*This chapter occurs after the events of Chapter 9!*

The room grew dark and still, and I watched her carefully from beside the bed. Her back rose and fell at a steady pace, which I’d measured as 3 paces. 1, 2, 3, and then again. Only the soft rustle of leaves in the garden and her quaint snoring fractured this perfect picture of serenity.

Who would’ve thought that she’d jump off of the island less than a week after waking? Had I not been careful enough? Even this time? Even with all that I know?

I rolled the thoughts and questions over and over again in my head, hoping for a better answer from myself than, “I don’t know.” It was to no avail. The past merely taunted me and set within my chest a heavy and aching dread.

Angeline came by some time after, her face twisted up in disappointment. I wondered how long it had been since she hadn’t looked at me like that.

“You need to rest,” she said. She gripped a small, dimly lit lantern in one hand while the other laid upon her hip. Perhaps it was because we had known each other for so long or because she was decades older than me, but I could sense it in her eyes—her posture—she still felt responsible for me, even now after we had both grown up.

“I’ll rest after my work is done,” I replied. I laid back against the chair, crossing my legs and returning my gaze to the sleeping woman.

“Do not take me for a fool, Ophiel. Your hands are shaking.”

My eyes darted to my hands; it was true. Trembling lightly, but enough to be noticed by the trained eye. I folded them away.

“It isn’t too late right now. You can still let her go.” Angeline continued, stepping forth into the room. The lantern’s light flickered. Not this again.

“You, of all people, know why I will never do that.”

“Is it so important that you become the Demon King? You already have enough land and riches to rival a duke!” Her voice grew strained as she struggled to contain herself to a whisper.

My eyes flashed to hers. “Enough. My decision is made.”

She huffed, pivoting on her heel. “Fine. But, remember this: you are not responsible for just your heart alone anymore. You are responsible for hers too.”

“I’ve never forgotten.”

Angeline left shortly thereafter, huffing and grumbling to ensure that I was aware of her displeasure. Much as I wanted to deny it, there was some truth to my old friend’s words, and, if I accepted this responsibility, I knew that I needed to be more careful with how I approached Vivian—little by little, piece by piece. I wouldn’t make the same mistakes my father made. I’d keep her safe.

Finally, I stood. She had grown too quiet. I counted her breaths once more. 1, 2, 3, and then again. 1, 2, 3, and then again. She seemed so peaceful as she nestled deeper into the plush pillows and comforters strewn about her, and, when I placed my hand upon her cheek, her eyelids fluttered. Tufts of thick black lashes grazed my fingers.

I wanted to stay by her side for a bit longer—just to be sure, but my duties beckoned.

…

I lit the candles in my study with a single red match. My father hates that sort of tedious task, but it is one that calms my mind. And, on that night, it was especially helpful as I tried to resist the urge to check on her once more.

Stacks of papers waited for me at my desk; my inks and pens lay where I left them, scattered and untouched; and the steady click of the trinkets I had collected over the years echoed around the room. It had changed since my father and brother had lived there, but not very much so. I could still hear whisps of their voices. How much time had we spent studying here, trading notes and expounding our thoughts on the Council of Wings? How many heated debates had these walls heard?

Once I became the Demon King, I was sure to meet with them again. Whether they’d approve, however, was another ordeal in and of itself.

I sighed, taking my seat behind the desk and reviewing the work I had been neglecting. Duke Thrasmus had sent another scathing complaint about my brother, unsurprising considering they were much the same in temperament.

The Council wanted me to write up another outline for the Ether Treatise between cloudfolk and ethereals. One might think a document nearly 1,000 years in the making would be close to perfection, but it was quite the opposite and required amendments every 10 years at the least. The piles of papers broaching the topic of the Lunarian Summit scared me most of all, however, separated into into 6 distinct piles that were at least 10 centimeters tall each. There were even more piles upon piles, but I cared not for them. I already had my work cut out for me.

As I settled in for the night and wet my pen with ink, I realised that a single night would not be enough. I’d have to spend the next day at home to finish, and then bring in the documents on the overmorrow. It was a plan, but a most loathsome one at that.

I worked until the sunlight began to rise amongst the clouds, casting a dark blue haze over the hall beyond my study. Pressing a finger to my temple, I lamented that my work was still nowhere close to being finished, but, just as I felt the sorrow pit itself into my chest, I heard the soft shuffling of feet against marble. It was too early for Angeline to return, and her wife hates it when she leaves too early.

I took a candle holder off of one of the cabinets and peered into the hallway. To my surprise, it was Vivian, safe and sound but clearly half-asleep.

“What are you doing over here?”