It was almost unimaginable to me how long it would take for a wingless angel to get here, having to climb over steep, slippery rocks.

The main kingdom of Noxalora—Mortavia—was the largest, oldest, and most beautiful. Even from afar, I could see the ruler’s residence with its majestic towers and massive walls. The castle stood on an enormous rock, making it nearly impossible to reach on foot. Only winged angels could fly over the monstrous rock and enter its depths.

The castle could house a thousand angels—servants, loyal companions, and members of the royal family. It was, quite literally, Sarlan’s fortress, from which he had ruled for an eternity.

Every governor of the three subordinate territories—Terravorn, Alaris, and Luxania—appointed by Sarlan had to come regularly for an audience and report to him. My father could revoke his favor at any time and strip them of their position. It was essential to stay on good terms with the dark king, as he held control over our entire world.

I didn’t descend as other angels might have. Nor did I join the festivities in the courtyard below. From there, I could hear the raucous celebration. Many were shouting my name, holding bottles in their hands and reveling as if it were their birthday, not mine.

My birthday meant a lot to them. Who could blame them? They needed days like this—moments to set everything aside and revel without restraint. As for me, I hadn’t celebrated my birthday in years. I was far too old for that.

I flew higher, heading toward one of the four massive towers. The aerial patrol greeted me and let me pass without interference.

I circled the northern tower, made my way to my chambers, and landed abruptly on the balcony. I nearly fell on my backside—the tiles were slippery. That wouldn’t have been very elegant. My black-and-blue wings helped me keep my balance. I flapped them a few times to shake off the water, then dismissed them.

In the mirror, I caught sight of my reflection. I looked like a drenched rat. If someone grabbed me, they could probably wring water out of me. The only silver lining was that there was no evidence left on me. After what I’d done, I’d come out clean.

Water dripped from my wet hair onto the expensive carpets. Quickly, I pulled off my tunic and tossed it forcefully into the corner of the room.

I was running late. I’d allowed myself to get distracted.

I rushed to the wardrobe and flung it open, pulling out clean clothes while carelessly leaving the wet ones on the floor.

Throwing open the door, I ran into the hallway, almost colliding with a massive figure dressed in black and gold. It was as if I was looking into a mirror—albeit a slightly distorted one.

“You’re late!” he barked.

“Really?” I replied with a grin, smirking at Darlek.

Unlike me, he looked like a true prince. He was always adorned with expensive jewelry, radiating an air of majesty. His proudly raised head, casual gait, and the dark shadows surrounding his figure ensured that no one could mistake him for anyone else.

We started walking side by side. The atmosphere between us was tense. Maybe we once had a good sibling relationship, but those days were long gone.

“Did you notice the gift?” Darlek asked after a moment of silence.

“Gift?” I snapped irritably.

“I left you a little something in your room.”

I hadn’t noticed anything in my rush. “I didn’t ask for anything from you,” I reminded him coldly.

We never gave each other gifts. Why would we? Anything we wanted, we could get for ourselves. It had been over five hundred years since I last got Darlek anything. By now, we’d given each other everything, and nothing new could surprise us.

“I know, but you’ll find it useful, Reilan,” he said calmly, his exaggeratedly slow tone and smugness beginning to irritate me.

“Where’s Elisha?” I changed the subject. As strained as my relationships with my siblings were, those two—being twins—loved each other above all else.

“She’s around somewhere, turning men’s heads,” he replied indifferently.

“You should talk to her. It’s inappropriate,” I said with irritation in my voice.

“She can do whatever she wants. Father won’t stop her.”

“Because he doesn’t care about her, but you don’t have to ignore it. She’s embarrassing us,” I warned him.

“We could argue all day about who’s really embarrassing our family, little brother.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“On the night of your celebration, you’re dealing with lowlifes. You dirty your own hands instead of delegating it to someone else,” he said quietly, without a trace of emotion. Darlek never raised his voice—he didn’t need to. His calm words always hit precisely where they were meant to.

To him, the idea of a prince handling tasks meant for the lower classes was inconceivable. He had loyal angels for everything—capable, swift, and devoted. For centuries, he hadn’t dealt with anything personally; his role was to command.

In this, we were as different as night and day. I believed that if something needed to be done right, I had to do it myself. I refused to admit that anyone else could handle it better.

“No one saw me,” I retorted.

“They don’t have to. Even if no one sees your face, everyone instantly recognizes your signature.”

We descended the stairs into larger spaces. By now, we were encountering servants in the hallways. They greeted us respectfully, bowing deeply, and when we passed, they averted their gazes to the floor. They couldn’t hear our conversation—Darlek maintained a flawless shield.

“I’m surprised by how much beauty has been born lately,” he muttered under his breath.

I knew who he meant. It must have been that long-haired blonde who was beaming at us. I’d noticed her too, even though I usually kept my gaze fixed ahead. But to me, she didn’t seem so captivating or important to even think about.

The beauty of others had ceased to fascinate me after I celebrated my three-hundredth birthday. I no longer felt the urge to date or look for that so-called soulmate. What would be the point?

“What kind of mood is Father in?” I changed the subject.

“It depends. I didn’t see him enthusiastically pacing the halls, but neither was he cursing incompetent advisors. Honestly, he hasn’t left the red salon since yesterday. He’s waiting for us.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The last sentence was a lie.

“He’s not waiting for us,” I blurted without thinking. It just slipped out.

Darlek flinched. For a brief moment, he let himself be rattled. “I know,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

Sometimes we could connect like this—understand what we both felt when thinking about the most powerful man in our world. The man who preferred to spend his days in the red salon and sometimes didn’t leave it for months. The one who had long forgotten how beautiful life could be, ever since our mother, to whom the salon once belonged, had been rotting in her grave for years.

“But we’re the only ones who can go to him. We’ve left him waiting far too long,” Darlek added.

“You should’ve gone alone,” I snapped.

“It’s your birthday, not mine. He wanted to see you most of all.”

“Bullshit!” I muttered. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d wished me a happy birthday. It had probably been so long ago that I’d pushed it out of my memory entirely. Darlek was just making excuses. He didn’t want to face our sentimental father alone.

We stopped in front of the doors. Neither of us made a move to knock. Despite our age, we acted like children arguing over who would take the unpleasant step. As the eldest, it fell to me in the end.

I knocked and waited. Time dragged unbearably slowly until a muffled voice behind the doors finally said, “Enter.”

I went in first, stepping into the red salon, which was aptly named. The furniture and every other object in the room were various shades of red—from the carpets, sofas, and curtains to the books arranged on the shelves. This room was steeped in history. Everything in it was older than I was. It felt like an archaeological dig site.

I stopped by the door, hesitating to step onto the pristine carpet in my shoes. It wasn’t my usual habit, but this time I removed my shoes and walked in barefoot. Darlek mimicked me, even though his shoes were so clean you could eat off them.

In our world, no one could rival the beauty of me, Darlek, and Elisha. Except, perhaps, the man seated behind the antique desk. His head was bowed as he read one of the books from the room.

Sarlan.

I couldn’t find a word that could describe him without diminishing his exceptional nature. The three of us were but a grain compared to what belonged to him. Otherworldly looks, power capable of shattering entire worlds, and the blood of a true divine angel. We didn’t even have a fraction of what he possessed. We could never be as untamable, immortal, or wise, no matter how much we liked to pretend we could rival him.

He raised his gaze. His eyes were my eyes. His hair resembled mine. But everything else belonged to the angels of the heavens.

“Ruler,” Darlek and I said simultaneously, bowing in unison.

He scrutinized both of us carefully, as if searching for the slightest hint of error. Eventually, his attention fell on our bare feet, and for a fleeting moment, he smirked. Without a word, he turned his gaze back to the book.

“Reilan, how did your meeting with the transgressor go?” he asked, addressing me first. He always did. He never gave Darlek the priority. He adhered strictly to the rules.

“Effective,” I replied curtly.

He gestured with his hand, indicating he wanted more.

“The transgressors believe in the prophecy of light and that Luxana could destroy us,” I added, allowing myself a faint smile.

Father closed the book, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Then they must be desperate. Nothing original. Did you at least send a clear message, given that the information was worthless?” he asked.

His tone irritated me slightly, as if it were my fault that the transgressors didn’t come up with something better—something that could break him out of his lethargy, force him to demonstrate his power, to crush anyone who dared oppose him. That’s what he was waiting for. Unfortunately, such a moment hadn’t come.

“He’s dead. His comrades have surely found him by now. I extracted the names of the leading supporters of the genocide of wingless angels. I could leave tomorrow and round them all up,” I said, desperate for action. Sitting idle at home was unimaginable to me. I refused to lock myself away and become like him.

He shook his head. He disagreed. I forced myself to maintain a serious expression, even as frustration boiled inside me.

“No, one dead angel is enough for now. If the situation worsens, we’ll deal with it. But not you. There’s no point in you playing the defender. You should remain impartial and focus only on truly important matters. Since we are safe and they have no means to overthrow us, you have no work to do,” he said coldly.

I had to swallow my anger and accept it silently. There was no point in arguing with him. It never worked.

“Of course,” I replied tersely.

“Darlek, I want you to visit more often. Your sister would appreciate it if you spent a little more time with her.”

“Father, may I leave?” I cut in. There was no point in standing there, listening to him lecture Darlek. Even though he clearly wanted me to stay for it, I needed to get out. I needed fresh air and a proper wash.

“You may, but you’ll go toast your birthday with a handful of subjects. Go show yourself to them. Cheer them up.”

“I’m not in the mood for a celebration,” I blurted out. Darlek nudged me slightly, a silent warning to avoid provoking him. Not now, when it was his turn under scrutiny.

“That wasn’t a request; it was an order. Go show yourself to the subjects, Reilan.” He didn’t raise his voice. He simply looked me in the eye. That look… A shiver ran down my spine.

I knew he loved me. In a strange, almost shocking way. But there was something utterly terrifying and otherworldly about it. It wasn’t the kind of love mortals knew—it reached further, into some infinite darkness and fear. He would be capable of killing me. If I ever tried to defy him, tarnish my mother’s memory, or cross that fragile boundary of his patience, he wouldn’t hesitate to take my head. He would mourn me, never recover from it, and yet he would still stain his hands with my blood.

“I’ll go see them for a bit. As you wish, Father.”

* * *

After half an hour of wandering through the castle, I finally returned to my room. That’s when I remembered Darlek’s gift. How had I not noticed it earlier? Something large, covered with a cloth, stood next to my bed.

I summoned a sturdy shield of darkness, just in case. A single moment of carelessness, and it could have cursed me.

I pulled off the cloth, revealing an antique, stunning mirror as tall as I was. The frame was adorned with carved faces and inscriptions in a language I didn’t understand. I ran my fingers over them, but nothing happened. The dark blue frame remained unchanged, and the reflection showed only my face.

I didn’t understand. Why would he give me an ordinary mirror?

Then I noticed a note attached to the gift. As I read it, I had to restrain myself from smashing the mirror on the spot. The exact words didn’t matter—the message was clear: he was mocking me.

Darlek had written that this was a magical artifact known as the Mirror of Happiness. All I had to do was touch my reflection. Legend said that only a perfectly happy angel would see nothing in it. But if something was missing in their life, the mirror would reveal what they desired most. And with a bit of luck, they could even claim it.

Me? Missing something? Ridiculous.

Then why, for heaven’s sake, was I afraid to look into it? I realized that my dear brother had gotten under my skin, just as he’d intended.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. For a moment, I considered grabbing this cursed gift and hurling it out of the tower.

But what if…

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood in front of the frame. I had to try. I couldn’t let a silly legend control me. Summoning all my willpower, I touched my reflection.

The surface began to darken, revealing only blackness, as if showing me a reflection of my inner self—pure darkness.

Relief washed over me. Darlek was wrong—he had no power over me. I wasn’t missing anything. How could I? I had everything I’d ever wanted.

I reached out again, touching the dark surface once more.

This time, my finger didn’t hit solid glass but passed straight through. I immediately pulled my hand back without hesitation. What if something grabbed me?

I gasped and took three steps back. The surface began to change. My reflection vanished, replaced by a strange, moving image.

I stood frozen, unable to tear my gaze away. Before me appeared the face of a red-haired girl with piercing green eyes. She was young; I could tell immediately—her eyes were free of the angelic mark. She didn’t belong to any specific territory.

My legs began to tremble. I didn’t move, still watching the small girl who had no idea I was looking at her. At that moment, nothing in the world could make me look away.

She saw me!

The girl rose from her bed and limped toward me. Just a few more steps, and she would be standing right in front of me.

But suddenly, she stopped. She sat down on a chair and began examining her skin. Then she picked up a brush and slowly combed her red hair. A bruise on her cheek was fading.

Did this cursed mirror really show me what I was missing in life? Why would I be missing a small redhead who wasn’t even old enough to swear loyalty to any kingdom? This had to be some cruel joke by my brother. After all, I didn’t even like red-haired women!

“You can do this, Losiela. They won’t break you. You have to be strong,” she whispered to herself.

Where was she? Who was she so afraid of? For a moment, I saw fear in her eyes, and it stirred a murderous urge within me.

“What the hell am I doing?! What would Father say if he saw me like this? I’m making a fool of myself!” I exclaimed aloud.

Meanwhile, the unfamiliar Losiela yawned and began undressing. I didn’t want to spy on her. Quickly, I turned my back to the mirror.

When I turned around again, the strange redhead—Losiela—was already lying in bed. She had a pillow under her head, was tucked in up to her neck, and was clutching a teddy bear tightly in her right hand.

What?! Was it really possible that I, the dark crown prince, an over-800-year-old divine angel, the heir to all of Noxalora, was longing for a girl who fell asleep holding a stuffed toy?