The Demon King's Vow

CHAPTER 6

Sael’s quarters were right next to Syrrel’s, only separated by a thick stone wall. It was clear that the arrangement was made for practicality; he would be right there in case something were to happen. It was a strategic decision, one that reflected the urgency of the situation.

As the door to his room creaked open, Ellis followed them in, chattering away at the servant following them, as though this entire ordeal was nothing more than a casual conversation.

The quarters were nothing extravagant. A simple room with a simple purpose, though Syrrel doubted Sael would care after spending centuries in his murky stone cell.

The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting ancient battles and noble victories, the furniture sturdy but unremarkable. The window overlooked a view of the palace courtyard, where a few scattered royal servants moved between tasks.

"So," Ellis began, snapping his fingers to grab Sael’s attention and gaining his sneer, "You obviously don’t need to stay with her while she’s sleeping, but you do need to be within hearing range, just in case. You will stay in these quarters next to hers, and if anything happens, any sort of emergency, you’re expected to be there."

Sael, who had been standing in the center of the room with an air of detached disinterest, didn’t react immediately. He studied the space, as if deciding where he might sit, or where he might destroy something out of sheer boredom.

“Don’t worry,” Ellis added with a teasing wink, “you’ll have your privacy when she’s asleep.”

Sael barely acknowledged him, his gaze still on the room itself, sizing it up with contempt.

A soft knock on the open door interrupted the silence. Ellis waved a hand toward it, signaling that the servant could enter. A young woman, one of the royal attendants, slipped inside carrying a bundle of clothes draped over her arm.

“Your Highness,” she greeted Syrrel first, bowing respectfully, before turning and approaching Sael. “These are for you. Traditional attire, as per the royal council’s request. We hope they will be to your liking.”

She carefully laid the clothes down on the edge of the bed, folding them neatly and waiting for Sael’s response.

Sael’s eyes flicked over the garments: a finely stitched tunic of crimson and black, the traditional colors of Eryndor, with intricate silver detailing around the collar and cuffs. It was formal, yes, and certainly befitting someone of high status. The fabric was rich, but judging by the look on Sael’s face, it seemed like nothing more than an insult.

He curled his lip in distaste as he studied the fabric, his deep voice cutting through the air with barely-contained contempt.

“I’m not wearing those rags.”

The young servant blinked, clearly startled, but managed to keep her composure. She looked back toward Ellis for guidance, but Ellis only shrugged nonchalantly.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Ellis quipped. “Sael has... unique tastes. You know, being older than dirt and all."

Sael’s eyes narrowed at Ellis’s words, but he didn’t comment further. Instead, he turned his attention back to the clothes, gaze cutting like a knife. One large hand reached out to pinch the fabric between his fingers, a scowl adorning his face as he did so. “The quality of fabric has gone down in the last few centuries. Pathetic.”

Ellis grinned, clearly unbothered by the sharpness in Sael’s tone. “Sure, sure. I’ll pass on the feedback to the royal council, but don’t expect me to solve all your wardrobe problems.” He turned back to the servant. “You can leave those here, and we’ll figure something else out for him later.”

The servant gave a quick, respectful bow before retreating from the room, casting one last glance at Sael before closing the door behind her.

Syrrel stood quietly during the exchange, her gaze lingering on the crimson-and-black tunic now crumpled on the edge of the bed with narrowed eyes. She hadn’t expected Sael to outright reject the clothing, of all things. Just how difficult did he intend to be?

But as her eyes ran over the finely embroidered silver detailing, she found herself wondering how, exactly, the quality of fabrics had gone down. One would assume that with the leaps and bounds humanity had made in technology and textiles, the fabric would have gotten better.

Or… Was it a reflection of the times? Of how far standards had slipped? Was it just another indicator that, somehow, everything in Eryndor had degraded over time? Or was there another reason he didn't want to wear them? She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts aside. She was overthinking it, surely.

Her focus shifted to Sael, who was still standing by the bed with his back turned to her. His disdain was palpable, and she could feel the weight of his contempt without even having to see his face.

Ellis had been talking, but she’d only half-heard him. He seemed to think that Sael’s disinterest in the clothes was amusing, a moment of entertainment for him in an otherwise boring affair. She cleared her throat softly, interrupting Ellis's teasing, causing the pale haired menace to pout.

“Sael…” Her voice faltered slightly. She shifted on her feet. She had been a princess all her life. She should be able to handle this, right? But standing so close to a figure like Sael, even with the binding vow, was… intimidating.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t even acknowledge her words.

She exhaled, a little too sharply. "I have a council meeting to attend," she said, her tone a little firmer this time. She walked toward the clothes, picking them up and holding them out to him. "And you will need to accompany me."

Sael’s voice, though soft, dripped with disdain as he finally spoke, still facing away from her. "What, giving me orders already?"

Syrrel felt a chill at his words, but she stood her ground. "Not orders. Just informing you," she said, her voice more even now. "If you don’t want to wear them, that’s fine. We can find something else for you, perhaps bring in a tailor. But for now, this is what we have."

There was a long moment of silence, and she swore she could almost hear his smirk before he finally turned his head slightly, just enough for his piercing gaze to catch hers.

“You think I’m going to wear this filth?”

Syrrel blinked, her hands still gripping the tunic. “It’s not a request. I have no time to argue.”

His lips curled into a tight smile—half amusement, half malice. "You have no time?" He echoed, raising an eyebrow, clearly toying with her. "Is that your excuse for throwing this at me?" He gestured to the clothes she was holding.

Before she could respond, Ellis’s voice cut through the tension. "Alright, alright," he said, clearly sensing the brewing storm between them. He threw a glance at Syrrel before stepping toward the door. "I'll leave you two to it. I’m sure you’ll work it out."

With that, Ellis exited the room with a characteristic flourish, leaving the two of them alone once more.

Syrrel huffed as she glanced at Sael, still towering over her in all his imposing glory. Again, she felt like she was in the presence of a predator, one who was simply biding his time. She clenched her jaw, her earlier anxiety quickly bleeding into frustration.

“If you’re going to be my guard, you might as well get used to some of the more... traditional aspects." She took a step back and held out the tunic again. "I’m not asking you to be happy about it."

For a long moment, Sael said nothing. He stood there, silent and unreadable, and for a moment Syrrel wasn’t sure if he would comply or tear the clothes to shreds in front of her.

But then, with a deep sigh that seemed to carry the weight of centuries of annoyance, Sael took the tunic from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers in a way that made her breath catch in her throat.

“Fine,” he muttered, as though it pained him to admit it. “But don’t think for a second that I’m going to like it."

Syrrel nodded, her heart still pounding in her chest. "As I said, I don’t expect you to like it. Just... please, wear it. For now.”

With that, Sael finally retreated to the bathroom that was connected the bedroom to change. Syrrel let out the breath she had been holding, fingers raising to rub her temples as she finally allowed herself to relax just slightly.

Gods, she was already beginning to form a headache.