Chapter 7: The Prince Returns (and Regrets It Immediately)

It had only been two days since Cael survived feeding the Demon Court…barely.

The chaos had scorched the chandeliers, triggered territorial disputes over soufflé portions, and somehow launched two nobles into therapy.

He thought he'd earned at least a week of peace.

But no. Of course not.

Now, another terrifying threat was making its way straight for the castle. And this one came shirtless, sparkly, and full of romantic delusion.

THE RETURN OF PRINCE VEYDRAN

From his obsidian tower deep in the Blackspire Mountains, Prince Veydran of House Ebonflame, emerged in a blaze of fire and ego.

He had been in five years of self-imposed seclusion, meditating under lavafalls, wrestling hellhounds, and reciting romantic sonnets to enchanted mirrors. Now he stood shirtless, ripped, glowing with infernal runes, and he was certain: this time, Queen Ashara would fall for him.

As attendants gathered, Veydran stepped forward and announced:

“I, Prince Veydran, have returned, ascended in power and beauty! Now, onward... to Ashenfall!”

Trumpets blared. Banners flew. Gift carts followed, filled with burning roses, soul-bound jewelry, enchanted artifacts... and a single vial of cracked glass.

He paused at the vial, an elven love potion, his last resort from years ago. It had failed spectacularly. Not only had it not worked on Ashara, it had backfired so badly she nearly obliterated the embassy that gave it to him.

He still had the scorch marks.

But this time would be different.

Or so he believed.

THE NEWS THAT SHATTERED THE PRINCE

As he approached Ashenfall, the capital of the Demon Queen's territory, a courier dared approach.

“Your Highness... urgent news. Queen Ashara is... married.”

Veydran froze.

“To... whom?”

“A human.”

“A what.”

“A very average human mage, Your Highness. Married two weeks ago.”

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There was a long silence.

And then Veydran shrieked. Loud enough to crack a nearby statue.

“NOOOOOOOO! AFTER ALL MY FLEXING, MY TRAINING, MY SULTRY DANCES…”

He took to the skies, leaving a trail of fire behind.

STORMING THE CASTLE

The castle guards groaned as a familiar fiery trail descended from the sky.

“Oh no. He’s back,” one muttered.

The gates blew open with theatrical flair. Prince Veydran stood at the entrance, flames licking the edges of his cape. Petals fluttered, harps played, lava sparkled.

Inside, Queen Ashara lounged on her obsidian throne. Beside her sat Cael, her human husband, quietly slicing fruit.

Veydran burst in, voice shaking the walls:

“ASHARA! MY VOLCANIC GODDESS, I HAVE RETURNED!”

Ashara didn’t even look up. “...You again.”

Cael paused mid-slice. “Um... who’s the shirtless guy yelling your name?”

CAEL, MEET RAGE

Veydran marched forward, dramatically flexing. “This peasant is your husband?!”

Cael blinked. “Technically, yes.”

Veydran ignited. “YOU DARE…?!”

Cael promptly fainted.

ASHARA'S FURY IGNITES

Just as Veydran raised a fire-covered fist, Ashara blurred forward and punched him across the room. He smashed into a pillar.

“Touch him again and I’ll feed you to your own peacocks.”

Veydran groaned, bloodied but still dramatic. “WHY, ASHARA?! Why him?! I have courted you for years!”

“You annoyed me for years.”

“I composed a ballad for your horns!”

“I burned it.”

“I gave you an elven love potion!”

“You nearly poisoned me.”

“But…”

“You cried when I threw it back in your face.”

“It stung my heart and my eyes!”

THE TRUTH HURTS MORE THAN HER FIST

Veydran dragged himself up, bruised and scorched. “Tell me why. Why him?!”

Ashara, cradling a still-unconscious Cael, replied calmly:

“Because he listens. Because he’s kind. Because when he cooks, he hums.”

“But he’s... basic!”

She shrugged. “He makes me feel seen. And when I rage, he doesn’t challenge me…he holds my hand.”

Lady Nyssa, nearby, scribbled notes furiously. “Fascinating. Gentle hand-holding as emotional stabilizer...”

AN UNDIGNIFIED EXIT

With a groan, Veydran was bandaged and loaded into a battered cart of hay.

As the guards dragged him off, he pointed a shaking finger at the castle.

“This is NOT over! Mark my words, Cael! I shall win her heart! I shall take my rightful place!”

“You’re drooling,” one guard noted.

Ashara peered from the balcony and called out, “Do that again, and I’m branding your name onto a toilet.”

He wailed into the distance.

MEANWHILE, IN THE QUEEN’S CHAMBERS...

Cael stirred awake on a pillow of flame-resistant silk.

“...Did the shirtless guy try to kill me?”

Ashara nodded, straddling him. “He did. He failed. I missed you.”

“Wait, I just regained conscio…”

She kissed him. His muffled protests were ignored.

Somewhere, a healer lit a new incense stick and sighed, “He’s going to need the rib wrap again.”