The Half Blood Book 2

The perpetual gray light that blanketed the kingdom cast a melancholy shadow. That was Daphne’s first impression when she arrived.

She moved steadily toward the king’s dwelling, her boots imprinting on the sandy brown ground.

Initially, she hadn’t imagined this place would be as vibrant as the mortal world.

The city, known as The Ancient Land, was reputed to house all the high-ranking demons, including the most formidable, Rothvaln.

The city was encased within a massive circular wall, as if a colossal barrier was safeguarding the array of homes constructed from black stone.

Not everyone here hailed from a notable lineage, but they were powerful enough to earn their place.

The demons residing in this part of the realm were the only ones capable of leaving it.

They were different from those who lived across in The Wicked Land, where the inhabitants were deemed lower class.

Their power was limited, yet they were incredibly aggressive, using manipulation to achieve their desires.

The city was said to have its own unique charm. Even its sky was rumored to glow with hues of orange and red, as if in a perpetual dawn.

Daphne had never ventured there. Rothvaln had expressly forbidden it. It was deemed even more perilous than her current location.

Not everyone was aware of the existence of these two cities.

Many assumed that the Kingdom of Rothvaln was this dark place.

A place where a set of enormous double doors led to a lengthy bridge, guiding you to the entrance of a vast palace constructed from the bones and hides of all the world’s mystical creatures.

The misty sea that flowed like springtime clouds was known as the “Abyss.” Anyone who fell in could never return, even if they were a demon. It was the Eternal Prison.

Years ago, Daphne had asked Maret, the most unbearable and ruthless demoness she’d ever met, about this. Maret was responsible for her training.

Maret never answered her questions, choosing instead to increase her physical punishment until Daphne abandoned her inquiries.

Daphne focused on moving forward, ignoring those around her, hoping to blend in.

“Look who’s here again?” A group of four demons suddenly materialized before her. Daphne wasn’t surprised. She was accustomed to such misfortune.

“You filthy little bitch,” one of them spat.

“Leave this realm. You don’t belong here.” The apparent leader of the group advanced menacingly.

Daphne might have been scared. They were all tall and muscular, and she felt like a deer surrounded by hyenas.

The leader seized a strand of her hair, stroking it maliciously. “I’ve never been with a human.”

The demon’s hand moved from her hair to her breast.

Just as his fingers grazed the fabric covering her, Daphne seized his wrist and yanked it away.

“Don’t touch me,” she retorted, her eyes filled with lethal intent.

They all started laughing, slowly closing in on her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sunnia, a high-ranking demoness, suddenly appeared. “Get lost.”

In an instant, the four of them vanished, and before Daphne could express her gratitude, Sunnia was gone too.

Over time, she’d learned that no demon reveals its true form unless you’re one of them.

And their names? They never shared their real names with anyone, not even their king. Their names held such power that it could influence their existence.

They were secretive beings, more powerful than witches and warlocks, a menace even to the pale creatures of the night, vampires.

They were superior to lycanthropes and nearly on par with both Fae and dragons, which were as mythical and ancient as they were.

And mortals? They were so insignificant they didn’t even warrant a thought.

As Daphne resumed her journey, many continued to regard her with contempt.

No one could fathom why Rothvaln kept her so close, training her and even bestowing some of his power upon her, making her nearly as strong as them.

Finally, she arrived at the base of the rocky stairs—the tall, narrow double doors slowly swung open, permitting her entry once again.

One might assume that the king’s residence would be shrouded in darkness, decay, and the stench of rot, but only one of those assumptions was correct.

Indeed, the expansive halls were decorated in dark shades and were odorless. Black and purple were the only colors present. The lanterns flickered with orange and red light.

She entered the throne room. The king’s seat was golden with stiff, jet-black cushions.

The room was devoid of life, save for the king’s silhouette, poised near a grand, arched window.

While others regarded Daphne with scorn, Rothvaln viewed her as the most precious gem in his kingdom.

“I was wondering when you’d return,” his voice held a concealed emotion.

“She’s dead, as you requested.” Daphne halted at a distance, her gaze fixed on his back.

“Good. Anything I should be aware of?” Rothvaln inquired.

“I didn’t have time for small talk. The witch didn’t leave me with a choice. But she did mention something unfamiliar.”

“Go on.”

“She spoke of the Antequrom.”

Rothvaln spun around, his face unreadable, but Daphne could sense that the mere mention of that word had disturbed him.

“What is Antequrom?” she dared to ask.

“What else did she say?”

Daphne studied him for a moment. “She said everyone would die. She rambled about ungrateful people. It sounded like the incoherent babbling of a madwoman.”

“Come here,” he beckoned, his hands concealed in his dark trousers. She complied without hesitation.

His palm, cool against her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her side. “You look worn out.”

Daphne lowered her gaze. She knew her face didn’t show fatigue, not since Maret had declared her ready.

He knew it too, but he needed a reason to be near her, to touch her, to feel the human warmth her body still held and stubbornly refused to relinquish.

Rothvaln sighed, retreating a few steps and resuming his initial stance. “I have another task for you. You must travel to the Kingdom of the Lycans.”

“Lycans? I thought they didn’t associate with demons,” Daphne responded, slightly confused by her new assignment.

“That’s true. I simply want you to attend a ball. King Lycan and his luna are hosting a ball in honor of their heir. I want you to go there and extend my greetings to his luna.”

“Why don’t you go yourself?” Daphne questioned.

“I want to send a message. My presence could alarm the Lycans. The luna is the Master of Shadows. Once she sees you, she’ll understand the purpose of your visit.”

“Master of Shadows? Maret once said they’re dangerous entities. Only those from their realm can make them vanish.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be safe. The one you might need to be wary of is the King of the Lycans. He might perceive you as a threat to his family.”

“And am I not? Showing up uninvited, delivering your message to his wife?” Daphne raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“You’re merely a messenger. You won’t pose a threat. And besides, the Master of Shadows won’t harm you unless you strike first, which I know you won’t.”

“So…when should I leave?”

“The ball is in two nights. You don’t need to worry about what to wear.”

“Alright. I’ll take my leave now.”

“Daphne…” Rothvaln called out just as she was about to head for the exit.

“Yes?”

“The shadows…they’re not as terrible as they appear.”

Daphne furrowed her brow at Rothvaln’s half-smile.

“You may leave.”