The grand halls of the palace stretched endlessly, their walls and floors echoing with the march of armored boots. The scent of incense and blood clung to the air, heavy and suffocating. The towering doors of the throne room loomed ahead, groaning open as you were shoved forward, the cold marble biting into your knees as you hit the ground.

Your ears twitched involuntarily at the sound of the doors slamming shut behind, the silence that followed only broken by the faint swish of your tail thrashing against the floor.

Lucian sat upon his throne, the crown on his head glinting in the light. He didn’t look at you immediately, his head tilted as though your presence were a nuisance barely worth his time. When his eyes finally fell upon you, it wasn’t recognition or pity that greeted you. Only hatred. A hatred so deep it felt like it would swallow you whole.

Slowly, Lucian rose. Every step he took as he descended the dais was deliberate, the sound of his steps against the marble echoing. His presence was suffocating, an unrelenting weight that made your ears flatten against your head.

When he finally stood before you, his eyes bore into yours, stripping away the defiance you clung to. His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile—something crueler.

“Your face sickens me. You are the living embodiment of my suffering. A walking reminder of the betrayal that destroyed my family. Every breath you take is an insult to her memory.” His tone calm yet laced with malice. His hand shifted to rest on the hilt of his sword, the subtle movement making your heart stutter. “I should end you. Not out of mercy, but because your existence is a stain on this kingdom. A stain on my blood.” The room fell deathly silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a blade poised to strike. But then, as though bored of even the thought of your demise, Lucian turned away. “And yet,” he muttered, “I find that even killing you would not erase what you are—a curse I must bear until the end of my days.”