“Where is she?!” The door to the infirmary exploded open, fragments of wood scattering like brittle leaves under the force. King Orpheus stormed in, his calm demeanour obliterated. The tranquil smirk that typically graced his face was replaced with a lethal intensity that rippled through the room. His dark eyes burned with unrestrained fury.
Delilah lay sprawled on the pristine white sheets of the infirmary bed, her body bound by ropes that dug cruelly into her reddened wrists and ankles. The restraints kept her from clawing at her skin in a fit of madness. Her figure was draped in a thin, grey garment that clung loosely to her frame, offering little warmth. Her pale complexion had taken on a sickly green hue, glistening with sweat from the fever that wracked her fragile body. She shivered violently, consumed by phantom pain, her unconscious form writhing slightly under its weight.
Orpheus strode to her bedside, his movements sharp and purposeful. He pressed a cool hand to her forehead, the furrow in his brow deepening. “Explain,” he growled, his voice an unrelenting demand as his gaze pinned the trembling doctor. With a flick of his wrist, the ropes binding Delilah disintegrated into faint wisps of ash, freeing her bruised limbs. Relief seemed to wash over her body as he gathered her up with tender precision, her head cradled against the broad expanse of his shoulder.
Without hesitation, Orpheus carried her out of the infirmary, his steps resonating in the stone corridor. Servants and guards wisely stepped aside, their eyes lowered as he passed. Each door swung open under his outstretched hand until he reached his chambers—a cavernous room imbued with quiet elegance.
The King’s bedroom was a sanctuary of subdued opulence. A grand piano stood sentinel by the stone fireplace, its polished surface gleaming under the flickering light. Tall windows led to a balcony that overlooked the sprawling Zilah forest, its emerald canopy stretching to the horizon. In the centre of the room was a massive bed draped with navy and black blankets, an island of comfort amidst the storm brewing in the King’s chest.
His room was very large, with a grand piano against the stone fireplace along the far wall. The room entered onto a balcony where the entire of Zilah’s forest was visible, stretching around the city beyond. There was a large bed in the centre of the back wall, where several black and navy blue blankets were draped. The King hurried over and carefully laid Delilah down amongst the pillows and then sat beside her, cradling her neck like a child. She soothed down her sweaty, pink hair and combed through the knots with his long, white fingers.
“Oh Deelie, what are we going to do with you.” He sighed, looking down at her and pulling her dress further down after it had scrunched from the change in position. “I am so sorry.” He planted a kiss on the top of her head. “Let me help you.”
Orpheus lifted his wrist to his mouth and took a bite, puncturing his immaculate skin. Thick black blood started leaking from the wound before he pressed his wrist to her mouth, urging her to drink. The blood dribbled past her lips, tickling her tongue. Unconsciously she licked at the two punctured, sucking more and more blood out of the wound as Orpheus stroked her hair.
“Just like that Deelie. Good girl.” He smiled down at her, his expression soft, like a father soothing his daughter.
“That’s it, Deelie. Good girl,” he encouraged, his voice low and soothing. The deadly King, so feared by all, now looked like a father cradling his child.
When she finally released his wrist, the punctures healed instantly, the skin smooth and unmarred. Orpheus adjusted her position, settling her beside him. His gaze turned inward, shadows flickering behind his black eyes.
“You know,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I hated you at first. Hated the way you gave up. You fought so valiantly, brought two of them down, yet you surrendered as though death was a mercy. It disgusted me.” He laughed bitterly, a sound devoid of warmth. “But now I see you for what you are—a mirror. You reminded me of myself.”
He paused, his hand resting against her cheek. The silence stretched, the cawing of crows in the distance the only sound.
“When I was human,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly, “I gave up too. My wife, Eurydice, was taken from me, and I… I couldn’t go on. I thought death would reunite us. But instead, I woke as this—a selfish, cursed creature.”
Delilah stirred in her sleep, turning towards him. Her soft pink hair framed her face, and Orpheus tucked it behind her ear with aching care. “I turned you for vengeance,” he admitted. “To condemn you to the same suffering. But now…” He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Delilah.”
He rose, covering her with a blanket before stepping onto the balcony. Cold air swirled into the room as he approached the piano. Lifting the heavy lid, he revealed the keys beneath, their ivory surface dull with age. Brushing away the dust, Orpheus placed his fingers on the first chord and pressed down.
A haunting melody filled the air, sorrow bleeding into every note. His hands moved with grace, conjuring a song that carried the weight of centuries. Tears slipped down his cheeks as his heart ached with memories of his lost love.
“Eurydice,” he whispered into the night, his voice breaking. “Forgive me.”
As the last note faded, he turned back to find Delilah no longer on the bed. She sat beside him on the piano stool, her emerald eyes wide and glistening.
“That was beautiful,” she murmured, brushing away a tear. “Did you compose it?”
He nodded, his voice soft. “It was her favourite.”
“Teach me?” she asked, her voice a quiet plea.
For the first time in centuries, Orpheus smiled—a true, unguarded smile. Shifting to make room, he placed her hands on the keys. “This is the first chord,” he said gently.
And together, they played, the music binding them as master and protégé, king and heir, two lost souls tethered by their shared pain and growing hope.
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—152 years later, 2 months before her capture—
Delilah followed her usual routine within the sprawling palace of Zilah. Fresh from a mission that left her unscathed despite single-handedly dispatching 20 traffickers preying on young vampire women in Loke, she had bathed and was now getting dressed. She slipped into a striking red-and-white dress, its layers of cotton and tulle forming an elegant high-low hemline. With thin spaghetti straps emphasising her sharp collarbones and scars, she looked like a living rose in bloom. The scars across her arms, neck, and chest were badges of honour she wore openly now, their presence a proud declaration of survival and strength.
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Tying her vibrant pink hair into two flowing ponytails, she admired how the locks cascaded well past her hips—the longest it had ever been. A knock at the door interrupted her.
“Good morning, Dee,” came a familiar voice as the door creaked open. Aster, her assistant-turned-confidant, stepped inside. “You’ve got a particularly busy da—”
“ASTER! I MISSED YOU!” Delilah darted across the room, tackling her friend in a gleeful hug.
Aster, always composed, returned the embrace with a warm smile. Over the decades, their bond had deepened into an unshakable friendship.
“I missed you too, Dee,” Aster said with a chuckle. “Now, may I continue?”
Delilah released her with a laugh and bounded back toward the vanity. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”
“It’s been three days,” Aster replied dryly, though her smile betrayed her amusement. Over the decades, their bond had only grown stronger, weathering the storms of palace politics, dangerous missions, and even Delilah’s occasional temper.
Delilah was already reaching for her makeup. “So,” she said, her tone turning sly, “any progress with Harkin?”
Aster stiffened, her composure slipping. “D-Dee!” she sputtered, her cheeks reddening.
“You haven’t talked about the kiss yet, have you?” Delilah pressed, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “In front of the entire royal guard, no less! Props to you, girl. I’ve been rooting for you for over a century.”
“ANYWAY!” Aster said, raising her voice to deflect. “You have a busy day ahead! M’Lord is waiting for you at breakfast.”
“AND YOU’RE ONLY TELLING ME NOW? I’M STARVING!” Delilah laughed, hugging Aster once more before dashing out of the room, her dress flowing behind her.
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Navigating the labyrinthine palace of Zilah was a skill Delilah had honed to perfection. Each corridor, with its towering arches and dim sconces, held a secret. The doors were the true key to mastering the palace: round-handled ones led to static rooms—libraries, armouries, and the like—while long-handled doors opened to magical passages, capable of transporting her to any desired location within the estate. Reaching for a long-handled door, Delilah envisioned the great hall and stepped through.
The transition was seamless. One moment she was in a dim hallway, the next she stood before a grand dining table. Orpheus was already seated at its head, his presence commanding even in stillness. He turned to her with a wry smile. “Ah, you’ve finally joined us,” he remarked, gesturing to the seat beside him.
Delilah’s sharp gaze swept the room. Three unfamiliar faces stared back at her—burly men, human, and radiating the scent of sweat and trouble. She wrinkled her nose discreetly as she slid into her seat, her posture poised but relaxed. Orpheus raised a brow as she picked at the scrambled eggs on her plate, clearly unimpressed. Sighing, she relented and took a sip from her goblet, the rich blood washing away the faint tang of irritation.
“What’s the mission this time?” she asked, crossing her arms, her voice sharp and direct.
One of the men, chewing loudly on a piece of toast, hesitated before speaking. “It’s a difficult contract—”
“I doubt that,” Delilah interrupted, her tone dripping with mockery. “Spit it out.”
The second man leaned forward, his voice low. “The Albertine Crown Prince.”
Delilah’s brows arched in interest. “Interesting. And the payment?”
“Thousands upon thousands of gold!” the third man exclaimed, his enthusiasm poorly masking his desperation.
Her emerald eyes slid toward Orpheus. “Father,” she said with deliberate slowness, “may I take this?”
Orpheus regarded her for a long moment, his dark eyes inscrutable. Finally, he nodded. “Mission accepted.”
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Back in her study, Delilah pinned the mission details onto the sprawling corkboard that dominated one wall, the room dimly lit by flickering sconces. Her emerald-green eyes roamed over the various pieces of intelligence, her hand deftly connecting notes, photographs, and maps with strands of red string. Each thread created a complex web of intrigue, leading to one name: Crown Prince Azrael Albertine.
Azrael was a figure of contradictions—a charismatic public speaker who rarely ventured beyond the confines of his palace. Reports painted him as enigmatic, his polished demeanour concealing the sharp cunning of a ruler who thrived in the shadows. Delilah’s lips curled into a sly smile as she traced the strings with her finger. The challenge thrilled her.
A soft knock on the door broke her concentration. Only Orpheus would bother knocking on a star-handled door. She rose and turned the handle, allowing him inside.
Star-handled doors were special, reserved for rooms imbued with personal magic and designated for a single occupant. They were impenetrable to anyone else, yet Orpheus had the unique ability to bypass these enchantments. Still, he respected her space enough to knock.
He stepped inside, his presence commanding but subdued. “Looks intriguing,” he said, gesturing to the board as he took a seat beside her.
“It is,” Delilah admitted, still gazing at the board. “It’s complex. I’m excited.”
Orpheus nodded, his dark eyes searching hers. “How are you feeling?”
“Same old. Bored, mostly. But this should fix that,” she replied, leaning back in her chair.
He hesitated, his tone softening. “Are you doing well? Mentally?”
Delilah rolled her eyes, though her voice carried a trace of warmth. “What are you, my therapist?”
“No,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle. “I’m your father, and I care about you. Be careful, Delilah.”
She gave a noncommittal shrug, and Orpheus rose, lingering at the door. For a moment, it seemed he wanted to say more, but instead, he vanished into the shadows as quietly as he had appeared.
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That night, Delilah immersed herself in planning. The intelligence packet provided an intriguing detail: the contract included a substantial bonus if Prince Azrael were assassinated during a public event. She pored over the Albertine calendar, flipping through dates and scribbling notes in the margins.
“The Winter Solstice is too far out,” she muttered. “Harvest Festival is cutting it close. His birthday… tempting. And then there’s the Mid-Autumn Ball. Ugh, royals and their endless parties.”
The notes soon devolved into idle sketches, her pen tracing faces from memory. The first sketch emerged as a young woman with thick, curly hair cascading loosely around her shoulders. A deep gash across her neck hinted at the tragedy she’d endured—Delilah’s first murder case, decades ago, in the Albertine village of Erdin. Her hand lingered on the image, a pang of regret surfacing before she moved on.
The second drawing was a vampire woman, perhaps in her 40s, with a sharp bob framing her pointed ears. Her obsidian eyes seemed to pierce through the page, reminding Delilah of the haunting circumstances of her discovery—abandoned at the kingdom’s border, her fate unknown.
Finally, Delilah sketched the most captivating face of all—a witch with flowing purple hair and curling black horns. Her beauty was otherworldly, her eyes shimmering with secrets. Delilah had met her briefly in the palace years ago, but the witch had vanished, leaving only unanswered questions. Frustration prickled at her as she crumpled the paper and tossed it into the fire, watching it curl into ash.
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The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight touched the palace walls, Delilah packed her satchel with precision. Weapons, disguises, maps—everything she might need for a mission as delicate as this one. She glanced at her reflection one last time before slipping on her signature black cloak.
“Heading out already?” Aster’s voice brought her to the doorway. Her friend’s usually neat braids were undone, cascading in soft curls around her face.
“Yeah. New mission,” Delilah said, fastening her satchel.
“I’ll miss you,” Aster replied, stepping closer to hand her a small object. A rose quartz ring, delicate and gleaming, rested in her palm. “You left this.”
Delilah slipped it onto her finger with a grin. “I’ll be back. And you better have Harkin updates for me when I return.”
Aster rolled her eyes but smiled. “Travel safe, Dee. And please—don’t do anything reckless.”
“When have I ever?” Delilah quipped, her grin widening as she pulled her hood over her head and vanished into the night, leaving Aster shaking her head knowingly.