The Demon king's Last oath

The estate seemed quieter than usual in the following days, though Caius knew it wasn't peace—it was tension, simmering just beneath the surface. Lucian's suspicions had grown sharper, his presence looming at every corner like an unspoken challenge. Julian, ever the mediator, tried to keep the family's harmony intact, but even his cheerful chatter couldn't dispel the shadows gathering over House Thorne.

The Marquess watched everything from a distance, his stern expression betraying nothing, though Caius could feel his father's scrutiny like a weight pressing against his shoulders.

And yet, Caius didn't falter. Each day, he played the role of the quiet, observant youngest son, biding his time while he pieced together his next move.

But fate had other plans.

It was midmorning when the Marquess summoned his sons to the grand hall, a rare occurrence that set the servants whispering. The room was vast, its high ceilings adorned with banners bearing the family crest—a black hawk clutching a silver sword.

Caius entered last, his black hair neatly combed and his expression unreadable. Lucian stood stiffly near the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, while Julian fidgeted beside him.

Their father sat at the head of a long oak table, his dark eyes scanning his sons as they entered. Lady Helena was absent, likely excused to avoid the tension that always came with such meetings.

"Take your seats," the Marquess said, his voice calm but firm.

Caius moved to the chair farthest from Lucian, his small frame dwarfed by the high-backed seat.

The Marquess folded his hands on the table, his gaze settling on Lucian first. "You've been keeping up with your training?"

"Yes, Father," Lucian replied promptly, his tone crisp.

"And your studies, Julian?"

Julian straightened, though his smile was sheepish. "Of course, Father. Mostly."

The Marquess's lips twitched faintly, though his amusement was short-lived. His attention shifted to Caius, his expression unreadable. "And you, Caius?"

Caius met his father's gaze steadily. "I've been learning."

The Marquess's brow furrowed slightly. "Learning what, exactly?"

Caius hesitated, sensing the trap in his father's words. "Everything I can."

Lucian scoffed, earning a sharp glance from the Marquess. "Do you have something to add, Lucian?"

Lucian hesitated, then spoke. "It's just… Caius has been spending a lot of time sneaking around. The library, the gardens, even the forest. If he's learning anything, it's how to avoid being caught."

Julian's eyes widened. "Lucian, that's not fair! Caius hasn't done anything wrong."

Lucian turned on him, his frustration boiling over. "How would you know, Julian? He doesn't tell us anything! He just stares at everyone like he's waiting for something to happen."

"Enough."

The Marquess's voice cut through the argument like a blade, silencing both Lucian and Julian.

He turned back to Caius, his gaze heavy. "Is what Lucian says true? Have you been sneaking out?"

Caius didn't flinch. He could feel the weight of the room pressing down on him, the unspoken accusations hanging in the air.

"I've been searching for answers," he said finally.

The Marquess leaned forward slightly. "Answers to what?"

Caius hesitated. He couldn't tell the truth—not here, not now. But he couldn't lie outright either.

"To questions I don't yet understand," he said carefully.

Lucian scoffed again, but this time the Marquess ignored him. He studied Caius for a long moment, as though trying to peer into his very soul.

Finally, he leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Very well. But if I find that your search endangers this family, you will answer to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father," Caius said quietly.

Later that evening, Caius sat in the study, a book open on his lap though his eyes weren't focused on the pages. His father's words lingered in his mind, a quiet reminder that his time at the estate was running out.

The soft sound of footsteps drew his attention, and he glanced up to see Lucian standing in the doorway, his arms crossed.

"What do you want?" Caius asked, his voice calm.

Lucian stepped inside, his dark eyes sharp. "I want to know what you're hiding."

Caius closed the book, setting it aside. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

"Because you're not normal," Lucian snapped. "I don't know what you are, but you're not like the rest of us. And if Father won't see it, then I will."

Caius tilted his head, his expression faintly amused. "You're afraid of me."

Lucian stiffened. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Yes, you are," Caius said, his voice soft but steady. "You've seen it, haven't you? The way I move, the way I fight. You know I'm different. And that terrifies you."

Lucian's jaw tightened, his fists clenching. "If you're a danger to this family, I'll stop you."

Caius stood, his small frame almost laughable compared to Lucian's taller build, but there was something in his eyes—something old and unyielding—that made Lucian take a step back.

"You can try," Caius said quietly. "But I'm not the one you should be afraid of."

Lucian's brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could respond, Caius stepped past him, leaving the study without another word.

As Caius walked through the quiet halls, the faint pull he had felt in the forest returned, stronger now, like a thread tightening around his chest.

He paused by the window, staring out at the darkened landscape. In the distance, a storm was brewing, the clouds thick and heavy with the promise of rain.

But it wasn't the weather that unsettled him. It was the feeling—the sense that something was drawing closer.

"A new power rises…" The shadowy figure's words echoed in his mind.

Caius's fists tightened. He didn't have much time.

"I need to leave. Soon."

In his private chambers, the Marquess stood by the fire, his thoughts heavy. Lucian's accusations had struck a chord, though he wasn't ready to admit it aloud.

He sipped his wine, his dark eyes narrowing.

"Caius," he murmured to himself. "What are you hiding?"