WebNovels

Chapter 30 - Chapter 30

The palace was quiet at night.

Too quiet.

Damien paced the length of his chambers, boots echoing on the marble floor. Beyond the balcony, the capital sprawled beneath the moonlight, its thousands of fires glowing like watchful eyes. Yet none of them could see him now. Here, alone in the silence, the mask of the tyrant prince slipped—and something far more fragile throbbed beneath.

He could still smell smoke.

The scent clung to him, faint but insistent, carried on the air from her chamber. The guards had sworn it was nothing but torchlight, a trick of the night. But Damien knew better. He had seen the tension in Victoria's eyes when he questioned her, the way her voice had wavered even as she lied.

She was hiding something.

And that thought gnawed at him worse than any dagger ever could.

Eight years.

Eight years of emptiness since the night she vanished into the darkness.

He could still recall it with cruel clarity—the way his soldiers had combed the forests, the endless search, the fury that had consumed him when no trace of her was found. For weeks, he had ridden sleepless, driven by nothing but the desperate need to see her again. His best friend. His light.

But she never returned.

And so the boy who had once laughed beside her had withered. He had buried his tenderness beneath armor and cruelty, until the whole kingdom bent beneath his iron grip. Each harsh decree, each execution, each act of merciless discipline had been a stone laid on the tomb of the boy Damien used to be.

The tyrant had been born the night she left him.

And now—now she was back.

He should feel whole again. He should feel joy, peace, relief. But instead… instead, fear coiled inside him like a serpent.

Because if she escaped once, she could do it again.

Damien stopped at the mirror, staring at his reflection. The crown gleamed coldly on his brow, his eyes as hard as steel. To his people, he was untouchable. To his enemies, he was death incarnate.

But to her?

To Victoria, what was he?

Not the friend she had once clung to, not the boy who had shielded her from Baron Derek's grasp. No—her gaze now held fire, defiance, even hatred.

And yet, when she smiled in chains—smiled at him, with that razor edge of mockery—it had shaken him to his core.

Because he still loved her.

Even as she resisted, even as she lied, even as she plotted against him in silence, Damien's heart ached with the same desperate longing it had carried for eight years.

She was the only thing in this cursed world that mattered.

And he would not lose her again.

He poured himself wine, but his hand trembled. The red liquid sloshed over the goblet's rim, staining his fingers. He watched it drip onto the marble like blood.

The priests had been whispering since the procession. He had seen the way they looked at her, the way their lips moved in frantic, silent prayers. They recognized something in her—something more than beauty's glow.

And now, smoke.

Damien's jaw clenched.

What if she carried more than one blessing? What if the impossible had chosen her—the gods themselves conspiring to place her beyond his reach?

The thought was madness. The priests said it could never be. But Damien had learned long ago that the world bent rules for her.

And if she carried more power than even he could fathom… then he was standing on the edge of a blade.

He returned to the balcony, staring out at the city. His city. The people slept in fear and obedience, their lives shaped by his decrees. He had bent them all to his will. And yet one woman—just one—threatened to unravel him completely.

His grip tightened on the railing until the stone cracked.

"She belongs to me," he whispered to the night. "She always has. Even if she doesn't see it."

The wind carried no answer, only the faint smell of smoke.

Damien closed his eyes, and memories rose unbidden.

Victoria as a girl, laughing in the gardens, her bare feet stained with grass. Her voice, gentle, when she had thanked him for rescuing her from Derek all those years ago. The way she had hugged him as though she would never let go.

That was the truth of her. The girl who trusted him. The girl who needed him.

And if she couldn't remember that now, if hatred and defiance had clouded her heart, then he would remind her.

He would break her chains of pride, piece by piece, until she remembered who she truly was—his.

His light. His flame. His salvation.

And his prison, too.

A knock at the door tore him from his thoughts. One of his captains bowed low, eyes fixed to the floor.

"My lord. The guards report unease among the palace staff. They whisper of omens—of smoke where there should be none."

Damien's heart lurched, but his face remained stone. "Tell them to silence their tongues. If I hear of one more whisper, I'll cut it out myself."

The captain paled and bowed deeper before retreating.

When the door closed, Damien exhaled shakily.

She was slipping through his grasp. Not yet—but soon. He could feel it, the way a storm gathers before lightning strikes.

And that was the thought that truly terrified him.

Because he loved her. Loved her so much it hollowed him out, left him raw and bleeding beneath the mask of a tyrant.

But if she tried to leave again—

No. He wouldn't let it happen.

If he had to chain her in the deepest dungeon, if he had to bind her power until she was nothing but a shadow, if he had to burn the whole kingdom to keep her—he would.

Better to destroy the world than lose her again.

Damien returned to his bed, but sleep did not come. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying her smile in the streets, the fire in her eyes, the smell of smoke.

He both craved and dreaded the dawn.

Because each day she remained at his side was a victory.

And each day was also another chance for her to slip away.

He closed his eyes, and whispered into the darkness:

"You're mine, Victoria. Even if I have to shatter every piece of you to make it true—you're mine."

And in the silence of his chambers, the tyrant prince's heart beat not with power, but with fear.

Fear of losing the only thing he had ever loved.

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