much she
enjoyed
it.
After breakfast, she would take a walk.
The castle was massive, sprawling with endless corridors and towering halls lined with red and black banners displaying Malvoria's crest.
The architecture was unlike anything she had ever seen before—sharp, elegant, powerful.
The first few times she had walked the halls, she had expected to feel
watched
, expected to be followed.
But the maids, the servants, the guards...
They left her
alone
.
More than that—
They were...
nice
.
Not overly kind, not falsely sweet, but polite. Respectful. Some even
friendly
.
At first, she had been suspicious.
She had waited for their niceties to turn into mockery, for the facade to crack.
But it never did.
And
that
was the worst part.
Because now, she didn't
know
how to feel.
She was supposed to hate this place.
She was supposed to hate
them
.
But the castle was beautiful, the food was incredible, and the people—
the demons
—were treating her
better
than she had been treated in the high courts of Arvandor.
She hated it.
She hated that she couldn't
hate
it.
After her morning walks, she would have lunch—another lavish meal, another test of her patience as she tried not to let herself enjoy it too much.
Then, she would return to her chambers for a nap.
Not because she
wanted
to, but because there was
nothing else to do
.
The lack of purpose, the stillness of her days, was the most infuriating part of all.
She had spent her entire life preparing for something—training, studying,
fighting
.
Now, she did
nothing
.
And it was driving her mad.
After her nap, she would wander the castle again, visiting new areas, learning the layout.
She had memorized most of the halls now, knew where every major corridor led, had mentally mapped every hidden alcove and side passage.
Not because she
planned
to escape.
No.
Because she refused to sit still and be
idle
.
And then, before she knew it, dinner would arrive.
The same massive dining hall.
The same extravagant meals.
The same
company
.
Her father.
Zera.
Both of them with her every night, sitting at the long table, filling the silence with their tension and unspoken frustrations.
At first, she had been relieved to have them here.
But now—
Now it was just
irritating
.
Zera's protectiveness, her constant glares, her sharp tongue—Elysia knew she meant well, but gods above, it was
exhausting
.
And Thalor—her father—he was still
angry
.
Still cold.
Still unable to accept what had happened.
Elysia understood.
She
did
.
But she was
tired
.
Tired of sitting at that table every night and pretending she wasn't losing her mind.
Tired of waiting for Malvoria to
do something
.
Tired of feeling like she was
waiting for something to happen
—but not knowing
what
.
And as she sat at the dinner table that night, staring down at yet another perfect meal, she felt her patience slipping.
Because she realized something—
She was
annoyed
.
Annoyed at her father.
Annoyed at Zera.
Annoyed at
herself
.
And most of all—
Annoyed at the
absence
of Malvoria.
Elysia walked through the grand halls of the castle, her steps echoing softly against the polished obsidian floors.
Today, she wasn't alone, Zera had remained in her guest chambers, and instead, two maids accompanied her, their presence unobtrusive yet ever-watchful.
She hadn't minded at first. The maids were polite, helpful in their own quiet way, never pushing conversation unless she spoke first.
But after days of walking these same corridors, seeing the same towering walls of black stone, the endless crimson banners bearing Malvoria's crest,
doing nothing
—it was beginning to wear on her patience.
She needed more than this.
She needed something
to do
.
And then—
The sharp
clash
of steel against steel cut through the silence.
Elysia paused mid-step, her ears straining, her pulse quickening.
Another clang. Then another. The rhythmic sound of swords meeting, of bodies moving in combat, the familiar, exhilarating cadence of training.
She turned sharply to the nearest maid, her violet eyes sharp with curiosity.
"What is that?"
The demon woman blinked before glancing in the direction of the noise. "The soldiers," she said simply. "They are training in the courtyard."
Training.
The word sent something
electric
through Elysia's veins.
She had spent
years
honing her skills with a blade, had trained under some of the best warriors in Arvandor.
Combat was in her
blood
, in her
bones
. And now, after a full week of forced idleness, of wandering these halls like some caged thing, the thought of watching
no
,
joining
a proper fight made her entire body
itch
.
"Take me there," she said immediately.
The maids hesitated. "Princess—"
"I
want
to see it," Elysia insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument.
There was a pause, but eventually, the maids exchanged glances before nodding.
"This way."
They led her through a series of halls, each corridor familiar now, each turn engraved in her memory from her restless explorations. Soon, they emerged into an open courtyard—one she hadn't yet visited.
And the moment she stepped into the sunlit space, her breath caught.
It was
massive
.
An expanse of dark stone and hardened ground, surrounded by towering black walls. Rows of weapon racks lined the edges, filled with everything from longswords to spears to battle axes. And in the center—
Dozens of demons were training.
Elysia's gaze swept over them, taking in their movements, the way their bodies twisted and turned, the way steel clashed in bursts of controlled aggression.
She had expected them to be monstrous, brutish—unrefined in their fighting.
But they weren't.
Their technique was sharp. Disciplined.
But not
difficult
.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, longing for the weight of a sword.
She took a step forward, her voice steady, confident, carrying over the sounds of combat.
"Can I train with you?"