Chapter 2: The Devil Behind the Crown
948 Words
Lyra barely slept.
The queen's chambers were nothing like the prison cell she had imagined. Velvet curtains framed towering windows overlooking silver forests. A fireplace crackled with blue flames that gave off comforting warmth instead of heat. Fresh flowers rested on polished tables, their sweet fragrance masking the scent of ancient stone.
Everything about the room whispered royalty.
Everything except the iron lock on the outside of the door.
She walked to the window and pushed it open. Cold mountain air rushed inside, carrying the distant howls of wolves. Below, dozens of them roamed the castle grounds, their glowing eyes fixed on the surrounding forest rather than the castle itself.
"They're guarding it," she murmured.
A gentle knock interrupted her thoughts.
The elderly woman from the entrance stepped inside carrying a silver tray laden with breakfast.
"My name is Mira," she said with a warm smile. "I've served this castle for over four hundred years."
Lyra blinked.
"Four hundred years?"
Mira chuckled.
"Time flows differently for magical beings."
She placed the tray on a table.
"Our king asked me to ensure you were comfortable."
Lyra folded her arms.
"Why?"
"Because he cares."
"I've known him less than a day."
"Sometimes," Mira replied quietly, "a single day is enough to change destiny."
Before Lyra could ask what she meant, Mira excused herself, leaving behind more questions than answers.
Later that morning, Lyra wandered through the castle corridors.
No one stopped her.
Portraits of former kings and queens lined the walls, each more magnificent than the last. One painting caught her attention.
A young man with golden eyes stood beside a beautiful woman wearing a silver crown.
The man's face...
It was him.
The Devil.
Only younger.
And smiling.
"That portrait is over three hundred years old."
His deep voice echoed behind her.
Lyra turned sharply.
He stood several steps away, dressed not in armor but in a fitted black coat embroidered with silver thread. Without his battle gear, he looked less like a monster and more like a lonely king.
"You smile," she said.
"I used to."
Her eyes drifted back to the woman beside him.
"Who is she?"
Silence stretched between them.
"My mother."
There was unmistakable grief in his voice.
"What happened?"
"War."
The single word ended the conversation.
He walked past her.
"Come."
She hesitated before following him through endless corridors until they reached an enormous library.
Shelves stretched toward the ceiling, packed with ancient books.
"I thought devils hated books."
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"I hate ignorance more."
He picked up a thick leather-bound volume and handed it to her.
"The History of the Shadow Realm."
Lyra frowned.
"Why are you giving me this?"
"Because everything humans believe about my kingdom is a lie."
She slowly opened the book.
The first illustration showed humans and werewolves standing side by side.
Trading.
Laughing.
Living peacefully.
"This can't be real."
"It is."
He stepped beside her.
"Three hundred years ago, humans and werewolves shared the same lands."
"What happened?"
"A king desired power."
His jaw tightened.
"He blamed every disaster on my people."
"Werewolves?"
"My people."
She looked at him carefully.
"So..."
"Yes."
His golden eyes met hers.
"I am a werewolf."
Lyra froze.
"You aren't the Devil?"
"No."
"But everyone-"
"Needed a monster."
His words struck her harder than she expected.
"If humans fear something long enough," he continued, "they stop asking whether the stories are true."
She remembered the healing touch.
The gentle cloak.
The concern in his voice.
Nothing matched the tales she'd heard growing up.
"So they lied."
"They erased history."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Finally, Lyra whispered, "Then who cursed you with the name Devil?"
His expression darkened.
"My own brother."
Before she could ask another question, a horn echoed across the castle.
Every servant froze.
The king's eyes sharpened.
"They're here."
"Who?"
"The hunters."
Outside the castle gates, hundreds of armored soldiers surrounded the fortress.
Their silver weapons glinted beneath the afternoon sun.
At their front rode a man wearing white armor decorated with golden crosses.
"Kael Draven!" he shouted.
His voice carried across the valley.
"Return the stolen human, and we may grant your wolves a merciful death!"
Lyra stepped onto the balcony.
"They're here for me."
Kael remained calm.
"No."
"They said...."
"They're here for war."
He looked toward the army.
"They simply needed an excuse."
The commander raised his sword.
"Attack!"
Flaming arrows darkened the sky.
Kael moved instantly.
A shimmering barrier of blue magic spread over the castle.
Every arrow dissolved into sparks before reaching the walls.
The soldiers gasped.
"So," Kael muttered.
"They've brought witches."
Among the enemy ranks, figures in black robes began chanting.
Dark clouds gathered overhead.
Lightning struck the mountainside.
The ground trembled violently.
One section of the castle wall exploded.
Stone rained across the courtyard.
Wolves howled in alarm.
Kael's eyes flashed gold.
"Stay inside."
Before Lyra could answer, his body transformed.
Bones cracked.
Black fur burst from his skin.
Within seconds, the massive wolf from the village stood before her again.
He threw back his head and released a thunderous howl.
Hundreds of wolves answered from the surrounding forest.
They charged down the mountainside like a black tide.
The battle had begun.
From the enemy ranks, the commander smiled coldly.
"Kill the Alpha."
Hidden behind the soldiers, a hooded witch held a crystal glowing with crimson light.
"The Blood Bride has arrived," she whispered.
"The prophecy cannot be stopped now."
As lightning split the sky, Lyra realized with growing horror that she had never been chosen to save the village.
She had been chosen because someone wanted to use her to destroy the last werewolf king.
- Writer
