The kingdom's bells rang in mourning, loud enough to make the gods weep—or mock.
Prince Nate stood at the edge of the grand marble hall, cloaked in ceremonial black, hands clenched so tightly his gloves tore at the seams. The messenger's words still echoed in his skull like a cruel lullaby:
> "His Highness Prince Eric is dead. Assassinated. Found alone, with his throat slit ear to ear."
The memory of his older brother's laughter still lived in the corridors. And now it was smothered—like Eric had been.
Eric, the golden heir. The beloved one. The one who was supposed to carry the crown. The one who had never wanted Nate near the throne.
And yet here he was, standing at the mouth of power, drowning in silence.
---
The burial was a grand spectacle.
A glass casket, white lilies, the royal sigil draped across Eric's chest. The cathedral was filled with foreign ambassadors, noble snakes, and loyal liars. Nate barely heard the prayers. His eyes never left the still form of his brother, waxen and cold beneath the stained glass.
He didn't cry.
He didn't bow.
He didn't break.
But something inside him cracked anyway.
---
"You will take the crown before sunset."
The High Chancellor's voice was as sharp as his robes.
Nate turned, his jaw tight. "Eric's body hasn't even been placed in the tomb."
"Exactly why we must move swiftly. A kingdom without a sovereign is a flame in the wind."
They all looked at him then—the council. Hungry. Doubting. Waiting for him to fail.
He didn't give them the satisfaction of a sigh.
He simply nodded, once.
So be it.
If fate wanted to mock him, he'd mock it right back.
Let the crown rest on someone who had nothing left to lose.
---
The coronation was a blur of smoke, whispers, and steel. Nate's knees bruised against the cold stone as the ceremonial blade sliced his palm, letting his blood mark the royal oath.
"I swear, by the old gods and the blood of kings," he said, voice steady, "to protect this land with my life."
As the gold circlet was lowered onto his brow, Nate's eyes met the High Chancellor's.
That's when he heard it for the first time—just barely.
A voice. Faint. Laughter?
Something cold brushing the edge of his thoughts.
> "He smells… different than the others."
Nate blinked. The room remained still.
---
That night, while the stars mourned behind heavy clouds, Nate was taken deep beneath the palace—to a chamber sealed for centuries.
"The throne is not secured until the demon is bound," the Chancellor said, torchlight flickering against the damp walls. "As is custom. As is law."
Nate had read the stories. Every monarch since the Founding had bound a guardian demon to their soul—a creature of ancient power that ensured protection and, some whispered, fear-driven loyalty.
No ruler lasted long without one.
But most never dared speak to theirs.
He was led to the Cathedral of Chains—an underground cathedral carved in obsidian, lit only by floating flames and a bleeding moon through a jagged skylight.
There… at the altar…
Chained by silver cuffs glowing with runes, he knelt.
Not bowed. Not weak. No—he knelt like a predator waiting for permission to strike.
The demon.
Tall, shirtless, skin marked with ink that pulsed faintly red. His hair hung over one eye, messy and wild. His lips curled into a smirk the moment he lifted his gaze and saw Nate.
Eyes like molten fire.
Jake.
"The boy prince," the demon purred. His voice was like oil and smoke. "So you're the one who got the golden heir killed."
Nate didn't flinch. "You know who I am?"
Jake tilted his head. "I know what you are."
Nate stepped forward. "I've come to bind you."
Jake chuckled. "How bold. Do you even know what it means to bind a demon?"
"I offer blood. Soul. Oath. And in return, you protect me."
Jake's laugh was low and chilling. "Is that what they told you? Cute. Binding me means opening yourself. All of yourself. If you lie, I devour you. If you falter, I twist you."
He leaned forward, chains rattling like a symphony of ghosts. "And if I like you… I stay."
Nate swallowed.
He didn't know what made his heart beat faster—the fear, or the way Jake looked at him like he already belonged to him.
"Do it," Nate said.
Jake stood, chains dragging behind him. He towered over Nate, stepping into his space like heat itself. One hand lifted, brushing along Nate's jaw with deliberate softness.
"You're trembling," Jake whispered. "Are you afraid of me?"
"I'm afraid of failing." Nate's voice didn't waver. "Not of you."
The demon smiled.
"Oh, I might like you after all."
He reached for Nate's hand—the one still bearing the coronation wound—and pressed his lips to the blood. Not a kiss. A claim.
The runes around the cathedral flared bright crimson. Wind howled from nowhere. Nate's chest burned—a brand searing into his soul.
Then silence.
And Jake was gone.
No—he was inside.
> "Well, well," Jake's voice echoed in his mind now. "You wear the crown like a cage. Let's see what happens when we break the bars."
---
And just like that…
Prince Nate was no longer alone.
--