TENEBRARUM POV...
My father had sent another message. He wanted me back at the palace soon. The old man grew more impatient with each passing day—or perhaps weaker. Either way, it mattered little to me. I would return when I was ready.
But the main problem at this moment was far more irritating.
Where was my stupid right hand? Where was Vasile?
He always stood at the door. Always. Like a faithful hound waiting for his master's command. But last night, he was nowhere to be seen.
I sat in the bath, the water warm and fragrant with oils. Three handmaidens attended to me—their fingers gentle against my skin, their hair trailing across my shoulders.
And then—
Ouch.
A sharp sting shot through my hand. One of the handmaidens—the one washing my arm—had scratched me with her fingernail. A thin line of red welled up on my skin before vanishing.
My hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. I squeezed—hard. My nails bit into her palms, piercing through flesh, crossing from one side of her hand to the other. Blood welled up around my fingers.
"I am sorry, my lord!" she whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please forgive me—"
"Leave," I said, my voice flat as stone. "Now."
"Yes, my lord!" She scrambled to her feet and fled, her wet feet slapping against the marble floor, her sobs echoing in the chamber.
The other girls continued washing me, their movements slower now, more careful.
I glanced down at the water. A faint trail of blood swirled through the herbs—hers, not mine.
Oh, what a bad day. Where was that fool?
I rose from the bath, water streaming down my body in rivulets. I walked to the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. The mask I always wore—even in private—lay beside the basin. I never removed it. Not fully. Not even here.
Is this what I truly am beneath this mask?
I had seen this image a million times. The broad shoulders. The sculpted chest. The lines of muscle that spoke of power and control. The mask that protected everyone from my beauty.
I wished I were a little smaller down there. But if I could not have that—I was still the most beautiful, sculpted art the heavens had ever created.
That much I knew.
"Master..." one of the girls whispered, her voice trembling. "The water has been changed. But before Lord Vasile arrives, please join us—let us continue."
They led me back into the pool, the water now fresh and steaming. Their hair brushed across my skin, washing away the last remnants of dirt and fatigue. Their touches were light—reverent, even.
I closed my eyes.
And then—
"My lord, you called?"
Vasile rushed in, his voice breathless. He stopped short, his back immediately turning.
"I am sorry for barging in too quickly," he said, his voice stiff.
"I am still with my mask, fool," I said, my voice cold. "You can turn."
"Sorry, my lord..." He turned slowly, bowing low. His eyes remained fixed on the floor.
"Where were you yesterday?" I demanded.
"I went out, my lord..." He hesitated. "To get a little fresh air."
"HOW DARE YOU LIE SO SMOOTHLY!" My hand slammed against the bath tub. The marble shattered, water pouring across the floor in a flood. The handmaidens scattered, retreating to the corners of the room.
Such weak nonsense. The bath tub of a crown prince should be solid as gold, as unbreakable as the throne itself.
The girls moved aside slowly, their heads bowed, their bodies trembling.
"WOULD YOU PREFER I TURN YOU TO STONE BEFORE YOU UNDERSTAND I AM SERIOUS?"
He bowed lower, his voice shaking before he opened his mouth.
"I... I... it had been long since I pleased myself," he stammered. "I just freed my needs a little. Forgive me for that mistake."
"Did I cage your needs?" I walked closer, still naked, water still dripping from my skin, my mask firmly in place. He could not look at me. There were lies in his eyes. "Could you not take permission before going?"
"I am sorry, my l—"
"There are plenty of women here," I continued, my voice dangerously soft. "If you wished to have it on the ground, at least I would appreciate such a theatre. What stupid woman has stolen your heart that you forget your duties?"
"No—"
"What is her name?" I pressed, stepping closer. My shadow fell over him.
"My lord, punish me and not her," he begged, his voice cracking. "I forced her to lay with me. It is not of her own doing. It is my—"
"And now, because you have a loyal thing that goes between your thighs whenever you want, you think you are above my questions?" I walked closer still, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Her name, Vasile."
He swallowed hard.
"Her name is Carla."
The name hung in the air like smoke.
"Now you leave."
Vasile turned and fled, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
---
I stepped into another bath—they had replaced the broken one faster than I expected. The water was warm, the herbs fragrant. I sank into it, closing my eyes. The mask was still on my face. It never left me. Not even here.
One of the handmaidens stepped forward, her hand gently finding my shoulder, massaging softly.
"My lord," she murmured, "calm yourself."
I did not open my eyes.
"Get me the thing," I said, my voice flat. "Get me the fool called Carla."
"Yes, my lord." She bowed and hurried away, her footsteps fading into the distance.
I would punish her.
I would punish the fool.
I would remind them all what happened when they forgot their place.
---
After a few minutes, I waited in my throne room.
Oh, throne room. You must ask why I have a throne room when I am not yet king. Why do I have one?
I made a custom one. To prepare me for the future. To remind myself of what I would become.
Before I turned, Nox was coming. I would compare him to a million creatures—because he is more loyal than anyone, and I believe he sees me more clearly than anyone. He is five years older than I am.
Memories floated in like mist.
---
"Ahhhhh! Dum!" My brothers played around, making all types of noise. I was petite and very small for my age then. The worst part was the mask on my face—cold, heavy, a constant reminder that I was different. That I was other.
"Father! Why would you bring this thing here?" Umbra, my father's first son, spoke. He was way taller than me—senior to me by two years—but it looked like I was not growing. Like I would never grow.
"Umbra! Learn manners." My father's voice was sharp. "Everyone chose a pet. Tenebrarum is your brother."
"He is not our brother!" Wyatt screamed out.
I can never forget that day.
"Fool, move!" My father pushed me to the floor, closer to a large cage.
I looked up. Inside the cage was a wolf—massive, grey, its yellow eyes fixed on me. Its lips curled back, revealing teeth like daggers.
"Father...?!" I screamed, scrambling backward. The wolf lunged against the bars, snarling.
"The wolf will eat him, Father! Look at how he walks!" My other brother laughed, his voice cruel and mocking.
I stopped moving.
I looked at the wolf. The wolf looked at me.
And just then, I gained courage. I moved closer to the cage. I reached my hand through the bars.
The wolf growled. Its teeth snapped inches from my fingers.
I did not pull back.
I held my ground.
The wolf—Nox—stopped. He tilted his head. His yellow eyes studied me.
And then, slowly, he rested his muzzle on my palm.
---
That is enough story.
I am not like that fool years ago. No one on earth and no one in the heavens will ever cross my path and be pitied. I am not the small, trembling boy who reached through the bars.
I am the wolf now.
---
"WHERE IS THE FOOL I ASKED FOR!"
My voice tore through the throne room like a blade, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. The torch flames flickered, as if even they feared my wrath. I could not wait any longer. Patience was a virtue I had never possessed—and I had no intention of acquiring it now.
"She is here, my lord..."
The guards bowed low, their movements quick and fearful. They dragged a figure forward, her feet scraping against the marble floor. With a grunt, they threw her down before my throne.
She landed hard. Her knees cracked against the stone, the sound sharp and satisfying. Her head was bowed, her hair a tangled mess of dark strands. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
A human.
I leaned forward, my golden eyes narrowing, my fingers drumming against the armrest of my throne.
Is this...
Is this what Vasile has found interest in?
"So it is you," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You have forsaken your word and begun a brothel in my estate."
I rose from my throne, my footsteps slow and deliberate. Each step echoed in the silence.
"No... no... no, my lord!" She was already crying, her body shaking rapidly, her voice cracking with terror.
"Master, I am sorry—" Vasile stepped forward, his voice desperate.
I raised my mask toward him. He stopped. He shut his mouth. The fear in his eyes was delicious.
"I will have mercy on you," I said, turning to smile at the trembling woman.
"Guards!"
"Yes, my lord!"
"Chop her head off."
The words fell like stones into still water.
"Noooo! No... no... no... no... master, please!" Vasile broke, his body shifting into his beast form—teeth elongating, claws extending, muscles rippling beneath his skin. He scraped against the ground, howling, but the guards were already holding him in place.
"My lord... I haven't started... I didn't start a brothel... Forgive me!" she cried, her voice rising to a scream as the guards dragged her to the chopping block.
Her head was forced down.
The axe rose above her head. The blade caught the torchlight, gleaming with cruel promise.
I turned.
I would have pitied her more—but I was protecting Vasile. Love makes people act foolish. It never lasts. This was for his own good. He would thank me later.
"Ahhhhhhhh!"
Her scream was the last sound she made.
The axe fell.
Thud.
Her head rolled across the marble, leaving a trail of crimson. Her eyes were still open, still wide with terror like I have done something bad.
Blood pooled beneath the chopping block. It spread across the floor like spilled wine, slipping into the stones.
Look at him. Look at Vasile—a fool, crying over a corpse. His beast form had faded, his human face streaked with tears. He was shaking, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
He'll thank me later.
"Clean up the mess!" I ordered, my voice flat and cold.
The guards moved immediately, dragging the body away. A servant appeared with rags and a bucket, scrubbing the blood from the marble.
I walked past Vasile, my wolf following quietly at my heels.
His grief was his lesson.
And lessons must be learned.
---
To be continued...