Supreme Warlock System : From Zero to Ultimate With My Wives

Warlock Ch 413. Fae Princess in His Embrace

"Uh…" he started, awkwardly pushing himself up from the floor, inching toward her like she was a wounded wild animal that might bite him.

Selena didn't move, shoulders shaking quietly under her loose hair.

Damian hovered next to her for a second, mentally flipping through all the non-existent training manuals on "What To Do When A Princess Starts Crying In Your Sealed Murder Room."

Finally, he crouched beside her and reached out one hand, hesitating midair.

"Uh, here," he muttered, and very gently, very clumsily, wiped the tears from the side of her cheek with his thumb.

Selena hiccuped against her hands.

He awkwardly patted her hair.

"Look," Damian said, his voice low and rumbling with rough-edged awkwardness, "I'm... not good at this. I didn't exactly grow up with 'Comforting 101' classes."

Selena sniffled into her palms.

"I mean," Damian continued, half-grumbling at himself, "I know how to gut a man six different ways, but wiping tears? Yeah. Whole new battlefield."

That got a tiny, watery giggle out of her, barely audible.

Damian relaxed about two percent.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. "I should've told you sooner. I just... I needed a plan first. I didn't want you running straight into danger without knowing what we're up against."

Selena finally lowered her hands, revealing her flushed, tear-streaked face. Her eyes were red-rimmed but stubborn.

"I wouldn't have run off," she mumbled.

Damian lifted an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe," she admitted, cheeks pinking deeper.

"Definitely," Damian corrected dryly.

Selena huffed, crossing her arms again, looking away. But this time, the trembling was less. Her mana wasn't sparking wildly anymore. She just looked tired. Worried.

And determined.

Damian sat back on his heels and exhaled. "Anyway. I need your help."

That caught her attention. She peeked over at him suspiciously.

"Help with what?"

"The Central Vault," Damian said. "I'm ninety percent sure—that's where they took Cedric and Alric."

Selena blinked. "Ninety percent?"

"Okay," Damian admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "More like seventy. Maybe seventy-five on a good day."

Selena gave him a Look.

He raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, it's a better chance than most plans I've survived."

She wiped her cheeks again, this time more composed. "You think they're trying to use him to unlock it?"

"I know they are," Damian said grimly. "But the vault needs fae royal blood. Cedric's blood will probably work. But even then... the seals on that thing aren't something you just poke open with a spell stick."

Selena frowned. "You need someone else."

"Specifically someone who shares the bloodline but isn't officially recognized as the primary heir," Damian said, tapping his forehead lightly. "A fallback key, built into the enchantment structure. In case the main line was compromised."

Selena stared at him. "And you know this how?"

Damian shrugged. "Investigation. I did it a lot. We did it a lot. We are trying to solve this problem without… killing ourselves or painting ourselves and the villains."

Selena didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry again.

Maybe both.

"So," Damian said, voice gentler now, "I need you."

Selena stiffened slightly.

"I need your blood," he clarified. Then grimaced. "That came out wrong."

Her cheeks flushed again.

Damian coughed into his fist. "Not, uh, not all your blood. Just—your presence. Your mana signature. The vault should recognize you enough to bypass the secondary seals without triggering an alarm."

Selena processed that for a moment.

"You realize," she said slowly, "this is insane."

"Completely," Damian agreed. "But what's new?"

Selena sighed, scrubbing her hands over her face once more, like she was trying to physically wipe away the emotions. When she looked up, there was a faint glint of steel back in her green eyes.

"When?" she asked.

Damian smiled a little. Not a cocky grin. Just a small, relieved curve of his lips.

"Tonight," he said. "Once Cassius finishes prepping the equipment and my shadows finish sweeping the entrance."

Selena nodded slowly, her silver hair swaying with the motion. "Alright. I'm in."

Damian stood up fully, offering her a hand.

She hesitated.

Then took it.

He pulled her easily to her feet, steadying her when she wobbled slightly.

"Thank you," he said seriously.

Selena looked up at him—really looked—and for a second, the room felt smaller. Warmer.

Less about plots and politics and bloodlines.

More about two people who refused to leave each other behind.

"You're welcome," she whispered.

Damian cleared his throat and released her hand, stepping back to grab his gear from the bedside.

"Alright," he said briskly, shifting the mood back toward focus. "First rule of tonight's operation—"

"Don't die?" Selena guessed.

Damian smirked. "Close. But no, the first rule is: if I tell you to run, you run."

Selena crossed her arms. "I'm not leaving you behind either."

"You say that now," Damian muttered. "But wait until you see what kind of monsters the Archive decided to hide in their basement."

Selena raised an eyebrow. "Monsters?"

Damian grinned—sharp and wolfish.

"Selena," he said, dead serious, "this is me we're talking about. Nothing is ever just books and scrolls."

"And yet somehow," she muttered under her breath, "I still agreed to this."

"You're welcome," Damian said brightly.

She groaned.

He laughed—a deep, unguarded sound that rumbled in his chest and somehow made the sealed room feel smaller. Warmer.

Selena crossed her arms and tried—really tried—to look unimpressed. But it was hard. Especially when Damian was looking at her like that—like the chaos of the world could wait another hour if she needed it.

She shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, suddenly too aware of the fact they were still inside a room sealed with mana locks.

No way out.

No one else around.

Just her... and him.

And gods, he was unfairly distracting when he wasn't actively throwing himself into mortal peril. His hair was still damp from his shower, messy in a way that should've looked ridiculous but somehow just emphasized the sharp lines of his jaw. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the blue sigils crawling faintly up his forearms—the visible proof of the insane power he carried now. The reminder that he wasn't just a Warlock.

He was Damian.

The man who refused to fall even when the world threw him into hell.

The same man who was now trying—stubbornly—to protect her.