The afterglow of their passion still clung to the air, the scent of sweat and lingering heat intertwined with the ever-present chill of death that loomed over the castle. Eliza slept soundly, her body exhausted, her breath's soft rise and fall steady against the silk sheets. But Tenebrae—the Lich Prince turned flesh once more—did not sleep.
He did not need it.
And truthfully, he wasn’t sure he could even if he tried.
The sensations, the pleasures, the fire that had burned through him—it was all so alien yet familiar, a ghost of the life he once had, now returned to him piece by piece. He should have been relieved. Instead, his mind was restless, churning through everything he had seen and felt.
“I should check on the Undine…” he thought absently, running a hand through his hair as he sat up, reaching for his robe.
Then, he paused.
Something felt... off.
A scent on the wind—not the perfume of Eliza’s skin, not the lingering traces of wine or warmth—but something familiar.
Mirabella.
And it wasn’t just her presence.
It was where her presence had come from.
His stomach twisted as he followed the scent, moving through the castle halls like a shadow. The walls here had once been cracked and withering, the decay of his absence stretching deep into the bones of the structure. Yet now, the decay had stopped.
No—it had been reversed.
His brow furrowed as he reached the Queen’s former chamber.
A room Lilith had once coveted but had never been allowed to claim.
A room that had belonged to Queen Goodnight.
He hesitated. He hadn’t stepped foot in this room since before the war. It had been in shambles, neglected, left to rot beneath the weight of abandonment.
But now—
Now, it was... untouched.
Not restored. Not mended with magic. But... maintained.
Someone had been keeping it from falling apart.
A chill ran down his spine as his gaze swept the space.
Then he saw it.
A doll.
Not one of the old ones, not a relic of the past.
A fresh stitching of magic.
A doll made of living cotton.
His heart sank.
No...
He knew exactly who had done this.
With urgency, he cast a message spell, the enchanted scroll vanishing in dark mist as it was delivered.
“Mirabella. Now.”
It wasn’t long before she arrived.
She stepped through the doorway, limping, her usual grace marred by a slight weakness in her form. Her right arm hung lifeless at her side, and her once plump and polished form was thinner, stretched too thin.
And he understood.
He understood immediately.
His anger was instant, but it was not the hot, raging kind.
It was cold. Deep. Cutting.
“Mirabella,” he said, voice low, measured. “You will tell me the truth. Without lies.”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“If you lie, I will see you punished. Do you understand me?”
She nodded again.
“Did Zanac or Lady Aura order you to do this?”
No.
His jaw clenched.
“Was this an order from the former King?”
No.
“Were you forced?”
No.
“Then you took it upon yourself?”
She lowered her head.
“Yes.”
The cold fury inside him deepened.
“You’ve been using your life force to keep this castle from falling into ruin.”
“...Not the castle, just the important places,” she admitted. “The library, the throne room, the Queen’s chamber… I couldn’t let them decay. I couldn’t let them be forgotten."
His fists clenched, his skeletal fingers twitching as he turned away, trying to compose himself.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Mirabella, do you have any idea how difficult—how impossible—it is to create living cotton?”
She nodded.
“I know. But had I not done this, the castle would have—”
“The castle is not more valuable than you."
She froze.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.
“Sir, I do not believe that is true.”
Mirabella’s voice wavered, but her conviction did not. She looked up at him with her stitched eyes, standing as tall as she could despite her frail form. “I believe this castle is worth far more than I am.”
Tenebrae’s hand clenched.
His skeletal fingers twitched against his side, and he turned his head just slightly, his glowing eyes narrowing at her.
“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly.
That was the moment he snapped.
“Of course you don’t know!” His voice was sharper than the coldest winter wind. “You don’t know because I have never told you!”
Silence filled the chamber.
The words ripped out of him, breaking free before he even realized what he was saying. His breath stilled in his chest. He felt strange like something inside him had cracked open, letting in something warm and terrifying all at once.
His rage cooled, shifting into something deeper, something that felt like regret.
I have never told you.
I have never told any of you.
The weight of that truth sank into him, flooding through the hollow spaces of his being.
All these years... All these souls who had stood by me in undeath, who had remained, who had fought, who had endured...
I never once told them how much they meant to me.
Not as soldiers.
Not as servants.
But as a family.
Mirabella swallowed hard, stepping forward, but her legs wobbled. Even now, even like this, she was still giving.
“If my life is needed to keep this kingdom alive long enough for you to restore it,” she whispered, “then it’s a sacrifice I—”
“No.”
His voice was unshakable.
His skeletal hand lifted, stopping her words before she could even finish them.
“That is not your decision to make.”
She flinched, her stitches tightening as if she had expected him to lash out, to be cold, to be the monster the world had called him for so long.
But instead—
Instead, he closed his eyes.
Took a breath.
And when he opened them, his voice was softer.
“I will not lose you, Mirabella.”
She froze.
“Go and collect all of your cotton,” he continued, his voice still firm but now lacking the sharp edge of command. “Every thread, every fiber, every doll you have stitched together to keep this castle standing.”
She hesitated, her lips parting as if she wanted to argue, but he wouldn’t let her.
Not this time.
“When you find them, I will restore them myself.”
The weight of his words settled between them.
For the first time, Mirabella looked truly shaken.
But it wasn’t fear.
It was something else entirely.
“We will speak of this later,” Tenebrae said after a moment, shifting his stance. “You. Me. Lady Aura. Zanac. Opal. And…”
He hesitated, the weight of the next words pressing against him like chains.
Then, he admitted it.
For the first time.
“Your new Queen.”
Mirabella gasped.
The silence stretched as she stared at him, eyes wide, lips trembling. The words seemed to breathe life into the very air between them—an undeniable truth is now spoken into existence.
“Eliza…?” she whispered, almost afraid to say it.
And then—
Then, she smiled.
A slow, genuine, overwhelming smile.
She launched forward, wrapping her arms around him with a force that nearly knocked him back, clinging to him as if he were the world itself.
He sighed, shaking his head, but he did not pull away.
Not this time.
Instead, he let her stay.
Because for the first time in centuries,
Tenebrae did not feel like a Lich.
For the first time in centuries,
He felt like a King.
Pulling away he dismissed himself to tend to important matters, finalizing a surprise for Opal. He had spent little time with the child—not out of neglect, but because the weight of his secret crushed him. The truth was a double-edged blade: he had returned her mother to this world but at a cost. The Crown had been gnawing away at his mana since the night he summoned his corpse pet, draining him like a slow bleed. He had never truly recovered.
Now, he descended into the depths of his castle, sighing as he reached the containment chamber.
Inside, a ball of water churned violently, pulsing with restrained energy.
Within it, a frightened Undine woman floated, her once serene form altered beyond recognition. Her scales—once a cool, oceanic blue—burned with an unnatural red, shimmering like molten rubies in the crystal-clear sphere. She moved fast, unnaturally fast, her body shifting like liquid fire.
Her voice didn’t come through the air, but directly into his mind. What are you going to do with me, Necromancer?
Tenebrae let out a slow, measured breath. “Nothing I haven’t already done,” he said smoothly.
The woman bared her sharpened teeth. Abomination. Most unclean. Son of perdition. Her eyes narrowed, filled with hate and terror. Your kind have so many names, but you are nothing but death incarnate. A corpse-jockey.
Tenebrae clicked his tongue, unbothered. “Ah, I do so love the old names,” he mused, dragging a chair into position before her. “Mind if I sit?”
She did not respond.
He sat anyway.
The Undine’s water pulsed, her fury boiling through the containment field. I feel strong, she hissed. Stronger than I’ve ever been. I will break this spell, and when I do—
“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Tenebrae gestured lazily as if the whole conversation mildly amused him. “I also don’t doubt that your first instinct will be to attack me. And I don’t hold that against you. All I ask—before you start attempting aquatic homicide—is that you take a moment to listen.”
Her eyes burned into him. I know your kind. All undead are abominations.
“Really?” He tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Well, I won’t deny that. Nor will I deny that in my past—” he gestured vaguely, “—I have been, shall we say, a less than ideal presence in the lives of others. I’m sure you know my name alone.”
Your name means nothing to me, little runaway prince. Her voice dripped with venom. But the stunt you pulled cost me my daughter’s life.
Tenebrae’s expression didn’t change. His glowing eyes remained half-lidded, unreadable.
“Your daughter is not dead.”
The Undine sneered. And why should I believe a word you say?
His lips curled slightly, but his tone lost its usual teasing lilt. “Because, my dear, I make it a habit not to lie to fellow undead. And certainly not to those I love.”
She scoffed. A necromancer speaking of love? You don’t know the meaning of the word.
Tenebrae leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his knuckles. His smile was sharp, almost pitying.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong again,” he said. “I am not a necromancer.”
Her body tensed, something unreadable flashing through her gaze. You lie!
He sighed dramatically. “I told you. I won’t lie to fellow undead.” His eyes flickered. “And you, dear lady—well. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…” He tilted his head. “You’re missing something rather important, aren’t you?”
The realization hit her like a crushing tide.
Her breath quickened.
Her hands trembled.
Something was wrong.
And then, it dawned on her.
The one thing nearly every living creature possesses. That constant, reassuring rhythm. For some, it was loud and strong, like a war drum. For others, soft and gentle, like a whisper in the dark.
A heartbeat.
She searched for it, desperately, instinctively—only to find it missing.
No.
No. No. No. No.
The agony rushed in all at once, a tidal wave of panic and horror.
Her body twisted in the water, swimming in frantic, aimless circles. No. NO. This isn’t—this CAN’T be—!
Tenebrae watched, feeling something uncomfortably close to regret settle in his chest.
He exhaled softly, closing his eyes for a brief moment before murmuring, “This containment wasn’t meant to hold you forever. It was meant to keep you from hurting yourself when you realized what you were.”
She kept thrashing, trying to deny it, trying to force reality back into something familiar.
But it was already too late.
Because Undine, like Seraphs, were never meant to fall.
Some creatures could cross the threshold of death and remain intact.
But for Undine, undeath was not just a physical transformation. Nor was it merely psychological.
It was spiritual.
And when an Undine falls—
Their entire being, their very soul, fractures.
Tenebrae tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair, watching her break apart before him.
For the first time in a long time, he almost wished he hadn’t saved someone.
