Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, warming the edge of the bed and catching in her hair as she sat up.
She dressed in care….
One of the practical gowns the palace had provided: long sleeves fitted enough not to snag, fabric light enough to move in.
She tied her hair back, fingers already itching for soil, for work, for something real beneath her hands.
At the small desk by the window, she wrote down her needs with precision.
At the very bottom of the list, she added one more item, her hand pausing for just a second before writing: A small blade.
She folded the paper and handed it to the guard standing outside.
“I need these, please,” she said.
The guard didn’t argue.
He bowed and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.
But the list didn’t go to the palace servants or the storage vaults.
Following the King’s standing orders, it went straight to Auren.
Auren was preparing for the day’s formal duties.
He looked every bit the ruler he was, standing tall with his silver crown held in his hand, his presence filling the room with quiet authority.
The guard knelt before him, offering the folded parchment.
“My lord.
These were requested by the Lady.
And…
there is a blade on the list.”
Auren took the paper, his silver eyes scanning her neat handwriting.
His expression remained unreadable, but a small spark of amusement flickered deep in his gaze.
He knew why she wanted it…the thorns of the rare plants he’d promised her wouldn’t cut themselves.
“Bring her everything else, except the blade.
” Auren continued, handing the list back.
“The finest quality, I want no expense spared.
See to it immediately.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Once the guard had retreated and the door was sealed, Auren turned to his desk.
He opened a small, private drawer and reached inside.
He pulled out a narrow, elegant silver blade with a handle made of polished black stone.
It was balanced, precise, and far more refined than anything a common guard could provide.
It was a weapon, yes, but it was also a work of art.
If his “cage” was going to carry a blade, he would ensure it was one he had chosen for her himself.
He tucked the silver knife into the folds of his robes, ready to deliver it in person.
Evryn’s door was already open when he reached it, the morning light spilling into the corridor like an invitation.
He knocked once, before stepping inside.
She turned, a natural brightness already in her expression.
“Good morning.”
Then she saw him properly.
The black robes were a revelation.
They possessed a structured weight, the fabric falling in clean, authoritative lines that lacked any common excess.
In his hand, he held the crown, the metal catching the early sun and throwing fractured light across the room.
He looked right.
He looked like the end of a long search.
Her smile shifted…slower, warmer, filled with a sudden, quiet certainty.
She stepped closer, her eyes tracing the silver embroidery of his robes with unabashed curiosity.
“That,” she said softly, “is exactly how you should always be.”
His brow lifted faintly “Is that so?”
“You’re finally in the right role,” she insisted.
She reached toward the crown deliberately, her movements slow, giving him every heartbeat to refuse her.
He didn’t.
With a silent, steady gaze, he placed the silver circlet into her hands.
She rose onto her toes, stretching to reach his head, but he was taller than her memory had served.
He took off his gloves and without a word, or even a break in his gaze, his hand came to her waist.
He lifted her lightly, his grip firm and effortless.
She felt the heat of his palms through her dress as she set the crown onto his head.
The silver settled perfectly against his dark hair, the stark black of his robes sharpening the lethal contrast of his features.
For a long, breathless moment, she forgot to step back.
She stayed there, suspended in his hold, her fingers lingering near his temples.
He lowered her gently, her boots clicking softly on the floor as her feet found the ground, but he didn’t pull his hand from her waist.
She did not move immediately.
Up close, she had seen him before…angry, amused, soaked in rain, dressed as a servant…but this was different.
The crown altered nothing about his features, yet it completed him.
The structure of his face, the quiet authority in his posture, the way the fabric felt clean and precise along his shoulders…it all fit too naturally.
Annoyingly naturally.
She forced herself to take a step back.
“You could have just bowed or knelt,” she said, as if she had not just been staring.
“I don’t bow,” he replied.
“And I don’t kneel, You should.”
She looked up at him, unimpressed…at least, that was the expression she arranged on her face.
“Why should I, I’m not a vampire.”
A small, genuine smile touched Auren’s mouth.
Her eyes lingered a second too long before she caught herself.
He was…
unfairly handsome like this.
Sharp.
Controlled.
Untouchable.
She shifted her weight slightly, pushing the thought away before it could root itself.
No wonder, she thought dryly, he never paid attention to the young maids at the farm.
No glances.
No indulgent smiles.
No lingering touches.
He hadn’t been being difficult; he had simply been out of place.
He is the ruler of an entire land.
What could those young maids possibly be compared to what he would expect from the woman beside him?
Good, she told herself.
Then he will never look at me the way I just looked at him, and she had to remind herself…firmly…that admiring the crown did not mean surrendering to it.
Auren noticed the way she was studying him, his silver eyes tracking the slight tension in her shoulders and the sudden, mysterious curve of her lips.
Watching her intently, he leaned in just a fraction closer, a quiet frustration mixed with deep fascination rippling through him.
If I only knew what you were thinking about, little bird, he thought, his gaze lingering on her face, it would be too easy for me to reach you.
Then he extended his hand.
The silver blade lay across his palm.
Her eyes lit instantly.
She took it with clear appreciation, turning it slightly, testing the balance.
“I love it, I’ll use it carefully,” she said, pleased.
“Thank you.”
“I know,” he answered.
She turned toward the door, purpose already pulling her forward.
“I’m going to start my work,” she said.
Then, glancing back once, “Good luck with yours.”
He watched her go….
And for the first time that morning, the weight of ruling felt simpler than the quiet satisfaction of knowing she had seen him exactly as he was.
The garden welcomed Evryn with quiet stillness.
Guards remained at the archway, far enough not to disturb her.
Evryn knelt immediately, fingers sinking into cool soil, and began selecting blooms at their strongest point…just before full opening, when scent and color were richest.
She trimmed stems at precise angles and placed them carefully into lined baskets, separating those meant for drying from those reserved for oil extraction. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Near the stone wall, she found a rare dark bloom edged in silver.
She recognized it from old texts…its scent clung stubbornly to skin for days.
She crouched before it.
“You’re powerful,” she murmured, studying the way the petals curved inward as if guarding something.
“But not on me…I have the exactly flower that can broke your scent”
She cut it cleanly.
“You’re belonging too fast.”
The voice was like silk, but it set her teeth on edge.
She didn’t turn right away; she knew it was Asric.
When she finally rose and turned, he was right there, taking the flower from her with a graceful, predatory ease.
“It’s beautiful,” he mused, his eyes on the bloom.
“And dangerous.
My favorite combination.”
“You shouldn’t touch things you don’t understand,” she replied, her voice cold.
Then came the question that felt like a blade in the dark.
“Them tell me, who loved you deeply enough to cast a forbidden spell for you?”
“No one,” she said, her answer immediate and sharp.
“No one loves me deeply except myself.”
Asric’s smile sharpened, a flicker of something dark crossing his face.
“Then you won’t mourn if Auren finds that person.
If it’s a man, Auren will kill him.
And perhaps…
you will be next.”
The threat was delivered with a terrifying gentleness, but Evryn didn’t flinch.
She looked him in the eye, stripping away every ounce of palace etiquette.
“Stop manipulating me.
I’m not in the mood, Asric.”
She snatched the flower back, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned her back on him to resume her work.
She moved with a stiff, focused precision, treating him as if he were nothing more than a passing gust of wind…invisible and insignificant.
It was a dangerous game to play with a man like Asric, but she refused to let him see her fear.
Asric watched her, his eyes unreadable and sharp.
“I’ll come back for you,” he whispered, the words so soft the wind almost carried them away before they could land.
Then, with a casual, haunting elegance, he turned and vanished into the cold stone corridors of the palace.
Evryn stood still for a long moment, the silence of the garden pressing in on her.
Asric’s words began to fester, and a cold, jagged doubt started creeping into her heart as she thought about Auren.
The reality of their gap hit her with a sickening weight.
He was a King of the Vampires, and she was nothing but a maid who worked for copper coins.
What if he really does intend to kill me?
she wondered, her breath hitching.
she knew that once the protection spell broke, he would be free of the magic that forced him to stay by her side.
She remembered the day she had spilled the dirty water on him, mocking his pride while he stood there, soaked and silent.
Oh my god, she thought, her face paling.
He has every right to snap my neck for the way I’ve treated him.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head violently to drive the images away.
“No,” she whispered to the empty air.
“We are close to each other now.
We are friends…
or something like it.”
She thought of the way he had looked at her in the market, the way he had shielded her and carried her when she was broken.
He wasn’t the same man from those first cold days; he wouldn’t hurt her.
A frustrated sigh escaped her as she gripped the flower stems.
“Damn that man,” she hissed, thinking of Asric’s lingering smirk.
He really knew how to manipulate people, planting seeds of poison in the one place she felt safe.