CHAPTER 477: CAUGHT RED HANDED

The cloaked woman stood eagerly before the throne, her pulse thrumming in rhythm with the soft hum of magic that filled the hall. Morpheus sat there, motionless, his head tilted slightly to one side, eyes sealed in unnatural slumber. His stillness was not death, though it looked eerily close to it, especially when his breath was far too still that it almost seemed as if he had stopped breathing for every few minutes. No, he was merely detached from his body, his spirit wandering, all according to plan.

Her plan.

And soon, he would wake.

The thought alone sent a thrill crawling down her spine. She smiled, so wide and bright as if she would soon be crowned the queen, as she imagined his fury when he saw Arabella with that stableboy. The picture filled her chest with warmth and satisfaction. Everything had been arranged perfectly; the vision he would awaken to was meant to rip him apart from within.

Her gaze flicked to the tall clock by the wall, the ticking sound unusually loud in the silence, and then to Morpheus again. He was guarded by four sorcerers, their faces expressionless, eyes closed, hands raised to sustain the tether of magic that bound his spirit to safety. None of them moved. None dared speak. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and power, the kind that hummed against the skin.

Perfect, she thought. A perfect stage to admire him unseen.

She inched a little closer, her eyes tracing the sharp lines of his face, the stillness of his mouth. How pitifully beautiful he was when powerless. Her fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, perhaps trace his jawline or run through his hair, but she held herself back, trembling with excitement.

That was when a maid came running down the hall, her voice trembling with panic.

"Milady— Milady, it’s an emergency!"

The cloaked woman snapped her head to the side, annoyance cutting through her thrill. "Then call someone else to take care of it! Can’t you see I’m—"

"It’s regarding Lord Morpheus’s..." The maid’s voice faltered, eyes darting past the woman to the throne. "...that, Milady."

The change was instant. The woman’s smile vanished, her posture stiffened, and she spun toward the throne.

"What?" she hissed, stepping forward. But when she saw the faint shimmer of disturbance around Morpheus’s body, her expression shifted into alarm. Without another word, she turned on her heel and rushed out, skirts twisting like shadows behind her. The maid, left alone, straightened and smiled, a smile that did not belong to her at all.

Cassius raised his eyes from the floor, the illusion of the maid fading just slightly at the edges of his form. He turned toward Morpheus’s sleeping body, a dangerous light crossing his face.

If he reached out now, just once...

His hand hovered over Morpheus’s chest, fingers curling as if they could already feel the pulse beneath. The temptation was maddening. One strike could end this. One blow to the heart and this demon’s existence would scatter like ash in the wind.

And yet— he didn’t move.

Cassius exhaled through his nose, the hunger for violence simmering low. Killing Morpheus now would be useless; the body would die, but the spirit would only grow stronger— no to be more exact, his demonic bloodline will only get even stronger, perhaps impossible to destroy entirely.

Still, the thought of ending it all, of never hearing this demon’s name again, was almost too sweet to resist.

His fingers twitched once more before he clenched his fist and lowered it, the green in his eyes gleaming like a held back storm.

"Soon," he murmured under his breath. "But not yet."

Meanwhile, the cloaked woman descended the spiraling staircase, her pace reckless. Her heels clattered against the marble, echoing like a warning. She nearly stumbled twice, catching herself by the banister as she rounded each turn, heart pounding faster with every step.

By the time she reached the hidden chamber in the East Wing, a place few dared to tread, her breath labored as if she had ran a mile. She reached for the walls before muttering a magic. Then she winced while holding her right eye where the cloth covering her eyes had soaked into redness, bleeding out as if the magic she had muttered had took something of hers as a payment, hurting her in the process.

At the very same time, a heavy door materialized in front of the woman’s face, settling suddenly like magic. In haste, her fingers brushed the cold metal of its handle, ready to pull the door open only to feel a chilling presence brushing the thin hairs on her neck, stopping her in the process.

That was when she froze.

Not only because she realized that nothing in the room had changed, but someone who shouldn’t be here had stood behind her.

It was Arabella’s shadow stretched across the corridor floor, hauntingly still as she made her presence quietly known with her immense magical prowess.

"I see," came the calm, clear voice behind her. "So this is the place."

The woman’s blood turned to ice. Slowly, she turned her head to look.

Arabella stood there, her figure framed by the faint glow of the corridor lamps. The ivory of her gown caught the light like moonlight on snow, and her green eyes sharply burned through the hooded woman like the gaze of someone who had just uncovered a carefully hidden lie.

Someone who had finally understood everything.

"I had wondered why I couldn’t sense anything in this wing," Arabella said softly, but there was no gentleness, just an ice cold understanding as she uncovered everything that both Morpheus and the cloaked woman had kept hidden. "You hid it well... so much so that I didn’t even feel anything despite searching every corner of the castle with my magic. It’s always as if there was one place I couldn’t find and it turns out you have hid it with a forbidden magic yet again.

The cloaked woman gasped, stumbling back a step.

"You shouldn’t be here—"

Before she could finish, Arabella raised her hand. The air cracked. A wave of invisible force burst forward, and the woman’s vision went black, disappearing her sight in an instant flick.

Her last sensation was the rush of her own fear before the world folded into nothing.

By the time Morpheus had opened his eyes, the sky had turned pitch black. He stood up almost immediately as a lavender colored flower appeared on his palms, the very flower that Arabella had asked him.

With this, one test was down.

He knew he could simply force Arabella to marry him for his plan but that wasn’t why Morpheus had hesitated on forcing her against her wishes.

It wasn’t mercy, nor was it kindness.

It was simply his pride.

He didn’t like the idea that someone like Cassius could have been chosen when he couldn’t. Not by Circe and now not by Arabella. But if Arabella has the quality to like someone as ruined as Cassius, wouldn’t that mean she would also be capable of loving him?

Of course she would. Of course.

What they need was time. More time for her to know him, more time for her to soon accept him. He could show her all his flaws and then show her his reasoning, his painful life and the heartache that he had to grow up with.

Then soon Arabella would feel pity and from that pity wouldn’t love grow from it?

She’s loyal after all, or more of a fool and naive.

Once he had tricked that guilt into love, Arabella would choose to stay by his side regardless of what happened, even if it means abandoning Cassius in the process. Then not only would he be able to gather power that none others can compete against, he could also with ease obtain the real love that he had always wanted to possess so desperately.

A love that would always be around him, someone who would never leave him regardless of what he does, someone who would never run away from his control.

Instantly, Morpheus stood up and rushed toward the door. His stretched smile could almost rip his cheeks as he pulled the door open only to be stunned when he was met eye to eye with those round wide set of green eyes that had snapped back at him, eyeing his face with a cold look which then melted into a smile.

"You came back, I heard."

Arabella seemed rather gentler than before he had left.

Her face was full of affection as she stared at him back, staring at his features and then crinkling the corner of her eyes in a soft laughter.

"The flower... aren’t you going to give it to me?"

Morpheus snapped out from his daze of admiring that smile, placing the said flower to her hand while wondering to himself, "I thought you are upset."

’Upset?" Arabella turned away, "Oh if it is about how forceful you were to demand our marriage, I was upset for sure. Now I’m not too upset considering I had just seen how desperate you are to win my tests."

She twirled the flower around her palms and softened her tone, "This flower is delicate and it should show to you that I am as delicate as this flower, to take care of me you have to be very precise and tender else," she stopped talking and dropped the flower to the ground where it instatly turned black from its once lively purple hue, "I could simply corrode."