Seduced by The Dark Angel

A thousand years ago.

The grand halls of the iron citadel echoed with whispers of the queen’s plight. Queen Seraphina, wife to the ruthless King Daemir, was childless after years of marriage. Despite her grace and wisdom, her failure to provide an heir threatened her very position.

Late one stormy night, Seraphina slipped away from the palace. Cloaked in desperation, she ventured deep into the forbidden Shadow wood, guided by ancient whispers of a being who could grant her heart’s desire.

At the center of an ancient, crumbling shrine, she called out into the void. “I summon the one who can grant life! I will give you anything...my soul, my crown...if you grant me a child.”

The air thickened, and shadows gathered, forming the outline of a man cloaked in darkness. His molten gold eyes burned with malice as he smiled. “Queen Seraphina, how bold of you to seek a devil’s favor. You would trade your very essence for a child?”

She knelt, her hands trembling. “I would do anything to silence the whispers, to secure my place, to feel the joy of a child in my arms.”

The devil’s voice was a low, mocking rumble. “Then so be it. But remember, what I give is not wholly yours...it is mine as well. Do you accept this burden?”

“I do,” she whispered, her voice resolute.

The pact was sealed, and darkness enveloped her. When she returned to the palace, a secret life now grew within her.

Months later, the queen screamed in labor as the storm outside mirrored the chaos within. When the baby’s cries pierced the air, the midwives gasped in horror. The child had golden blue, glowing eyes and faint black markings that pulsed like living shadows across his skin.

One of the midwives staggered back, crossing herself. “The devil reincarnate,” she whispered, her voice filled with terror.

Seraphina ignored their trembling hands and fearful whispers as she reached for the child. She cradled him close, her tears mingling with a fierce smile. “Astor,” she whispered, her voice full of love and defiance. “You are my son.”

But as she held him, the flickering torchlight seemed to dim, and the shadows in the room stretched unnaturally. Seraphina knew then that she had brought not only an heir into the world but a force that would challenge the very foundations of light and darkness.

Thirteen years later, the once-gilded walls of the forgotten room were now faded and cracked, their glory long stripped away by time. The air carried a suffocating stillness, broken only by the rhythmic strokes of a comb through dark, silken hair. Seraphina sat before a tarnished mirror, her gaze distant, her movements mechanical. The weight of years had not dulled her beauty, but it had etched sorrow into the lines of her face.

The quiet was shattered by a voice, smooth yet cold, like molten gold forged into words. “How long do you plan to live like this, Seraphina?”

Her hand froze mid-stroke. Slowly, she turned, her breath catching as she met the reflection in the mirror. There, behind her, stood Beltharion. His presence filled the room like an oppressive storm, his molten gold eyes glowing in stark contrast to the dim surroundings.

Seraphina’s voice trembled, her tone heavy with exhaustion and defiance. “I’ve already told you, Beltharion. Take my life. End this torment.”

Beltharion’s lips curved into a cruel smile, sharp as the edge of a blade. He stepped closer, his reflection in the mirror growing larger, more menacing. “Your life holds no interest to me, Seraphina,” he said, his voice a silken menace. “It is Astor’s life I want.”

At his words, Seraphina’s composure cracked. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she turned fully to face him. “Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Don’t do this. He’s all I have left. Please, Beltharion.”

The devil tilted his head, feigning consideration, but his molten gaze betrayed no mercy. “And yet, he is what I want. He is destined to serve me, Seraphina. His blood was forged in darkness, and his soul belongs to me.”

“No!” Seraphina’s voice rose, defiant despite her despair. She stood, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Astor will never be your slave. He is more than you could ever understand. He is a king...the rightful heir to Gadweish’s throne!”

Beltharion laughed, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the walls. “A king?” he repeated mockingly. “What is a throne to a devil? He is bound by the pact made long before his birth, and you know it.”

Seraphina’s tears fell freely now, but her resolve hardened. “I will not let you have him. I will protect him, even if it costs me my life.”

Beltharion’s molten eyes narrowed, and the room grew colder. “We shall see, Seraphina. The game has begun, and the pieces are moving. But remember this, there is no escape from a fate sealed by the hands of a desperate queen.”

With that, the devil’s presence faded, leaving behind the faint scent of sulfur and a lingering sense of dread. Seraphina collapsed back into the chair, clutching the comb in trembling hands. Her reflection stared back at her, hollow and fragile, as the weight of Beltharion’s words pressed upon her heart.

Astor was her son, her king, her only light in the consuming darkness. And she would not let him fall.

Seraphina jolted awake, her body trembling as she clutched the edges of her bedding. The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the faint flicker of moonlight that slipped through the curtains. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as the echoes of Beltharion’s molten gaze lingered in her mind.

She touched her face, damp with tears, and tried to steady herself. “It was just a dream,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “Just a dream.”

But the air around her was thick, heavy with a suffocating presence. Her eyes darted to the far corner of the room. There, where the shadows pooled darkest, the faint scent of sulfur still lingered.

“No,” she murmured, shaking her head violently. “No, it wasn’t a dream.”

A sudden, bone-deep chill gripped her, and she screamed, a raw, primal sound that tore through the stillness of the night. Her hands clawed at the covers as she stumbled out of bed, her mind spiraling into panic.

The door burst open, and a young woman rushed in, her face pale with worry. “My lady!” she cried, hurrying to Seraphina’s side.

It was Aline, Seraphina’s handmaiden and the only person she trusted in the palace. Aline wrapped her arms around her mistress, trying to steady her. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Seraphina’s wild eyes locked onto Aline’s. She clutched the maiden’s arms desperately, her voice trembling. “He was here, Aline. I saw him. The devil...Beltharion. He’s real. He’s coming for Astor.”

Aline hesitated, her expression torn between disbelief and the urge to calm her mistress. “It was a nightmare, my lady,” she said gently. “You’ve been under so much strain. Please, sit down. Let me fetch you some water.”

“No!” Seraphina shouted, gripping Aline tighter. “It wasn’t a dream! I could feel him, his eyes...” She shuddered violently, her words catching in her throat.

Aline pulled Seraphina into a tighter embrace, her voice soft but firm. “It’s all right, my lady. I’m here. No one will harm you, I promise.”

Seraphina’s sobs quieted slightly as Aline stroked her hair, murmuring reassurances. But her heart still raced, and her mind refused to let go of the vision.

“He’s coming for my son,” Seraphina whispered, her voice barely audible. “I have to protect him. No matter what it takes.”

Aline pulled back, meeting Seraphina’s haunted gaze. “We will protect him, my lady,” she said firmly. “You’re not alone in this.”

Seraphina nodded faintly, but deep down, she knew the battle ahead was one she might have to face on her own.

The faint scent of sulfur still lingered in the room, a chilling reminder that her nightmare was all too real.