Beast Gacha System: All Mine

The nearest lodging Damon’s men had secured was a modest inn at the edge of the nearest village. It was a place that catered to traveling merchants and the occasional minor official, but surely not an Emperor. So, you could imagine how modest it was.

It was a two-story timber building with a steeply pitched roof and a sign that creaked in the wind, its painted letters so faded they were barely legible.

Damon’s room was on the second floor, the best the inn had to offer, which meant it had a window that closed properly and a hearth that had been recently swept.

The walls were whitewashed plaster, cracked in places, and the floorboards were uneven, worn smooth by decades of boots. A single oil lamp burned on the nightstand, casting long, flickering shadows across the room.

The bed was small. A bit too small for a man of his height. But the linens were clean, and the mattress, when he pressed a hand to it, was stuffed with fresh straw.

A folded quilt lay at the foot, patched in places, the kind of thing an innkeeper’s wife might have sewn herself. The air smelled of woodsmoke and lavender, faint and comforting.

Damon removed his coat first, hanging it over the back of the room’s only chair. Then his boots, which he set beside the door with a care that had been drilled into him since childhood. No Imperial prince left his shoes where he could trip over them in the dark.

He unbuttoned his tunic slowly, rolling his shoulders as the fine fabric slipped from his skin. The fire in the hearth had burned low, but the room was warm enough.

He started to wash his face and neck in the basin, his back to the bed.

The mirror above the basin was old, its surface warped and speckled with age, and he avoided it. He didn’t need a reflection to know what he looked like.

The shadows under his eyes. The tension in his jaw... He was genuinely a bit embarrassed when he met the dashing man earlier. He truly couldn’t compare.

He wondered why he kept meeting men more handsome than himself around the women in his life. He sighed and turned toward the bed.

Only to froze.

Sprawled across the straw mattress as though he owned it, one arm draped over the quilt, was an albino crow. Magnus Karas’s eyes gleamed in the hearth light, red and bright.

He smiled.

"What? Expecting Ivy here?"

Damon’s heart did something terrible in his chest. For fuck’s sake. Just when he thought about men more handsome than himself.

Magnus stretched comfortably.

"The innkeeper was very helpful," Magnus said. "I told him I was your companion. He gave me a key."

Damon found his voice. "You’re lying."

"I am," Magnus agreed cheerfully. "Lock your windows. It’s time you’re responsible for your own windows knowing I exist. Don’t trust your servants to take care of your windows knowing I exist."

Damon closed his eyes. Counted to three. Opened them again.

The crow hadn’t moved.

"Why are you here?" Damon asked, his voice flat.

Magnus tilted his head, the white feathers at his temple catching the lamplight. "Because I was curious."

"About what?"

"You," Magnus said simply. "And the woman you’re going to marry."

Damon’s jaw tightened. "She has nothing to do with you."

"No," Magnus agreed. "But you do. You and I have unfinished business, Your Majesty."

The way he said it, ’Your Majesty’, sent a shiver down Damon’s spine.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at the crow. Magnus looked back up at him, unblinking.

"Get out," Damon said.

Magnus smiled. "No."

Damon stared at him. The silence stretched until finally he exhaled.

"If I lock my windows from now on, you’d just rattle them until I open them, right?"

Magnus tilted his head, the white feathers at his temple rustling like a thought made visible. "How did you know?"

Damon didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the room’s only chair, dragged it toward the hearth, and sat. The wood creaked beneath him as he leaned back on his chair.

"Alright. You ask."

Magnus rose from the bed with a fluid grace, the movement so smooth it barely disturbed the quilt. He settled on the edge of the mattress, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees, his chin propped in one pale hand.

The firelight carved shadows into his face, deepening the dark side of the red of his eyes to something nearly black.

"How did you do it?" Magnus asked.

"Do what?"

"Being... with another woman."

Damon’s expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes tightened. "Why can’t I?"

Magnus hummed. "Did she know?"

Damon frowned. "Don’t ask half-assed questions like that," he said quietly. "Ask me properly, and then leave."

Magnus’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it sharpened. "Did she know about you and us?"

The room went very still.

Damon didn’t want to answer. Every instinct in him recoiled from it. This didn’t concern Magnus or anyone. What had happened between him, and this man and Ivy, what had happened between all three of them, was a closed door. The end. A locked room, a Chapter he had already burned.

But Magnus was still watching him. And Damon, despite everything, felt the weight of his own actions pressing down on him.

This man, whatever else he was, had been there. He had been part of it. He had touched Damon, and Damon had let him. There was no pretending otherwise.

Meanwhile, Magnus had come here with a purpose, though he would not have admitted it aloud. He had told himself he wanted to provoke the man, to rattle that cold, careful composure, to leave a mark that would not fade.

He wanted Damon to never forget. Not the night, not Ivy, not himself. Everything the three of them had done in the dark.

He wanted Ivy’s plan to work. He wanted the threads she had woven to hold. He wanted this strange, tangled thing between them, whatever it was, to survive the Emperor’s marriage.

Because—

"My fiancée already knows," Damon said.

Magnus’s eyes widened. For the first time since he’d appeared in the room, genuine surprise flickered across his face, there and gone like a startled bird.

She... knew...?

He leaned back, slowly, as though the words had pushed him. For a long moment, he simply stared at Damon, his expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, almost to himself, he said, "So that’s how it is."

Damon looked away, toward the dying fire. "That’s how it is."

The silence that followed was strange.

Damon wanted to know what this man’s purpose was, coming here alone, without Ivy. Until now, Magnus had always moved for her. He spoke with her voice in his mouth, acted with her design behind his eyes.

He was the vanguard, the shield, the willing shadow at her side. But something was different tonight.

This was not Ivy’s emissary standing in the firelight. This was not the indulgent fiancé, smiling while his betrothed wove her schemes.

The man who came to Damon tonight was just Magnus Karas.

"Stop this," Magnus said suddenly.

Damon’s gaze snapped to his face.

Magnus no longer smiled. He looked directly into Damon’s eyes, and for once, there was no games in it.

"Don’t marry that woman." His voice was low, stripped bare. "Marry Ivy. I’ll break off my engagement with her."

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