In To The Demon's Arms

1. The Royals

Philinia was a country built on names that carried weight. Each region bowed to its own noble families, and every household, no matter how grand or humble, knew exactly where it stood in the order of things. In the region of Havaianas, our city of Ravanna flourished under the rule of the Rife family—the highest of all nobles in our land. Their presence was not merely authority; it was something people felt even in their absence, like a quiet pressure in the air.

I was born into one of the noble houses beneath them—the House of Lux. My parents, Nick and Melch Lux, were respected, well-spoken, and careful in everything they did. I was their only child, their single heir, and from the moment I could walk properly, it seemed my life had already been decided for me.

Mother believed in refinement above all else. When I was old enough, she sent me to an academy meant only for noble girls, a place where posture mattered as much as knowledge, and where even laughter had to be measured. My classmates were daughters of families just like mine—elegant, composed, and always aware of who might be watching. I tried, in my own way, to fit into that world. I listened when the teachers spoke, memorized the rules they insisted would shape me into a proper lady, and practiced my curtsies until my legs ached.

But the moment the final bell rang, that version of me slipped away as easily as a ribbon untied.

I would rush home, barely greeting the servants, and change out of my pressed dresses into the simplest clothes I could find. Then I would sneak out, past the gates, past the watchful eyes that pretended not to see, and run toward the edges of the city where the streets turned uneven and laughter was louder, freer. The children there never cared about names like Lux or Rife. To them, I was just Csarie—the girl who climbed too high, ran too fast, and never seemed to tire.

Mother always found out. She didn't need proof; she could see it in the dust on my shoes, the tangles in my hair, the way I carried myself like someone who had forgotten the rules. Her scoldings were never gentle, but they were never cruel either. They came from a place of fear I didn't fully understand back then. Still, I never stopped. Stubbornness, I suppose, was the one trait no amount of etiquette could smooth away.

When I turned eleven, she became stricter. Lessons grew longer, corrections sharper, and my days began to fill with preparations for something I couldn't quite name. She started bringing me to gatherings—formal parties where every smile felt practiced and every word weighed carefully before it was spoken. I didn't like them, but I endured them, because she asked me to.

It was at one of those gatherings that I first saw him.

"You have a very lovely daughter, Misis Lux."

The voice cut cleanly through the soft murmur of conversation. It was calm, controlled, and carried a chill that made me instinctively step closer to my mother. When I looked up, I saw the man speaking to her—tall, composed, and undeniably striking in a way that felt more unsettling than reassuring. Without thinking, I hid behind the folds of my mother's dress, clutching the fabric as though it could shield me.

"Oh, Lord Rife," my mother said, her tone shifting into something more careful, more respectful. "Let me introduce you to my daughter, Csarie."

Before I could protest, she gently pulled me forward, placing me in front of him.

His gaze settled on me, steady and assessing. "Csarie Lux," he said, as though testing how my name sounded. "Daughter of Nick and Melch Lux." There was a brief pause before he added, "Meet my son, Claude."

I hadn't even noticed the boy beside him until then.

He stood slightly apart, his attention fixed on the other children scattered across the hall. There was something distant about him, as though he existed just outside the moment everyone else was part of. When his father drew him forward, his gaze shifted—and then our eyes met.