Everything went quiet in that very "this is awkward now" way. Harvey held his breath until his lungs started to protest. Harvey held his breath so long his lungs started sending formal complaints. His heart was going absolutely feral in his chest, full panic-mode drum solo.
He was pressed so close to the stranger that it stopped being "strategic cover" and started being "why are we suddenly in a romance novel, I hate it here." He could actually feel the guy’s heartbeat.
And it was... infuriatingly calm.
Harvey had intended for the kiss to be a mere distraction. A tactical maneuver. A "nothing-to-see-here-folks" smoke screen. But as the seconds ticked by, the dynamics changed.
The stranger’s hands, which had been resting politely on Harvey’s waist, shifted slightly. The man’s hold tightened, and somehow that was way more concerning. Harvey immediately regretted being within arm’s reach, and then, the unthinkable happened.
The stranger started kissing him back.
It wasn’t a "shoo, get off me" kiss. Oh god, he thought, his eyes squeezed shut so hard he saw static. He’s actually into this. He thinks I’m some kind of roaming estate menace who just goes around tackling nobles in bushes for fun. If only I could explain. ’Sorry, sir, I’m actually just a normal office worker from another dimension and I’m currently fleeing a demon wedding, please don’t perceive this as something?’
But he couldn’t say any of that, his mouth was currently busy, and honestly, the whole thing sounded unhinged. The man tasted like cool night air and a spice Harvey couldn’t name. It was a kiss that felt like a trap, and yet, Harvey’s traitorous body was starting to lean into it.
Finally, the orange glow of the torches retreated. The footsteps faded into the distance, followed by a guard’s muffled voice complaining about something Harvey absolutely did not care to understand.
It worked. It actually, miraculously worked.
Harvey let out a shaky breath, wiping his brain back into factory settings, and tried to pull away, his face feeling like it was currently being toasted over an open flame. He was ready to give a quick "thanks for the assist" and bolt into the night like a bat out of hell. But the man didn’t move. In fact, his grip on Harvey’s waist didn’t loosen one bit. It was possessive. Very, very possessive.
"Okay," Harvey croaked. "You can let go now."
The man just tilted his head, his gaze dropping to Harvey’s lips for a second too long, tracing the curve of them with a focus that made Harvey’s skin prickle. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Surely you didn’t intend to stop right in the middle, did you? That would be... impolite."
His brain immediately crashed for the umpteenth time today. "Ahahaha! Funny! You’re a riot, Mister. But seriously, my hands are starting to sweat, my nose is throbbing, and I really have a very important appointment with a distant country. So, if you could..."
He tried to wiggle out of the man’s hold, feeling like a cat trying to escape a soapy bath. He was halfway to a semi-graceful exit when a new voice cut through the air.
"My Lord? I have been scouring this ridiculous shrubbery for nearly an hour. Where have you..."
The voice stopped dead.
Harvey looked over his shoulder and saw a man who looked like he’d been designed in a lab to make everyone else feel inadequate. He had long, shimmering silver hair that caught what little light was left in the garden, and a monocle resting over one sharp, emerald eye. He looked like a high-end accountant who also moonlighted as a very efficient assassin.
The silver-haired man stared at them. His gaze traveled from the man’s steady hands on Harvey’s waist to Harvey’s rumpled white suit and flushed face. The irritation faded, replaced by a very controlled, very unsettling kind of interest.
"Ah," the newcomer said. "I see I am interrupting... your bussiness."
"Aha! Yes! I mean, no!" Harvey answered, finally breaking free as the man’s grip loosened just enough for him to slip through. "Ok, so your friend is here! Great timing. I have to go too. Busy night. Okay, bye-bye!"
No reply needed. Harvey spun around and bolted into the darkness, heart absolutely going full nightclub mode in his chest.
He didn’t know if it was pure adrenaline or some weird, lingering residue of the "Haviel" body’s instincts, but he felt lighter. Faster. He took a bunch of turns that felt right, even though he had no idea why his feet were suddenly acting like they had a map. He didn’t see a single guard so far. No torches. No shouting. It was almost too easy.
I’m gonna make it, he thought, a desperate grin spreading across his face as the cool air hit his skin. I’m actually going to get out of this fan-fiction nightmare. I’ll find a village, trade this silk suit for some money, and figure the rest out after I find an inn or something.
He burst through the final line of hedges, his eyes fixed on the distant, dark silhouette of the outer walls. Freedom was right there. He could almost feel it.
And then, he stopped.
A wall of steel blocked his path. Not a literal wall, but a line of guards. He spun around, ready to double back into the greenery, only to find another squad closing in from the maze entrance. The circle was tightening.
"Lord Haviel," a guard said, his voice devoid of any warmth or patience. "The Duke is waiting. Please. Do not make us use force. It would be a shame to ruin the embroidery on your sleeves. It cost more than my house."
And just like that, the cat-and-mouse game ended. One moment, Harvey was breathing the sweet, cool air of freedom; the next, he was being escorted back into the Duke’s estate like a high-value prisoner being returned to a maximum-security wing.
When the door swung open, the servants were lined up, their faces as stiff as the starched linens they carried.
Harvey tried for a smile, a weak, wobbling thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Hey, guys."
The head maid didn’t move. She just stared at the leaf dangling from his left ear and the grass stain prominently decorating his white silk knee.
"I wasn’t running away, you know," Harvey added, his voice pitching up into that defensive territory that fooled absolutely no one. He dusted off his shoulder with a bit too much enthusiasm. "I was just... catching some fresh air."
The servants were there, but they weren’t chatting about flowers or the local gossip anymore. They circled him like sharks. Every time Harvey so much as glanced at the window, a maid would quietly, subtly step into his line of sight. He was being watched with so much intensity he felt like he was on trial for something he absolutely did not do.
"My Lord," the head maid said, her voice a flat, dangerous monotone. "The ’fresh air’ has managed to ruin a three-thousand-gold-piece tunic. Sit. Down. Now."
Harvey sat. He didn’t have much of a choice, especially since two of the larger guards were currently stationed by the window like living statues.
He sat on the vanity, his mind a chaotic mess of "What now?" and "How did I end up here?" But despite the looming doom of a demon-marriage, his thoughts kept drifting back to the maze.
The kiss.
He shouldn’t be thinking about it. He really, really shouldn’t. But the man was, and there was no other way to put it, a damn good kisser.
It wasn’t that Harvey had some exquisite, world-class experience in the kissing department. He was more of a "dinner and a movie, maybe a quick peck at the door" kind of guy. But that? That was different. It was intoxicating. It was like drinking high-proof whiskey after a lifetime of lukewarm water.
Focus, Harvey, he told himself, slapping his cheeks lightly with both hands. Information is power. Or at least a way to stall until you can find a window that isn’t guarded by a terrifying lady with a hairbrush.
"So," he said, trying to sound casual as a maid brushed out his hair for the third time that hour. "Let’s talk about the Demon Realm. Just out of curiosity. What are we looking at in terms of, say, weaknesses? Sunlight? Garlic?"
The maid paused, her eyes narrowing as she looked at his reflection in the mirror. "My Lord... you studied demons for three years. You know there is no such thing as a ’weakness’ for the King. He is the shadow that defines the light."
"Right, right," Harvey waved a hand dismissively, trying to ignore the chill that ran down his spine. "I just... I wanted to see if you knew. It was a test for you. Now, how about the history? Why do we need this wedding again? Can’t we just... I don’t know, sign an agreement?"
The maid sighed like she was actively negotiating with the universe for better employment. "My Lord, we’ve been ’signing agreements’ for hundreds of years. All it bought us was a pile of broken promises and enough dead soldiers to fill the Great Valley twice over," she muttered, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. "Demons don’t care about ink on parchment. They don’t respect borders drawn on a map. To them, a treaty is just a suggestion they ignore whenever they get hungry for more land."
Harvey wanted to say more, but the door swung in with dramatic timing.
The Duke stepped in. He just looked at the maid. "Is he ready?" the Duke asked.
He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned his gaze toward Harvey.
"Stand up," the Duke commanded.
Harvey’s legs felt heavy, like someone had poured concrete into them while he wasn’t looking. This was it. The point of no return. The grand finale of his very short, very confusing life as a noble.
The Duke headed for the door, cape dramatically following like it was in its own slow-motion scene. He paused and looked back.
"The ceremony is about to begin. The Demon King is waiting at the altar. Do not embarrass the Elsher name further, Haviel."
Harvey looked at the window one last time.
God, Harvey thought as he took his first step toward the hallway, the sound of his own heart drowning out the wedding bells. I really, really should have read those books before I died.