North Drake
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Chapter 7: The Princess’s Bargain
🕑 Added 2025-09-01 10:17:16 +0000 UTCChapter 7: The Princess’s Bargain
The massive doors creaked open before them. There was no choice, no path left but forward.
Marlon’s feet shuffled after the others, his body trembling despite his best efforts to keep steady. His heart hammered in his chest as they crossed the threshold, stepping deeper into the mansion.
Why me? he thought, bitter as bile. Why did I have to end up here, of all places in the world?
It had to be the gods, mocking him again.
He remembered all too well what life had been before Sevrin found him. Beaten in the alleys by older kids, scrounging for scraps by the orphanage. Waiting, always waiting, for the one bright thing every child was promised: the day they turned ten and the gods would grant them their first class.
And when it came?
He got [Street Kid].
Marlon clenched his fists. Even now, the shame burned. The gods hadn’t just cursed him, they had laughed at him. A class that reflected nothing but misery.
Everyone knew you could change your class later, earn a new one through deeds or training. But how was he supposed to? An orphan with nothing, barely surviving day by day? Other kids were blessed with talent, with gifts, some even awakened with rare mage classes, or even unique ones whispered about in envy. But not him, it was never him. He had no talent, and of course, no luck in life.
He had hated the gods ever since.
He was fourteen when Sevrin found him, beaten bloody in an alley by a gang of street thugs who’d stolen what little he had. The boys had turned their jeers on Sevrin too, thinking him easy prey.
Then Sevrin conjured fire. A crackling sphere of flame in his palm. “A mage”, one of the boys had screamed, before they scattered in panic.
And just like that, Marlon had been left in the alley with the stranger who would change everything.
“Want to come with me?” Sevrin had asked. His voice low, almost casual. “Become my acolyte, and defy the gods who cursed you.”
Marlon hadn’t even hesitated. Of course he’d said yes.
That had been two years ago. He was sixteen now, and once again cursing his luck in life.
The throne room swallowed them whole.
A long carpet stretched ahead, red threaded with gold, muffling their footsteps. Torches burned on the walls, casting steady light, yet in the corners of their vision shadows shifted, shapes that moved just out of sight. Every time Marlon turned his head, there was nothing there. But the feeling of eyes crawling over him wouldn’t leave.
Fear built in his chest with every step.
But with it came something else. A strange, reckless thrill; expectation. Because no matter how this ended, his old life was over. If he died here, fine his life was a joke anyway. And if he didn’t…
His breath caught.
There she was.
At the far end, an obsidian throne rose from a dais, carved from stone so black it seemed to drink the light. Skulls were engraved into the armrests, leering in silence. Red gems glowed faintly along the backrest, pulsing like embers.
And on that throne sat her.
Lilithia Nocturne. The Demon Princess of the Abyss.
She lounged with careless grace, crimson eyes half-lidded, her posture almost bored. Yet the sight of her struck Marlon harder than any beating he’d ever taken. The memory of the terror she’d unleashed in the dining hall still haunted him—but this… this was something else.
It was a pure dark beauty. A beauty that spat in the face of everything the church and kingdoms called “civilized.”
His knees gave out before he realized it. His forehead pressed to the cold carpet. Around him, the others fell too, as if dragged down by the sheer weight of her presence.
For Marlon, that moment burned itself into his soul.
The gods may have mocked him his whole life. Cursed him, branded him useless, worthless, a joke.
But now—now he had seen a god of his own.
And if he played his cards right, maybe he could spit in the faces of the gods who had damned him.
☽⛧☾
When the cultists finally crept into the main hall, Lily was already waiting.
She lounged on her throne, her obsidian throne, chin propped lazily on her hand as her crimson eyes tracked them across the long carpet.
What exactly was she supposed to do with these idiots?
Kill them? Tempting, but… no. She wasn’t that far gone. And like it or not, she was stuck with them for now. So what to do with them...
Fine. I’ll just play along. Nothing beats a good RP session anyway.
Besides, it was exactly what they expected of her. They hadn’t summoned “Lily Carter, overworked student-slash-cashier.” They had summoned Lilithia Nocturne, Princess of the Abyss. And if she had to roleplay as her own character to keep herself sane, well, why not?
It was kind of funny, honestly, watching them creep through the hall like nervous parishioners at a holy site. Her gargoyles stared down from the walls, shadows shifted at the edges of the torchlight, and yet the six of them acted like they were walking straight into the cathedral of their unholy god.
And when they reached her, as one, they collapsed to their knees and pressed their foreheads to the carpet. The movement was so rehearsed it almost looked comical.
Great. They’ve turned my living room into a cult chapel.
For a moment Lily considered asking them about the Xares Empire again, but what was the point? The ruins could be hundreds, even thousands of miles away. And history a few hundred years gone wouldn’t exactly be common knowledge among six low-level dropout wannabes.
No, she had something else in mind.
Her mind slid to the book she’d confiscated from Sevrin. She remembered its warning, but also the neat little prophecy: the “Princess of the Abyss” would grant her summoners three wishes for freeing her from eternal prison.
Lily almost snorted aloud. Eternal prison, her ass. Sure, night shifts were hell, but nothing eternal. And definitely not something worth killing her over just to escape.
Still… that gave her an idea. Maybe she could use the promise of “wishes” as cover. Let them spill their desires, and she’d learn what they actually wanted—what they knew. Information, neatly disguised as reward. Of course, she wasn’t about to burn the kingdom. That was never happening. But maybe these idiots had smaller, more realistic wishes. Something she could use as an excuse to probe for knowledge about the world, while distracting herself from the heavier truth, that she was stuck here, like it or not.
She tapped her finger against the armrest of her throne. Yeah… that works. Classic side quest logic. NPCs beg you for something, you listen, maybe you get lore out of it. Sometimes even loot.
It was easier to think of it that way. She wasn’t stranded in some nightmare. She was just… running a quest line.
Yes, this could work.
She lifted her hand with all the regal poise she could muster; slow, deliberate, as if she’d practiced it a thousand times. Which, technically, she had in RP.
The six cultists flinched as though her hand commanded gravity itself.
“You may rise, worms,” she said.
Her voice came out colder, and sharper, than she’d intended. But… it sounded good. Damn good.
She filed the thought away. Note to self: practice regal hand waves more often.
One by one, the cultists raised their heads, trembling, eyes locked on her like she was about to smite them if they blinked.
Perfect, Lily thought, hiding her smirk behind her bored facade. Now let’s see what kind of “wishes” you idiots can cough up.
Lily let the silence stretch, savoring the way it made them squirm. The torches crackled. Somewhere above, a gargoyle shifted and stone dust sighed onto the carpet like ash. Nice touch. Points to past-me for the ambiance.
Then she leaned forward, her fangs glinting in the torchlight as she flashed the cultists a grin sharp enough to cut.
“So, you followed my invitation into my house.”
They nodded in unison, heads still bowed.
“Then you understand,” she continued, voice rolling out with the weight of inevitability, “that when you crossed my threshold and did not flee, you signed yourselves into eternal servitude.” She let the pause stretch, savoring how they squirmed under her gaze. “My house, my rules.”
“Yes… my lady,” Sevrin stammered. The others bobbed their heads like terrified pigeons.
Lily rose from her throne with slow, theatrical grace, letting her shadow stretch long across the hall. “Good. But don’t tremble so much—I am a benevolent ruler.” The word dripped with mocking sweetness. “For I reward those who free me from my so-called ‘eternal prison in the Abyss.’”
She spread her arms wide, crimson eyes glowing faintly. “So. Let me hear your desires! And I shall grant them.”
The silence was thick, broken only by their shallow breathing. Sevrin opened his mouth, but Lily snapped her fingers, halting him.
“One more thing.” She tilted her head, letting her smile curve into something dangerous. “Try to be modest. As I said, I will not burn this kingdom down just to set you idiots on a throne. If that was your plan, consider your ambitions… revised.”
The cultists froze, exchanging uncertain glances. Their rehearsed bravado had shattered into awkward stillness.
Perfect, Lily thought. Nothing like throwing a wrench into their expectations to make them sweat. Honestly, she was having fun now.
Sevrin licked his lips, clearly scrambling for a safer request. He inhaled—
But before he could say a word, the girl behind him suddenly blurted out:
“If—if it’s not too much, m-my lady…” Her voice wavered, but her eyes held something sharp. “We… we would ask to keep our s-souls. And also—strength, and wealth, enough to stand again. And when you grant us these things… we would wish for our freedom after a sufficient time of servitude. So we could enjoy your gifts.” She swallowed hard. “If… if you could grant us our freedom after ten years.”
The hall went deathly still.
Sevrin’s head snapped around, eyes wide. “Marie!?!” he hissed, voice cracking with outrage.
Lily, however, felt her lips twitch. Well, well, not all of you are complete idiots. Look at you Marie, setting an expiration date on this mess. Clever girl. You just saved me from babysitting duty forever. Even though ten years is a long time, maybe I can kick them out sooner... Besides, I didn't even know what to do with their damned souls.
She straightened, letting her crimson eyes gleam with theatrical menace. “Granted!” she declared, her voice ringing like iron on stone. “That is your three wishes. And I promised to honor them.”
The words slammed into the cultists like a hammer. Even the shadows seemed to lean closer.
Sevrin spun back, face pale. “No, wait—”
But he froze mid-protest, meeting Lily’s gaze. Whatever he saw there, fangs glinting in a cruel smile, the bored weight of a predator indulging her prey, it shut him up fast.
“Of course,” he said, bowing so low his forehead smacked the carpet. “Of course. Thank you for your benevolence, Princess.”
The others followed his lead instantly, all muttering thanks, their voices overlapping in a pathetic chorus.
Lily reclined back into her throne, crossing one leg over the other. Inside, she was grinning. NPCs really do write the best dialogue for you if you just wait them out.
She drummed her fingers lazily on the armrest. “Then it is sealed. Serve me for ten years, and I will return your freedom… along with the scraps of strength and wealth I deign to bestow.” Her voice dipped into a purr. “Fail me, and those years will stretch into eternity.”
That got them all bowing again, trembling like leaves in a storm.
☽⛧☾
Marie let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her whole body trembled, though she fought to keep her face steady. She had done it—she had actually spoken up before Sevrin could open his damned mouth and drag them all into ruin.
She knew him too well. His hatred for the kingdom burned hotter than reason, and that same poison had drawn them together in the first place. Each of them had been broken, cast out, spat on by the society they were supposed to serve. They’d dreamed of clawing out their own place in the world, even if it meant summoning something forbidden.
Marie hadn’t flinched when she got the [Acolyte] class. The system had offered it after their first ritual, and she switched immediately, abandoning the ragged half-life she’d had before. Outlaw? She already was one. Cultist? Fine. Better than starving.
But after they had actually summoned the Princess, everything had shifted. The scale of her power was terrifying. If Sevrin got to steer things, he’d steer them straight into the abyss itself, and drag their souls with him. Marie didn’t want that. She didn’t want to doom the world, and she sure as hell didn’t want to end up as fuel for some demon’s hunger.
So she’d gambled, and somehow won. The Princess had granted them everything in a heartbeat. Strength. Wealth. Freedom—after ten years. It was absurdly generous compared to what she’d expected. Maybe, just maybe, they would survive this. At the very least… they would keep their souls.
The Demon Princess sat back, tapping a claw against her throne as if mulling over a grocery list. “So. Where to start…” she murmured to herself, then glanced at their pathetic huddle. Her crimson gaze made Marie’s knees weak all over again.
“Right. First things first.” The Princess straightened. “As my new servants, you will live here in… my domain. However…” Her nose wrinkled delicately. “I am not prepared for other beings than myself, and I will not let you infest my house. So, tell me. What is the currency of this kingdom?”
Sevrin, quick to recover his dignity, produced a coin from his robe and held it high. “A silver crown, my lady. The same currency used across the continent. One hundred bronze crowns make one silver, then gold, platinum—”
“—yes, yes,” she cut him off with a flick of her hand. “I asked in case the currency had changed in my absence. But it seems it is the same as always.”
Marie’s blood ran cold at the word. Absence. She said it so casually, as though she had walked this world before being banished. But if such a being had ever roamed Pangrea, why wasn’t she in every legend? Marie shivered. Either history had lied, or they had made a terrible mistake following Sevrin’s book.
The Princess reached into thin air, and a coin appeared between her fingers. She tossed it lazily to Sevrin. He caught it, then went pale.
A Mithril Crown.
Marie gasped. She had never seen one, only heard about them. The pale silvery-blue coin shimmered like moonlight over water. Ten bronze crowns could buy a hot meal and a night under a roof. But Mithril? That was wealth so absurd it sat in the hands of kings, lords, and high-ranked adventurers. Beyond gold, beyond platinum. The stuff of myths.
“Here,” the Princess said, her tone almost bored. “Your first payment. As promised: wealth, as I see fit.”
“Th-thank you, my lady!” Sevrin stammered, clutching it like a holy relic.
“Two of you will go to a town tomorrow,” she continued, her voice sharp again, “and buy what you need to live here. Food, supplies. Whatever will keep you alive without being an embarrassment.”
Sevrin nodded eagerly.
“Good. Then rest for today. We will speak again tomorrow. I… need to think.”
The cultists hesitated. They glanced at each other, confused. Rest? Where?
The Princess sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she were babysitting toddlers. Then she snapped her fingers, and another object shimmered into being: a palm-sized rune stone, carved with curling lines.
“Here. [Campfire Stone]. Place it on the ground, and it will summon a smokeless, everlasting fire. Warmth, safety. Go camp on the sea cliffs or something. You are dismissed.”
Annoyance rippled in her tone, but that only made the cultists bow deeper, scrambling to obey.
Marie bent her head with the others, but inside, her heart hammered with a different beat. Relief. Gratitude. And no small amount of awe.
Ten years. Ten years of servitude, then freedom. It wasn’t the life she had once dreamed of—but it was life. And that, right now, was more than she’d dared to hope for.
