Chapter 183: The Serpent Coils
[Music Recommendation: Secession Studios - Angels & Demons]
"No. I’ll be back," Ivan replied curtly, offering no further explanation before striding out of the dining room in long, purposeful steps.
He didn’t need to ask for directions to the powder room; his sharp ears had already caught the details earlier when Eve and Cece had asked about it. But as he stepped into the corridor, his eyes immediately caught sight of a man with jet-black hair and brown eyes....someone he instantly recognised as Valen’s ever-present shadow.
The man stepped closer to Ivan and bowed his head. "Your Highness, my name is Jareld, a royal knight of Dartmouth. Her Majesty has requested an audience with you, and I was sent to deliver her message."
Ivan’s eyes narrowed at the man, making Jareld shift uneasily under the prince’s sharp, scrutinising gaze. Even so, he held his ground, knowing Ivan wouldn’t strike him—not when he was merely a messenger.
Ivan could hear the spike in the man’s heartbeat as he asked in a low, icy tone, "Why?"
Jareld kept his head bowed. "I am not privy to that information, Your Highness. I was only instructed to guide you to her."
Ivan had no intention of entertaining anyone in this castle; his only priority was finding Eve as quickly as possible. So he said tersely, "I’ll go after I’m done with what I stepped out to do in the first place."
He moved to step past Jareld, intent on marching in the direction Eve had gone, but Jareld quickly spoke up.
"Your Highness, please forgive me," he said hastily, "but Her Majesty stated that the matter is urgent and requires your immediate attention. That is why I must lead you to her at once."
It was then that Ivan took an intimidating step toward him, towering over him like a glacier, clicking his tongue in displeasure. "It seems you’re having trouble understanding," he said coldly. "So let me remind you....no one holds the power to make me do anything at their convenience...whether they are royals of this kingdom or mine. You may pass that message to Her Majesty."
A cold sweat broke across Jareld’s forehead under Ivan’s chilling threat.
Ivan stepped away from him again and had taken only three strides forward when Jareld blurted, "Her Majesty told me it is something urgent regarding Princess Evelyn, should you choose not to answer her summons."
This made Ivan stop in his tracks and turn his stoic face toward the man, who was now trembling in fear. Ivan’s brows drew together in silent thought, wondering why this knight was being so insistent. He couldn’t deny that it piqued his curiosity, yet Evelyn’s safety outweighed everything else. He was about to open his mouth to refuse when the dining room doors opened once again, and this time it was Edward and Damien who stepped out.
Damien, having overheard enough of their conversation, stepped forward with a slow, amused expression. "Well, well, well...what’s happening here?" His lips curled into a smirk as his eyes landed on the quivering knight standing before Ivan. "Brother, have you finally decided to torture the souls of this palace?"
Ivan didn’t look away from Jareld as he replied, voice chillingly calm, "I haven’t begun my torture...yet."
Damien’s smirk widened as he crossed his arms. "So what’s all this I’m hearing? The queen seems far too eager to summon you."
"Seems like it," Ivan replied, then looked at Damien. "It’s good that you’re here. Can you two check on Eve and Cece while I see what’s so urgent that it cannot wait?"
Damien met Ivan’s gaze and nodded with understanding. "Of course. I was getting tired of waiting myself, wondering why my sisters were taking so long."
He and Edward stepped forward. Damien placed a hand on Ivan’s shoulder and whispered a quiet warning, "Stay alert," before sauntering off in the direction Eve and Cece had gone.
Ivan then turned to the human and said tersely, "Lead the way."
"Y-yes, Your Highness," Jareld stammered, straightening swiftly before guiding Ivan toward the place where the queen awaited him.
As they walked, the heaviness in Ivan’s chest only grew. Something was stirring inside him, like an internal battle between light and darkness warring beneath his ribs. It felt as though a dark serpent was trying to coil around his beating heart, only to be repelled again and again, each clash making it harder for him to breathe. Yet his stoic expression betrayed nothing.
They crossed several corridors before finally stopping in front of a dark, heavy wooden door. Jareld knocked lightly and announced, "Your Majesty, Prince Ivan is here."
A moment passed before a melodic voice answered from within. At that, Jareld pushed the door open and stepped aside to allow Ivan to enter.
Ivan gave the knight one last icy stare before stepping through the doorway. The door closed behind him with a soft thud.
He stepped inside and found Queen Viva standing by the window of her office, one hand gripping the drawn curtain while the other hovered before her as though she were holding something unseen. The room was dim, illuminated only by the muted glow of a lone chandelier.
The tightness in Ivan’s chest worsened, a dark pressure coiling inside him, but he forced it down and addressed her firmly, "Why did you summon me, Your Majesty?"
"Prince Ivan..." she purred his name, the sound slithering through the room. A faint crease formed between his brows at the unsettling way she spoke.
"I have been waiting," she continued, her voice soft and chilling, "waiting for this moment to come finally."
A soft swish sizzled through the room, the sound unnervingly sharp in the dim space where the queen stood with her back still facing him. Ivan felt the tightness in his chest intensify. His sharp ears rang as the sizzling noise grew, reverberating through him like an invisible pressure.
He didn’t know what was happening...only that something was wrong. His hand trembled as he lifted it and pressed it against his chest. His heart was pounding painfully, as if invisible fingers were clawing at it, digging their nails in slowly but surely.
His eyes flared a molten red before they darkened further, swirling with shadows as he glared at the queen, who remained disturbingly still.
He hissed through gritted teeth with his voice roughened with strain, "What are you doing?"
"Me?" she replied in a sing-song voice, "I’m not doing anything at all...Your Highness."
And that was when she finally released the curtain and turned around.
Gone was her fair, flawless skin. In its place crawled sickly black veins protruding across her face, making her look centuries older, like something decayed yet animated.
Her eyes were bloodshot, the pale green pupils now swallowed entirely by inky black. A sinister smirk stretched across her twisted features.
Ivan’s gaze dropped, and he finally saw what she was holding in her hand...a pulsing dark stone, throbbing like a living heart.
A surge of fury tore through him for not realising it sooner. He tried to summon his power, tried to burn her to ashes where she stood, but the moment he reached for his fire, his eyes flickered dim, molten orange before the colour began to bleed into black.
The tightening in his chest worsened, sharp and agonising, forcing a low grunt from his throat as the invisible claws dug deeper and deeper into his beating heart. His knees buckled, and he crouched, gasping for breath as sweat trickled down his skin. His entire frame trembled violently while his shaky hand clutched his chest in a futile attempt to stop the torment. He didn’t realise that in the struggle, his fingers had snagged on the brooch locket Eve had given him for protection, pulling it loose.
The Queen watched him writhe, and the malevolent smile on her face stretched even further. She clicked her tongue mockingly.
"What’s wrong, Prince Ivan? You don’t look too well..." she whispered, before erupting into a crackling, evil laugh.
Ivan gritted his teeth. "I’ll...kill you...you witch!" he growled, forcing the words out through the suffocating pain tearing through his chest. His entire body trembled violently from the combined force of agony and rage. Yet, he fought with every ounce of willpower he possessed, desperate to move... desperate to end the evil standing before him.
But his body refused to obey.
A sharp stab of confusion sliced through his mind. His heightened senses, normally razor-sharp, were a chaotic blur. Forcing his darkening gaze downward, he finally saw it: a black magic circle beneath his feet that was glowing with pulsing, sickly purple light.
His glare snapped back up to the wicked woman before him, who only laughed harder at the sight of his suffering.
"Ah...what a glorious moment," she crooned. "The great Prince Ivan...the strongest man on the continent...reduced to nothing before me. Me!" She broke into another jagged, crooked laugh, delighting in his torment.
She stepped closer, and as she did, the dark stone in her hand began to emit dense black smoke. It poured out like poisoned fog, curling around Ivan’s feet before rising to engulf his entire frame.
