Chapter 102: No One Touches What’s Mine
Seraphel
"It wasn’t me... I didn’t plant the curse... I didn’t," Slyven repeated in a rising panic.
In the blink of an eye, he rushed forward, falling to his knees and desperately grabbing the heavy hem of Azriel’s royal robe. "I didn’t do it!" His screams echoed against the tall stone pillars. "Please, Your Highness... I didn’t do it!"
I stared down at him, searching his tear-streaked face to figure out if he was putting on an elaborate act, but I couldn’t tell.
Words alone were not enough to prove his innocence—especially when Lumiel had already unsealed his mind and read his memories.
"Are you implying that someone else orchestrated this?" Azriel asked softly. His voice carried a eerie, deceptive gentleness—the kind of quiet calm that usually preceded complete devastation.
"Yes..."
A slow, dangerous grin spread across Azriel’s lips as he looked down at the shivering concubine. "Tell me who. Name them, and perhaps I shall spare your life and take theirs instead."
"It’s..." Slyven began, but the words hitched in his chest. He opened his mouth to continue, yet no sound came out. "Your Highness, please... give me another chance," he sobbed, clutching at his own neck. "I swear I was not alone!"
Azriel gave a slow nod. "Go on. I have just enough patience to grant you a few more seconds. Tell me, Slyven—who planted the curse if not you?"
Slyven’s free hand shot up, his fingers digging frantically into his own hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice cut off again, as if an invisible thread were choking him from the inside.
He didn’t just pull at his scalp; he began clawing at his skin with savage intensity.
Sharp nails dragged across his temples, tearing through flesh until blood burst from the self-inflicted gouges, staining his knuckles red and dripping down his face in crimson trails.
"Why can’t I say their names?" Slyven choked out, his eyes wide with horror as he continued to tear at his own skin. "Why... it’s right here in my mind, but I can’t say it! I can’t even remember what their faces look like! We were..."
Azriel and Lumiel exchanged a brief, knowing glance before both breaking into dark laughter.
"Humans. They never cease to amaze me," Lumiel remarked, rubbing a gloved hand over his forehead as he shook his head in amusement.
Was his memory sealed? Had someone tampered with his mind after the fact? How could he suddenly lose the ability to recall something so important?
"I can feel your foolish empathy bleeding through, Seraphel," Azriel murmured, his voice cutting through my thoughts. "You are human, after all. As much as your kind disgusts me, your capacity for pity is a inherent flaw. But you must understand—Lumiel’s mind searches are always right. It is his primary instrument of interrogation, and he uses it flawlessly. There is no possibility of error. Either this worm is fabricating a lie to buy time, or he is merely a disposable pawn—a scapegoat thrown to the flames to protect the true masterminds. It is simply his misfortune that he dared to harm you."
"Can’t you search his mind again?" I urged, turning to look between the two princes. "If he is only a pawn, the real mastermind is still lurking in the shadows. We have to find them!"
"Mind searches do not work on demand like that, human," Lumiel dismissed coldly, his tone dripping with boredom. "Subjecting his mind to another search right now would reduce his brain to mush before I retrieved a single fragment. Besides, shifting through human clutter drains more of my power than it is worth."
"But—" I tried to press further, my gut telling me there was more to this. Something about Slyven’s sheer, helpless terror felt genuine.
Before I could finish, Azriel reached out, resting his large, warm palm against the side of my face.
"Human empathy is a fragile thing, my lotus," Azriel whispered, his thumb lightly stroking my cheek. "If you allow your enemies to see through your softness, they will turn it into a blade and drive it through your heart. You must guard yourself. As for him..."
Azriel turned back to Slyven, whose bloody fingers were still clinging tightly to the hem of his robe.
"He brought harm upon you. And no one—no one—touches what belongs to me."
The soft affection in Azriel’s voice vanished, replaced by a low growl. He delivered a swift, brutal kick directly to Slyven’s chest, sending him flying backward down the steps.
Slyven tumbled down the cold stairs, landing at the bottom in a broken, bloodied heap, curling his body into a tight ball.
Around the hall, the remaining concubines pressed themselves flatter against the floor. Their knees knocked together against the marble, their shoulders trembling so violently that the heavy silk of their robes rustled in the silent room. Not a single one dared to breathe loudly, paralyzed by the bloodlust thick in the air.
"What manner of execution do you deem fitting for him, Seraphel?" Azriel asked, stepping toward me. "Because of his actions, you endured five hundred deaths—"
"He still needs to be questioned!" I cut in, standing up from my seat and grabbing Azriel’s wrist.
I bit my lower lip, casting a quick glance down at Slyven’s broken form on the stone. "I believe... I believe he might be innocent of the main plot. He shouldn’t be killed like this!"
Azriel chuckled darkly, tutting under his breath. "Oh, my naive little lotus. So hopelessly innocent."
"He could be telling the truth!" I insisted, holding his wrist tighter. "You said it yourself—he might just be a pawn! If we kill him now, we lose the only lead to who is actually behind—"
"Die!"
A frantic, screeching cry shattered the hall as Slyven suddenly burst upward from the floor. Fueled by sheer desperation, he lunged up the dais toward me in a blur of movement, a dark, poison-tipped dagger gleaming in his hand.
Before I could even register the threat, Azriel shifted in front of me and caught the dagger barehanded.