CH. 65 Midnight Visitors & Other Horrible Surprises
Midnight in the palace gardens is normally peaceful.
Crickets.
Moonlight.
A hint of dew.
The occasional noble snoring through an open window.
Tonight?
The air curdles.
The shadows stretch.
And every instinct in my body starts screaming RUN.
The fountain stills. The wind dies. Even the leaves stop rustling — like the world is holding its breath.
Then a growl rips through the quiet.
A growl I know.
The hellhound steps out first — red eyes glowing, smoke hissing between its teeth.
And behind it…
The Warden.
Massive.
Iron-skinned.
Chains rattling across his molten shoulders.
Heat dripping off him like sweat from the underworld.
He really should’ve sent a letter.
My knees want to collapse.
My soul wants to evacuate.
But I force my back straight, lift my chin, and try to look like someone who isn’t about to pee from fear.
“Hello,” I say weakly. “Fancy seeing you outside of hell.”
The Warden’s eyes flare.
“That place,” he rumbles, “is not hell.”
“Right, sorry, the scenic underworld sauna. My mistake.”
The hellhound sits beside me and wags its tail.
Traitor.
---
The Warden steps closer, shadows bending away from him.
His voice rolls low and thunderous:
“You have fire in your blood, little witch.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” I say. “It keeps lighting my sleeves on fire.”
He ignores my comment entirely — rude — and inhales deeply, the way a predator scents prey.
“Your blood is cursed,” he says. “It reeks of old magic.”
My stomach plunges.
He points a claw toward me.
“When you entered the trial… I smelled her on you.”
Her.
The witch.
The one who cursed me as a baby.
A chill slithers down my spine.
“Who?” My voice cracks. “Who cursed me?”
His molten eyes narrow.
“A witch who has eluded my grasp for centuries. A thief of spirits. A corrupter of bloodlines. A coward who hides behind children.”
He leans in, chains clinking.
“You carry her stain.”
My breath stutters.
“Cool, cool, very fun revelation,” I manage. “So glad I’m learning this at midnight. Alone. In the dark.”
His voice drops to a growl that shakes the roses.
“You will deliver her to me.”
I freeze.
“What?”
“You will bring her to the Forge,” he says. “To face judgment.”
“And… if I don’t?”
The hellhound whimpers quietly.
The Warden doesn’t blink.
“Then I will take you instead.”
My heart stops.
He straightens — towering, unyielding, ancient.
“Your bargain, witch,” he says. “Your oath to me was sealed with fire and blood. You owe me one soul.”
“I thought— I thought it was for saving Lord Arec and Lady Alenia,” I choke.
“It was,” he says simply.
“And that debt is paid.”
“Then why—”
“Because,” he says, voice low and terrible,
“you were marked long before you bargained with me.”
The world tilts.
My knees wobble.
“But I— I don’t even know where she is!”
“Find her,” he says.
“Or I will come again.”
The wind howls.
The sky trembles.
The hellhound gives me a soft, apologetic lick on the hand.
And then—
Fire.
Smoke.
They’re gone.
Leaving me alone in the moonlit garden, shaking so hard my teeth jabber.
I wrap my arms around myself, heart pounding in terror.
He’s coming back.
The witch who cursed me is real.
And if I don’t find her…
The Warden will drag me back to the underworld himself.