Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate
Chapter 188: The Demon’s Child

Chapter 188: The Demon’s Child

That was a dangerous thing to say about a child. Lady Maris initially thought Emmanuelle was speaking out of bitterness, perhaps resenting her son because of his absent father.

But as Emmanuelle spoke, her trembling words hinted at something far more ominous than Lady Maris could have imagined.

"My Lady," Emmanuelle asked quietly, "why do you care so much for that child?"

Lady Maris folded her arms, her tone firm. "Why don’t you?"

Emmanuelle was still kneeling but she seemed to gather her strength. "What if... just imagine, what if he is truly the child of a demon—someone destined to bring ruin to the world? Would you still protect him?"

"Why would you speak of your own child that way?" Lady Maris began, her voice softening with disbelief. "Don’t you—"

"Please, My Lady," Emmanuelle interrupted, her voice shaking with desperation. "Just answer me. I need to know."

There was sincerity in her eyes that Lady Maris couldn’t ignore. After a long pause, she sighed and spoke with conviction.

"If it were my child—if my child were destined to destroy the world, I would protect him with my life. But I’d also do everything in my power to stop him from causing harm. That’s what any mother would do."

Emmanuelle’s gaze fell, her expression unreadable. "What if... that child came from the one person you despised most in this world?"

Lady Maris blinked, confused by the question. Hate was a foreign emotion to her, at least not on the level Emmanuelle seemed to suggest. She had never despised anyone so deeply as to wish harm upon their innocent child.

"Children are not the sins of their parents," she said softly.

Emmanuelle hesitated, then asked, almost as if testing the waters of Lady Maris’s soul, "Can I trust what you’ve said?"

Lady Maris frowned. "What a strange thing to ask. Of course, you can. Do you doubt my promise to find him a family?"

Rising to her feet, Emmanuelle’s demeanor shifted. The tears still glistened on her face, but she no longer sobbed. She clasped her hands together in the respectful gesture of a servant, her voice now calm but urgent.

"Please follow me, My Lady. We need to hurry before anyone else discovers her."

Without a word, Lady Maris nodded and quickly summoned her most trusted servant to look after the baby. Once assured the child was in safe hands, she slipped from the chamber, following Emmanuelle’s hurried, heavy footsteps.

They soon arrived at an unassuming door in the far wing of the palace. Emmanuelle stopped, turning to face Lady Maris with a grave expression.

"Not everyone can handle what’s beyond this door. But you must brace yourself, My Lady. What lies behind it is the truth."

Lady Maris felt a chill crawl up her spine as the ominous warning settled in. She eyed the door, which seemed ordinary enough—no different from the others in this corridor except for...

"Wait, isn’t this...?" she started, her voice trailing off as recognition dawned.

Emmanuelle nodded solemnly. "Yes, you’re right. Now, are you ready?"

Taking a deep breath, Lady Maris gave a slow nod. With that, Emmanuelle opened the door, revealing a lavish room. The decor was elegant, the furnishings worthy of a high-ranking aristocrat, and everything appeared perfectly normal.

But Lady Maris’s confusion grew. There was no sign of anything strange or foreboding.

Emmanuelle walked further into the room. She reached for a book on the shelf and pulled it free. With a faint rumble, a section of the floor shifted, revealing a hidden staircase that descended into darkness.

"Follow me," Emmanuelle said quietly, leading the way into the shadowy abyss.

Lady Maris hesitated for only a moment before stepping after her. The descent was steep, and the narrow stone walls made it impossible for more than one person to pass at a time.

Lady Maris steadied herself by pressing against the cold walls, her hand trailing the rough surface as she went. Every few steps, she glanced behind her.

The further they descended, the darker it became, until the faint light from above vanished completely. Whatever awaited them at the bottom was cloaked in mystery—and danger.

As the darkness enveloped them, Lady Maris spotted a faint glow up ahead. Emmanuelle moved toward the light, which flickered from a series of wall-mounted torches lining the narrow passageway.

The flames danced in their sconces, casting eerie shadows that guided them toward a heavy, ominous-looking door at the far end.

Emmanuelle stopped and leaned her full weight against the door, struggling to push it open. "Please, My Lady, help me," she whispered urgently.

Lady Maris hurried to her side, and together they heaved against the thick steel door. It groaned under their combined effort, and finally, with a resounding creak, it swung open. What lay beyond sent an immediate chill down Lady Maris’s spine.

Unlike the neat and lavish room above, this space felt oppressive, like the air itself was weighed down by something sinister.

Tall shelves crowded the room, packed tightly together and covered with vials of strange liquids, herbs, and dried bones. The air smelled faintly of decay and old blood. Lady Maris shuddered as her eyes darted from one disturbing object to the next.

"What... is this place?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Emmanuelle said nothing. As Lady Maris cautiously moved forward, something caught her eye—something that made her blood run cold.

"KYA—!" Lady Maris shrieked, her voice piercing the silence as she collapsed to her knees on the cold stone floor.

Just beyond the rows of shelves, a large space opened up. In the center, drawn on the ground in dark red ink—or was it blood?—was the sigil of Baphomet.

And on the bed at the heart of the room lay a woman. She was draped in a loose white dress, which was drenched in crimson liquid, her body twisted at an unnatural angle, as though it had been abandoned in death. Blood dripped from her hand, the droplets splattering rhythmically onto the floor.

Lady Maris could barely breathe as the realization hit her.

Emmanuelle’s voice broke the suffocating silence. "Queen Isolde is dead because of that child."

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