Secret of The Night
Chapter 12: Actually?

“What?” I shout at the Sibyl, who turns around with a placid expression on her face, clearly oblivious to my mind’s tumult. “That’s the other way?”

“Vivi, no. It’s better to just kill him. I’ll help. We can do it, I promise you,” Darren touches my arm, trying to placate me. I smile at his bravery and readiness to help.

“Kid’s right, Vivi. It’ll be so much easier to just kill him. We demons are pretty narcissistic. We don’t generally feel such mortal emotions like love.” She places heavy emphasis on the word mortal, rolling the syllables around on her tongue like something horridly vile.

“I just have to confirm it. And everything you just told me.” I stand up quickly and whisper “I’ll see you later,” to Darren and leave the musty room. Once outside, I break into a run, feet slapping against the pavement and thoughts coming in a rush to my brain.

Should I kill him? Sibyl and Darren say it’s easier. Maybe I should just stick to that plan. Manager Lady also said that he can’t kill me. Meaning, I can try all I want to kill him? Right? Right?

I run down the flight of stairs and reach the huge double doors of the throne room. I stand before it, taking a moment to press a hand to my chest and stop my fervent panting. I push the doors open and stare down the aisle. As I walk closer, I see that Yoru is indeed waiting at the front, but off to the side, rather than seated on the throne. He’s sitting at a long wooden desk, with his guards standing around him. His back is to me and I see the curve of his spine jutting out ever so slightly from his shirt.

Yoru hears my footsteps. Without turning around, he says to his paperwork, “Father’s in the drawing room. It’s really no use complaining about the Barrier. A decision is a decision.”

Ok, those words were definitely not meant for me.

I scuffle my feet a little until he turns around. He swivels his chair, exasperated, and looks at me. He has on thin round circle glasses and I take a step back. His eyes light up with recognition.

“Vivi, honey, what a pleasure to see you. I’m sure you found your morning here very pleasant. After all, we offer only the best of everything to our guests.” He smiles at me, almost a leer but not quite. I blush, remembering the events of the morning.

“Yes, the food was great. Thanks for not poisoning it.”

“Ooh, I do love a fiery personality right after breakfast. Helps digestion, you know?” Yoru rubs a hand counterclockwise on his stomach and shifts his weight to the left side of his chair, kicking up a leg and looking very comfortable.

“Ok yeah, whatever. I’m not in the mood. I just want to confirm what Sibyl said to me.” I waved a hand, dismissing Yoru’s jokes.

“Ah, you met with her? Good. So what do you need to confirm, Miss Vivi?” Yoru pushed up the frame of his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. He blinked at me.

“Um,” I stuttered. “She, she said that, um, you can’t kill me. Like, you have some of my blood in you so I can order you around and stuff.”

“Yes, and no.” Yoru removed his propped leg and leaned back in the chair. “I do have some of your soul in me, so yes, I can’t kill people you love or you yourself. But you can’t order me around.” He laughed. “That’s preposterous. I’m the Prince of this whole damned place!”

I nodded. This arrogance was more like him.

“Anything else?” Yoru questioned me.

I moved back another step. “She also said that I could make you fall in love with me. That also breaks the spell. Right?”

Yoru nodded. “You can try.” He laughed again.

I got my answer, so I turned around and left, not wanting to hear that condescending laugh any longer.

A few weeks pass in the palace. I have no sense of time, other than the sun going up and down. Is it even the sun? Regardless, Darren and I live like we normally would. I pass the time by wandering around the palace halls, and I would usually feel eyes staring at me and run back into my room, refusing to come out for several hours, instead drawing and cutting new outfits out of the overly sequined monstrosities in my closet.

Darren has been studiously ignoring me. I don’t know why, but I see him walking to the Sibyl everyday and not come out until evening. I went in after he left on the third day of following him secretly, and asked Sibyl what Darren was meeting with her all the time about. She said he wanted to return to the real world as quickly as possible. When she told me that, I ran out.

He wanted to leave me here. Darren, who promised to help me fight Yoru. He wanted to leave.

The first night I cried, thinking about Darren’s betrayal. After a while, I decided I’d forgive him if he came clean and just admitted what he was doing to me. Then we could think about our battle plan together.

It’s been three weeks, and the waiting has been agony. I’ve cut and re-sewn just about every outfit now hanging in my closet; I’ve memorized the amount of Vivi-sized shoes it takes to get from one end of my room to the other (53); I know the exact ratio of Asian paintings to Western paintings hanging around in the palace (8:3).

One day, in the early afternoon, I’m ready to start tearing my drawings when there’s a knock at my door.

I sag out of my chair in relief. “Darren, what the hell have you been doing? Just tell me! I promise I’ll forgive you. Come on, we’re in this together.” I get to the door, and pulls it in. Facing the person standing in front of me, it takes a moment to register it’s not my fun-loving companion.

Yoru smirks at me. “Not expecting me, I guess?” He almost looks hurt, but demons can’t feel emotions. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

I glare at him. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to give you a tour. It’s a big palace, and we wouldn’t want our precious baby Vivi with the fragrant blood to get lost and eaten by a monster hiding in the shadows, now would we?” Yoru grins at me sadistically.

He can’t kill me, so what’s there to refuse? I have nothing better to do, anyway. I grab my bag that I arrived with and empty it on my bed except for the spray weapon, in case Yoru tries anything funny. I’m sure it wouldn’t kill him, given that it just barely worked for the lesser demon, and he’s the highest rank, but I carry it along anyway.

I follow him grudgingly, staring at Darren’s closed door as we pass it. He’s probably with the Sibyl, trying to make an elixir that’ll take him back. And leave me here. I narrow my eyes and direct my gaze to Yoru’s back, since he walks steadily in front of me.

He took me around the upper floor of the palace, which had all the rooms. They were all empty because, as Yoru explained to me, the rooms were for guests and the palace only had two at the moment: me and Darren. All the rooms were the same size as mine or bigger, equipped with a hearth, closet, nightstand, full-size or queen-size bed, and a bookshelf. Some rooms had desks and others had windows. I considered the windows a true blessing; nowhere else in the palace other than the royal rooms did they have windows.

We made a full circle and stopped in front of a door. It looked a lot like all the other rooms, nothing too special about it. I asked Yoru whose room this belonged to.

“It was my mother’s,” he mumbles softly.

“The Queen?” I ask, incredulous. “Doesn’t she sleep with the King?”

Yoru looks at me. “My mother wasn’t the Queen. The King had an affair with another woman when he found that that Queen was unable to bear him sons. That woman is my mom. She disappeared when I turned 13,” Yoru’s face darkened and he turned away and started walking.

I jogged after him. “We’re not going in?”

“No,” he said firmly and stepped down the stairs with excessive strength.

When we get to the kitchen, he starts smiling again. A plump woman with an apron draped around her waist comes at us with a wooden spatula. I widen my eyes and back up.

Yoru laughs and points. “This is Agatha. She’s our head cook.” Yoru jumps forward and loops a pale arm around Agatha’s neck. “Her pastries are divine. Here, Vivi, catch!” He picks a little baked square off a piece of parchment paper from a baking sheet that looked like it had just been transferred out of the oven and set to cool and chucks it to me.

I’m a bad catch, but I do manage to catch the small treat flying at me. “It’s hot!” I almost drop it but manage to keep it bouncing between my two hands to release the heat a little. Then I realize Yoru didn’t call me dear or a superficial pet name. I look at him, and he’s chatting away with Agatha with a tart in his hand.

I can’t catch any snippets of their conversation, so I just stand there awkwardly and focus my attention on the treat. I bite into the crust.

The outside is flaky and crispy, like those Hong Kong egg tarts my mom makes. The layered texture falls apart in my mouth, revealing the sweet filling. Something like raspberries or blueberries. I don’t get an artificial taste, so it must be all natural, without added sugar.

“Agatha, this is really good!” I compliment the head cook, who smiles at me placidly.

“This is Vivi,” Yoru introduces me. “She’s a guest here.” Then he whispers quietly to Agatha, but loudly enough so that I can hear. “She’s here to get her you-know-what back.” The cook nods in understanding and looks at me pitifully.

“Good luck, dear.” She stops when she realizes what she just said. “But don’t kill him. We love our Prince.”

I smile at her awkwardly.

If I don’t kill him, how do I get my life-blood back? What does she want me to do, become a half-demon?

“Nice seeing you, Agatha. Make a good dinner for us!” Yoru winks at her and grabs my arm suddenly, dragging me out of the kitchen.

I stumble after him for a while, then twist my arm from his grasp. “What?”

“Nothing,” Yoru says nonchalantly. “You looked a little uncomfortable back there.”

What the hell? Is mind-reading another power of his?

“Come on,” Yoru beckons me with a wave of his hand and walks on. “We have one more stop.” Intrigued, I follow him. He walks down the stairs again, greeting the guard at the bottom.

“Hey, Erik,” Yoru calls. The guard turns around. I chuckle.

“Hey. Remember me?” I pipe up from behind Yoru. The guard looks at me, his face blank. I sigh and widen my eyes, putting on a scared face. Recognition sparks.

“You’re that girl that came in a few weeks ago, looking for Master,” the guard points at me, accusingly.

I laugh. So he only recognizes me when I look scared.

“Erik, we just wanna look around at the paintings. You know, the royal ones.” Yoru wiggles his eyebrows at Erik. I giggle. He looks ridiculous.

Just like this whole thing. I hate him. I shouldn’t be laughing right now.

I sober up immediately, and Yoru turns to look at me, surprised by my sudden change of attitude. “Hurry up,” I say blandly.

Yoru shrugs and directs me into another room, behind the spiraling staircase. He gets to the door first and waits for me to catch up before shoving it open with a shoulder.

I had my arms crossed tightly and a sour expression forcibly pressed on my face, but it began to dissolve as the splendors of the room embraced me. I walked in tentatively, one purple-slippered foot stepping in.

The paintings were gorgeous, and all originals. Yoru guided me slowly, without holding my hand whatsoever (which I highly appreciated) towards the painting on the far left.

He pointed at it. It was very much unlike the traditional paintings that you usually see in museums, with a brave and handsome man on top of a galloping steed. Instead, this man was writing on a scroll.

“This was my grandfather’s best friend, before we took power. Back in Japan, or more technically the Underground beneath Japan, we were just a middle-class military general’s family. He’s writing to convince the emperor of Japan not to involve the country in World War I. He failed, as we know, but he tried.” Yoru’s eyes kinda drifted and started staring off into space, and I felt kind of concerned.

“So this Underworld is really just like the upper world, but inhabited with demons instead of humans?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” Yoru nodded. “We have the same countries, the same topography, the same conflicts and wars.”

He walked over to the next painting and introduced them each with a long story about the origin of the man depicted in the painting and how they were related to the royal family. On the last one, he stopped.

I sucked in a breath. The painting was painted with flawless skill, each brush stroke so fine they could hardly be seen. The colors were vibrant, used masterfully enough to capture the essence of the person. The face that stared back at me was in the middle of a laugh, with his eyes extended beyond the page, to a spot next to the painter. It was like a photograph, one that perfectly captured the moment as it happened.

“Who’s he?” I whispered to Yoru.

He hesitated, and I felt like he was about to turn around and leave again. But he didn’t. “That’s my dad. Before....” he trailed off. I stared at the face. He looked so exuberantly happy. I could see some resemblance to Yoru there. They had the same cheekbones, strangely high, and the same nose, a little bit crooked.

“Before what?” I ask.

He takes a breath. “Before my mom died.”

I whip my head around and stare into his eyes. Twin pools of deep lapis lazuli blue stare back into my light hazel ones. Neither one of us breaks eye contact and it doesn’t even get awkward, which unsettles me. His eyes are so pretty and it feels like they could draw me in. He takes a step closet and it gets so quiet I can hear my heart pump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Finally, he smirks, one side of his mouth going higher than the other. He steps back. The arrogant gleam comes back into his eyes. Still, all I can hear is my heart pumping in my ears, an elephant’s trumpet call sounding again and again.

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