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“They say the Young Elites are gone, their powers and markings lost and given to the gods, leaving them to walk among humans, pretending to be something they abandoned long ago. Some claim they've truly changed, while others like myself whisper they are only waiting, biding their time until they can strike once more. The White Wolf, The Reaper, and many others, do not think they save our world out of kindness. They wait for us to lower our guard, for when we’ve grown used to them, so they can destroy us, just as we once destroyed them.” — A letter from a girl living in Kenettra.
"Oh, how everything has changed and gone," Raffaele mused to himself.
He wasn’t even twenty-five, but he had witnessed the rise and fall of countless rulers. He had even had a hand in some of their downfalls. But now, as he sat in the quiet courtyard of the castle, he reflected on the one thing he never expected: to be here, alone, in service to a new Queen of Kenettra.
He had once imagined this moment differently, sitting here with Enzo by his side, after the Daggers reclaimed the throne for the former prince. Yet here he was, not with his prince, but in the employ of Violetta, a Queen far removed from the chaos and horrors of her predecessors.
Violetta was a good Queen. Better than Adelina. Better than Giulietta. A soft chuckle escaped Raffaele as his fingers grazed the delicate blue flowers at his feet. She was better suited to be ruler for Kenettra than Enzo could have ever been.
Enzo had been a powerful leader of the Daggers, yes, helping them do what they needed to get done, but he had loved blood more than Raffaele ever could, something that Kenettra couldn't have again so soon after their last Queens.
Of course, Raffaele's hands weren’t clean, it is impossible to be a young elite and not have some. But his acts of violence had always been born of necessity: defense of the Dagger Society, of the Rose Society, from The Inquisition Axis, and for his survival, not all his clients were kind.
But Enzo, though... Enzo’s love for power, for blood, had consumed him. He cared only for those marked by the blood fever and had powers, and he would have watched the rest of the world burn if it meant the Elites young could rise.
Had it not been for Raffaele’s powers, Enzo might never have spared him a second glance during his auction.
Raffaele shook his head trying to get the memory and feelings of the night out of his head, plucking tiny blue flowers from the ground as his dark hair fell into his face. He absently brushed it back, his thoughts tangled in the past. No matter what Enzo had done, what he had become, Raffaele would have followed him. Even after his resurrection by Maeve had warped him into something darker, Raffaele's loyalty remained.
However, that doesn't stop him from thinking about what if they had never crossed paths with Adelina and her past. Would the Daggers slowly wither away, their powers consuming them from within? Or would they have found some way to return their abilities to the Underworld, to be free of their cursed markings without her sacrifice?
He couldn’t help but wonder how different life would have been if things went differently for them, for Enzo, his blood-red hair, his intricate markings from the fever... They wouldn’t even exist anymore. Maybe he would still be in love with Daphne even after her death.
Daphne. She had never suffered the blood fever as a child, but that hadn’t mattered to Enzo.
She was everything a prince should want: beautiful, kind, utterly devoid of malice. In nearly every way, she was Enzo’s opposite. Maybe that was why Enzo had loved her.
They balanced one another. But for Raffaele, being around them had been… strange, especially given the work he did. He hated it at first, the constant reminders of what love should look like, rather than what he did. It only became tolerable when Dante joined the Society.
But Enzo was always restless, always chasing something just beyond his grasp, first the crown, then Daphne, then The Inquisition Axis, then Adelina. And when he finally seemed to have it all, he lost it, only to pursue it again. It had killed him once, and Raffaele hoped he had learned. And then it killed him again.
Why couldn’t Enzo be happy with what he had? The thought gnawed at Raffaele as he crushed the delicate blue flowers in his hand, glaring at them; why was happiness always a thorn in his side? The irony was unbearable: those little blue flowers, symbols of fragile beauty, of everything Raffaele could never forget. He hated them.
Everything he had done, from the time he was just a boy, had been for Enzo and The Dagger Society. Every smile he gave, every kiss, and the carefully crafted facade it was all for them. For him. He had worn a mask his entire life, hiding his true feelings beneath layers of duty and devotion. To his family then to his prince, rarely if ever to himself.
Raffaele stood, the crushed flowers slipping from his grasp, falling among the carpet of pink, white, yellow, and blue blooms scattered across the ground. It was a quiet rebellion against the weight he carried.
As he turned to head back inside the castle, he saw her, Queen Violetta.
She emerged gracefully, her long black hair flowing like silk behind her, her dark eyes gleaming in the sunlight. Her rich olive skin, radiant and unblemished, stood in stark contrast to what Raffaele associated with the young elites before they went to the underworld; she looked human.
She didn’t bear the marks of their cursed powers, even though the young elites lost their marks, their impact still left scars.
But in every way, the Queen appeared untouched by the fever that had claimed so many, though that wasn’t the case.
"Raffaele, there you are!" Violetta called, her smile bright as she approached. "I've been looking for you."
"I've been outside, your Majesty," Raffaele said with a bow, his tone respectful but calm. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine," she replied, her smile never faltering. "I just wanted to make sure you knew about the meeting in an hour. And you don’t need to call me that."
"You’re the Queen," Raffaele replied, raising an eyebrow slightly, his expression unreadable.
Violetta’s smile softened into something more playful. "Did you call Enzo or my sister that?"
Raffaele hesitated, a shadow passing briefly over his face before he spoke. "That was... different."
His voice grew quieter than old memories stirred. Adelina was a girl with nothing but too much power who became a monster. Enzo... Enzo was a boy with everything and too much power, on the edge of becoming a monster, he was someone who stole Raffaele’s heart along the way.
Violetta paused, sensing the weight behind his words. "Why?" she asked softly, her curiosity gentle but persistent.
“My Queen—” Before Raffaele could fully answer, Sergio came running over, cutting the moment short.
“Violetta,” Sergio greeted, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before turning to Raffaele with a look that conveyed his lingering dislike of him and the Daggers. “Raffaele”
Sergio turned back to his wife, a soft smile on his face, “Maeve and Lucent have just arrived from Beldain. They say there’s been another sighting, a rider, following the stars.”
Violetta nodded, her eyes shining with hope, taking Sergio’s hand. “Thank you, love.” She then turned her attention back to Raffaele. “Will you join us, advisor?”
Raffaele nodded, but before he could take a step and speak, Violetta spoke again, her tone gentle. "I'll give you a moment."
“I’m fine, Your Majesty, I don’t—” Raffaele protested, but stopped when Violetta raised her hand, silencing him with a simple gesture.
Violetta smiled warmly. “I’m Queen,” she said, the words filled with reassurance, before turning and walking away, her hand still in Sergio’s as they disappeared into the castle.
Raffaele stood in the courtyard, quiet. He never imagined his life would turn out like this. When he was younger, he hadn’t known exactly what he wanted, but it certainly wasn’t this.
Yet, life had a way of unfolding in unexpected ways. You grow up and get pulled into a life you never asked for, but you survive, and maybe, just maybe, find your way back to something closer to what you once wanted.
Raffaele leaned down to gather the blue flowers he had dropped, determined not to let more life go to waste, enough had already been lost. He walked toward the mosaic of the Valenciano royal family, a depiction of their unity before the blood fever struck. He felt no affection for the former king and Queen; they did nothing of any importance, and in fact, he had felt a sense of relief when Teren killed Giulietta.
But one person in that artwork mattered deeply to him, Enzo, standing proudly in the center, exuding the confidence and nobility that once inspired unwavering loyalty from those around him, including Raffaele. Even now, after everything that had happened, the sight of Enzo’s face stirred a complex mix of emotions within him: admiration, sorrow, and regret.
Raffaele placed the flowers on the bench in front of the mosaic and gently pressed his fingers to his lips before touching them to Enzo’s forehead. It was a slight gesture, but one filled with the silent reverence he still held for the man who had been so much more than just a leader. Enzo had been a friend, a brother, perhaps even something more, someone Raffaele had followed to the bitter end.
For now, though, Raffaele allowed himself this small moment of mourning. He pressed his fingers to his lips one last time, before letting them fall to his side. He took a last look at the mosaic, at Enzo’s proud stance, and turned to head back to the castle. Forgetting may be impossible, but moving forward, Raffaele had no choice but to do it.
This caused him to find himself caught between allegiances, the Dagger Society, the Rose Society, the whims of the gods, and his role as the Queen’s adviser. The transitions came easily enough, allowing him to distract himself, but each new phase masked the deeper truth: a part of him had died long ago, with Enzo’s fall, and whatever innocence he’d preserved had died with his last fall.
Raffaele paused for a moment at the entrance of the hall, closing his eyes briefly as he gathered his composure, carefully constructing the mask he had perfected over the years. By the time he opened the door and stepped inside, any trace of the turmoil inside him was hidden behind the calm, unreadable expression he always wore with others, so few saw the real him.
He spotted Michel conversing with Sergio in the corner, while Violetta spoke quietly with Lucent, who had her arm around Maeve. Augustine was nearby, laughing along with them. None of them could sense the weight Raffaele carried, nor would he let them. They only ever saw the poised, controlled version of him, the one who never let his emotions slip.
Raffaele paused for a moment at the entrance of the hall, closing his eyes briefly as he gathered his composure. When he stepped inside, he saw Michel conversing with Sergio in the corner, while Violetta spoke quietly with Lucent, who had her arm around Maeve. Augustine was nearby, laughing along with them.
As soon as Violetta spotted Raffaele, she gave him a nod of acknowledgment, her sharp eyes noticing his arrival. She walked gracefully to the table in the center of the room, and her presence commanded an instant, respectful silence from everyone there.
Once she settled back into her chair, Raffaele stepped forward to address the gathered company.