You, My Devil - Chapter 7

As Fessis sprang to his feet, the Emperor’s calm voice resonated from behind.
“Leave him be, Fessis. Until the ceremony ends.”

Fessis bit his lip and grudgingly sank back into his seat. His clenched fists trembled with suppressed rage. The Emperor’s unyielding favoritism toward Yuri was glaringly evident.

To bring up the failed rain ritual in front of a crowd already agitated by the prolonged drought was akin to dousing an open wound with salt. The expressions of the gathered citizens betrayed their mounting resentment, their eyes filled with discontent.

Yuri continued, his booming voice echoing with righteous indignation.
“Today, before all of Nike’s people, I receive the blessing of the gods and the mandate to make Nike an even greater nation. But what use is such a blessing if no rain falls to quench this barren land?”

The crowd, tightly packed in the square, began murmuring anxiously among themselves. Yuri’s words were stirring unrest among the people.

“This is blasphemy against the divine, Nike!”

The Empress shrieked in a high-pitched voice, looking desperately toward the Emperor for intervention. The Emperor, impassive as ever, raised one hand slightly—a silent warning that he could just as easily end her life as silence her protests. The Empress trembled violently, biting her lips to suppress her fear.

Suddenly, Yuri moved with swift precision, slashing open the large leather sack that had been left at the edge of the platform.

Rip!

A bound goat tumbled out, its legs tied together, its grayish body writhing violently as if to prove its vitality.

“This is the same kind of goat that was used in the rain ritual fifteen days ago! The only difference is that this one was hunted by me, wild and untamed from the desert sands!”

Gripping the goat by its legs, Yuri hoisted it into the air with ease before tossing it onto the altar beside Heina.

The frightened creature let out a sharp, guttural cry, its wide, panicked eyes blinking rapidly. Heina, bound and helpless, flinched at the sound and tried to edge away from the thrashing animal. But her own restraints made escape impossible.

Her heart pounded furiously as she lay trapped beside the terrified goat, both captives of Yuri’s merciless display.

The goat seemed to sense its impending death, its wide eyes filled with terror. Heina bit down hard on the cloth gag in her mouth, her body trembling.

Yuri’s voice rang out again, clear and commanding.

“Look, my people! Here are two sacrifices before you! One, a goat born and raised in the deserts of Nike, blessed with sacred Nikean blood. The other, a slave tainted with the filthy blood of our conquered colony, Constance! Today, I will offer these sacrifices to the gods, one by one, to determine what has angered them so greatly that they withhold rain from our land!”

From his seat, Nadin let out a low whistle, thoroughly entertained by the unfolding drama. Things were getting interesting.

He glanced at Fessis, whose face was twisted in fury and humiliation. The youngest prince, often dismissed as reckless, seemed intent on publicly undermining Fessis and the failed rain ritual he had overseen.

What’s he doing? Proving whether the failed rain is because of the sacrifices or because of Fessis’s incompetence? Clever, little brother. Either way, Yuri wins—rain will come eventually, and killing both sacrifices is an easy way to cover all bases, Nadin thought with amusement.

Glancing again, he noted Fessis’s seething expression. If not for the Emperor’s presence, Nadin was certain Fessis would have stabbed Yuri in the back by now. It took every ounce of restraint to stifle his laughter.

Above them, a flock of crows burst into flight, their wings beating the darkened sky. This served as the signal.

Without hesitation, Yuri plunged his sword into the goat, slicing it open in one clean motion.

Schlick!

The animal’s body convulsed violently as an enormous torrent of dark crimson blood poured forth, spilling across the altar and drenching Heina.

“AAAAHHHH!!!”

Her muffled scream tore through the air as the thick, metallic scent of blood overwhelmed her senses. The warm liquid soaked her skin, pooling around her bound body and spilling over the edge of the altar in thick rivulets, dripping down to the ground below.

The goat’s wide, glassy eyes dulled as its movements stilled. Its lifeless body lay limp, its blood a gruesome flood that stained everything it touched.

Heina bit down hard on the gag in her mouth, desperate for some escape from the horror of the moment. She wanted to bite through her tongue, to end her own life before Yuri’s blade could claim it, but even that small mercy was denied to her. She prayed for unconsciousness, but the gods, if they existed, seemed intent on making her endure every second of her torment.

“Gods, I offer you this sacred blood of Nike! Let rain bless this land!”

Yuri raised his bloodstained hand toward the sky, his voice commanding and resonant. As one, the Nikean citizens fell to their knees, bowing low until their lips touched the ground.

Everything about Yuri’s words and actions mirrored the traditional rain rituals conducted every year. Overhead, the sky remained shrouded in heavy, ominous clouds, promising rain but withholding it for just a little longer.

“How dare he commit such blasphemy!”

The Empress’s furious whisper cut through the tense silence. Her teeth ground audibly as she glared at Yuri’s audacious performance. Fessis, too, sat stiffly, his expression frozen with suppressed rage.

The delayed rains were indeed a fact, but the desert’s wet season always arrived eventually. Now, if rain came even a day late, the people would credit Yuri for the miracle.

Fessis’s face reddened with anger, veins bulging as he clenched his fists. Meanwhile, Yuri turned his attention to his second sacrifice.

“Are you afraid?”

Heina’s tear-filled eyes snapped open at the sound of his voice. She was met with the sight of Yuri, his pale skin splattered with the goat’s blood. The eerie resemblance between the crimson streaks and his flaming red hair made him appear even more monstrous.

Her fear gave way to something far stronger: an all-consuming hatred.

If she could, she would have torn him apart with her bare hands, piece by piece. Never before had she felt such pure, searing rage. Death no longer frightened her—she wanted to make him suffer, to exact vengeance in the most agonizing way possible.

Her fury burned brighter than her terror, filling her thoughts as she glared at the man who loomed over her, drenched in blood.

Death no longer frightened Heina. What grieved her was the knowledge that if she died here, the faint hope of avenging her homeland, Constance, and killing Yuri herself would vanish forever.

Even in death, I will curse you.

Her tear-filled green eyes burned with hatred as she glared at him. Yuri approached, his bloodstained sword glinting in the torchlight. His face, reflected on the polished blade, was twisted with cruel delight.

“A celebration, Heina,” he murmured, leaning close to whisper in her ear.

Suddenly—

Flash!

A brilliant light illuminated the pitch-black sky, brighter than the moon and momentarily casting the world in stark clarity. Yuri’s pale face, already ghostly, seemed even more inhuman as his lips curled into a wicked smile.

All eyes turned skyward. The people of Nike fell silent, their hearts pounding with apprehension.

Surely not… Surely, it can’t be…

BOOM! RUMBLE!

The sky answered with a deafening clap of thunder. The ground beneath trembled slightly with the sound, and the Nikeans erupted into wild cheers.

“It’s rain! The rains are coming!!”

“The wet season has begun!”

The joyous cries were soon joined by the roar of the rain itself. A torrential downpour broke from the heavens, the water pounding the parched desert below.

Nikeans, both young and old, began dancing and running through the rain, their voices echoing with jubilation. It was an astonishing sight for the people of Constance, unaccustomed to the reverence and desperation with which these desert dwellers welcomed rain.

The Nikeans fell to their knees, kissing the soaked earth, tears streaming from their eyes as they screamed and laughed, overcome with emotion. Drums pounded throughout Granada, echoing across the city.

“Yuri! Prince Yuri!!”

“All hail Prince Yuri!!!”

The citizens roared his name, their cries of gratitude and devotion filling the square. In their eyes, Yuri had brought the rains with his sacrifice, proving himself as the chosen of the gods.

This was the first sign of divine favor, a symbol of his potential to lead Nike in the future.

Fessis’s face darkened, his features contorted with fury as he watched the crowd chant Yuri’s name. His humiliation was palpable, his fists trembling with impotent rage.

Meanwhile, Yuri lowered his sword to the ground and threw his head back, laughing maniacally.

“Ahahahaha! Hahahahaha!”

His voice echoed through the rain, blending with the pounding of water on the stone. Soaked to the bone, he turned his attention back to Heina.

Bending down, Yuri removed the gag from her mouth. She had bitten down so hard that blood pooled inside, the metallic taste overwhelming her senses.

“The rain we so desperately prayed for feels wonderful, doesn’t it?” Yuri sneered, leaning in so close she could feel his breath against her skin. Thunder flashed behind him, framing his silhouette as his crooked smile stretched wider.

The rain began washing the animal blood from her body, streaking the altar in crimson rivulets.

“Pft—!”

Heina spat at him, the mixture of blood and saliva splattering against his face.

But Yuri merely laughed, his shoulders shaking with amusement.

“Why don’t you kill me already?! Just kill me!”

Her voice cracked as she screamed, the weight of the moment crashing down on her. It felt as though she had been dragged back from the edge of death, only to face another torment. Rage and humiliation swirled inside her, overwhelming any sense of relief.

“Just do it! Kill me, damn it! Aaaahhh!”

Her desperate cries filled the air as Yuri leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, mocking whisper.

“Didn’t I tell you? I won’t kill you—yet. I promised to do it one year from now, remember? Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten?”

His words dripped with malice, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of her despair.

As Yuri’s cruel laughter echoed across the rain-soaked square, the voice of Emperor Nike boomed from the platform behind him, declaring the official start of the celebration.

“Let it be known! In the 25th year of Nike’s founding, the wet season has begun!”

The crowd erupted into renewed cheers, their voices blending with the relentless downpour as the city of Granada celebrated the long-awaited rain. For the Nikeans, it was a moment of divine providence and triumph. For Heina, soaked in rain and blood, it was the cruelest twist of fate—a night that marked not salvation, but the deepest despair.

* * *

Heina sat motionless on her bed, as if frozen, for hours. From outside the window came the sound of rain pouring down relentlessly, a constant swaaah that filled the air. Once it had started, the rain fell ceaselessly, as if determined to drench the world.

It had been three days since Yuri’s coming-of-age ceremony. In Nike’s capital, Granada, the weather had settled into a tiresome rhythm: half a day of rain, half a day of dry reprieve. Though the skies remained perpetually overcast, the faces of the maidservants were unusually bright.

“What should I do?”

This question had occupied Heina’s thoughts for the past three days, ever since Yuri’s coming-of-age ritual had ended. She was at an impasse, unable to reach any conclusions. The ceremony—an ordeal that had felt like a living nightmare—had concluded with a sacrificial goat and torrential rain. Had the rains not fallen then, Heina wouldn’t have survived to see another day.

Yet she harbored no illusions about Yuri’s promise to spare her life until the next rain-offering a year later. She trusted his words about as much as she trusted a venomous serpent. Even in her dreams, the image of his cruel face as he placed her on the altar refused to fade.

“Heina! You must survive, Princess of Constance!”

That voice. Her mother’s desperate cry echoed in her mind. It had been as Heina, nearly fainting from exhaustion, was dragged down the ceremonial platform by soldiers.

The soldiers of Nike had roughly pushed back her mother, the former Empress of Constance, who had tried to rush to her side. When her father retaliated in fury, they bound him in ropes, restraining him with brutal efficiency.

“Your Majesty! No—release me at once!”

He struggled, howling in agony, but it was all in vain. Heina was pulled away by the hands of rough Nikean soldiers and thrown into the secluded annex where she was once again imprisoned in her suffocating room—a gilded cage that felt more like a dungeon.

“Cursed wretches of Nike!”

Overcome with rage, Heina hurled curses at her captors.

And then, just as she was shoved back into her room, one of the soldiers whispered to her in a voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the closing door:

“Survive, Princess Heina. Until Lord Arzen comes for you.”

Heina froze, startled by the words. When she turned to face the soldier, the thick wooden door slammed shut, sealing her inside.

What… What did he just say?

Her lips parted slightly, her mind blank with shock. Even as a maid entered her room with a bath to wash the blood off her body, she barely noticed, too stunned to wave the servant’s hands away.