The air in the bedchamber froze solid.
Alistair didn’t drop his claymore, but the blinding yellow holy mana surging along the blade flickered, dimming just enough to cast deep, jagged shadows across his hard jaw and the silver scar slicing across it.
Ethan’s long silver hair swayed as he turned, his deep blue eyes widening in genuine, stunned shock.
Even Lucifer stood still, his crimson eyes narrowing as he evaluated the pale, staggering mess in the doorway.
Julian stood clutching the splintered oak frame, his knuckles white.
The black dragon-rot lines crisscrossing his exposed chest pulsed with an ominous, sickly light beneath his unbuttoned white shirt, but the wild, rabid look in his eyes was completely gone.
The striking blue irises that belonged to the Crown Prince of the Empire were clear, lucid, and drowned in absolute, agonizing guilt.
“Julian,” Alistair’s stern voice rumbled, though a thread of hesitation cut through his usual military discipline.
“You shouldn’t be out of the sanctuary infirmary.
The dragon rot—-” “I don’t give a damn about the rot, Alistair,” Julian rasped, his voice cracking like dry wood.
He pushed himself off the frame, swaying dangerously on his feet before steadying himself.
He ignored the commander, ignored the demon lord, and took three slow, agonizing steps into the room.
His blue eyes stayed glued to Roxanne.
Roxanne peeked out from behind her knees, her face still warm, but the sheer absurdity of the four-way standoff instantly dissolved into a knot of cold tension in her gut.
“Julian…
what the fuck are you talking about?” Julian stopped five feet from the edge of her bed.
He looked down at her, at her messy hair, her oversized cotton shirt falling off one shoulder, and the faintly glowing Key buried beneath the skin of her forearm.
“In the pocket dimension…
before the void collapsed,” Julian whispered, his hands trembling as he reached toward his chest, his voice dropping into a raw, hollow register.
“It wasn’t just the dragon’s curse driving me mad.
I…
I felt the shadow taking over, and I let it.” Ethan stepped forward, his white robes rustling.
“Your Highness, the dragon’s corruption manipulates the mind—-” “No, Ethan!” Julian snapped, a flash of his old royal authority cutting through the air before collapsing back into quiet despair.
He looked back at Roxanne, his chest heaving.
“When the curse took my mind, it fed on my absolute worst desires.
I saw you standing in that white void with Malakai…
with Lucifer…
and the dragon promised me that if I crushed them, if I broke the spatial core, you would have nowhere else to go.
You would have to stay with me.” A heavy, suffocating quiet fell over the room.
[OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!] The System’s shrieking suddenly detonated inside Roxanne’s skull, blinding her with a fresh wave of glittering pink hearts and dramatic anime tears.
[THE DARK YANDERE CONFESSION!
HE SINS FOR YOUR LOVE!
HE EMBRACED THE DRAGON’S ROT JUST TO KEEP YOU FROM LEAVING HIM!
HOST, THIS IS DRAMA OF THE HIGHEST ORDER!
DUAL-PHYSICAL TOUCH WAS JUST THE APPETIZER!
THIS IS THE ANGSTY MAIN COURSE!] Can you shut the fuck up for at least two minutes?!
Roxanne screamed mentally, her jaw aching as she ground her back teeth together.
The guy is having a mental breakdown and you’re eating popcorn!
“You tried to take my head off with a corrupted rot-sword, Julian,” Roxanne said out loud, her voice remarkably flat despite the storm raging in her chest.
“You almost collapsed a dimensional pocket on top of all of us.” Julian winced as if she’d struck him across the face.
He closed his blue eyes, his tall, broad frame shaking.
“I know.
And I can’t ask you to forgive me.
I can’t even ask you to look at me without disgust.” Slowly, carefully, the Crown Prince dropped to one knee on the plush carpet.
The imperial heir, the man destined to rule the entire continent, knelt right at the foot of her bed, his head bowed, his golden hair falling over his pale, scarred chest.
“I surrendered my crown the moment I let the shadow touch my heart,” Julian whispered to the floorboards.
“If you want my life to pay for what I did to you in that void, Roxanne…
take it.
I won’t raise a sword against you ever again.” Alistair’s grey eyes darkened, his hand tightening so hard on his claymore that the leather hilt groaned.
Ethan looked away, a heavy, pained expression settling onto his handsome features.
Beside her bed, Malakai watched the kneeling prince with a cold, unreadable expression in his glowing yellow eyes, his black-feathered arm twitching silently.
Lucifer merely smirked, though his crimson eyes held a calculating, dangerous glint.
Roxanne sat there, staring at the golden-haired prince on his knees, feeling an overwhelming headache blooming right behind her eyes.
“Get up,” Roxanne growled, pulling the blanket off her legs and swinging her feet over the side of the bed.
Julian hesitated, slowly lifting his head.
“Roxanne—-” “I said get the fuck up, Julian!” she yelled, her voice echoing off the stone walls.
She stood right in front of the kneeling prince, towering over him in her oversized white shirt and loose pants.
“I don’t want your fucking life,” Roxanne spat, her dark eyes flashing with pure, exhaustion-driven rage.
“I don’t want your crown, I don’t want your groveling, and I sure as shit don’t need another giant disaster man wallowing in tragic guilt on my floor!
You got possessed by a dragon shadow because you’re a dumbass with control issues.
Own it, fix your damn arm, and stop acting like a sacrificial martyr!” Julian blinked, his blue eyes wide, completely stunned by her explosive, un-regal tirade.
A faint, genuine breath of a laugh escaped his lips before he quickly caught himself, his gaze locking onto her with an intensity that made her stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip.
“You…
you really are unbelievable,” Julian murmured softly, a small, pained smile touching his mouth.
“You should hate me.” “I hate everyone in this room right now!” Roxanne barked, waving her arm wildly at the entire group.
“Alistair breaking my door!
Ethan suffocating me with holy light!
Lucifer acting like a sleazy landlord!
Malakai sneaking in like an alley cat!
And you kneeling here like we’re in some shitty tragic opera!
I’m completely manaless, I spent hours physically dragging you idiots around, my muscles feel like jelly, and I am *done*!” Without waiting for another word, Roxanne turned right back around, climbed onto her bed, pulled the heavy blanket all the way over her head, and curled into a tight ball.
“If anyone speaks, breathes too loud, or tries to do another dramatic scene,” her muffled voice threatened from under the blanket, “I will bite you.
I am going to sleep.
Get out or shut up.” The five men blinked in stunned silence.
Within less than two minutes, the sheer physical toll of her manaless body dragging these massive men around all day caught up to her, sinking her straight into a heavy, deep sleep.
The five men stood frozen in the middle of the broken bedchamber.
A heavy, watchful silence fell over the room.
None of them were willing to leave her side, nor were they willing to leave the others alone with her.
Around two in the morning, the room was dimly lit by the soft blue glow of the starlight spell Ethan had woven over the shattered doorway to block the cold midnight draft.
Ethan stood closest to the edge of the mattress, his white robes pooling softly around his boots.
His striking blue eyes were fixed on Roxanne’s quiet, sleeping face.
Slowly, reverently, the High Priest reached out with a trembling hand, aiming to tuck a stray strand of dark hair away from her cheek so she could breathe easier.
Just as his long, slender fingers hovered an inch above her cheek, Roxanne shifted in her sleep.
Instinctively seeking warmth and comfort, her dream-addled, non-magical brain registered the gentle, soothing heat emanating from the priest.
With a soft, instinctive hum, Roxanne reached out from beneath the blanket, caught Ethan by his white silk sleeve, and yanked him down.
“Ah—-” Ethan gasped, completely caught off guard.
His foot caught the edge of the rug, and he stumbled forward, crashing straight onto the mattress beside her.
Before Ethan could scramble up, four lethal threats instantly materialized.
Alistair’s claymore cleared its scabbard by two inches with a sharp steel click; Malakai dropped silently from the ceiling beam like a shadow with two daggers drawn; Lucifer’s crimson eyes flashed with a terrifying, predatory glare; and Julian took a sudden, defensive step forward, his blue eyes narrowing sharply.
“Get off her, Priest,” Alistair growled in a dark, lethal whisper, stepping toward the bed to drag him out.
“Wait—-” Ethan hissed, trying to pull his arm back.
The moment the four men stepped in to yank Ethan off the mattress, Roxanne let out an annoyed, sleep-heavy grunt, her dark eyebrows furrowing tightly in her sleep.
She turned on her side, throwing her left arm completely over Ethan’s chest and dragging him back down, burying her hot, flushed face directly against the crook of his neck.
The four men froze dead in their tracks.
Alistair’s hand hovered in mid-air; Malakai’s daggers stayed inches away; Lucifer’s jaw clenched tight.
No one dared make a sound or move another inch, utterly terrified that the slightest disturbance or struggle would wake her up.
“Do not wake her,” Julian whispered through gritted teeth, his knuckles turning pure white as an agonizing pang of heavy jealousy shot straight through his chest.
Lucifer’s smirk vanished completely, replaced by a dark, suffocating scowl as his crimson eyes bored into the High Priest.
“If you breathe too loudly, Church boy, I will personally peel you.” Alistair looked like he was swallowing glass, his massive jaw clenched so hard his silver scar turned white.
They had no choice.
They had to let Ethan lay right beside her, watching with a thick, suffocating wave of envy burning in their chests as she wrapped herself around him.
Ethan, meanwhile, felt like his entire world had just detonated.
Trapped beneath her weight, he couldn’t move.
Roxanne had wrapped herself around him like a human pillow, her soft, delicate body pressed tightly against his side.
The warmth of her cheek pressed into his throat was blindingly intense.
Then, Roxanne nuzzled her nose deeper into his neck, letting out a long, contented sigh.
“Mmm…” she murmured, sleep-talking softly into his skin, her breath tickling his collarbone.
“So soft…
smooth…
mmm, smells like sweet rain and white flowers…
best pillow ever…” A nuclear-level blush instantly exploded across Ethan’s face.
The flush traveled straight up his neck, dusting his high cheekbones in a burning, vivid pink, spreading all the way to the sharp tips of his ears.
His breath hitched in his throat.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
THUMP-THUMP.
Ethan’s heart began to hammer against his ribs so wildly, so violently, that he was genuinely terrified Roxanne would feel the pounding through her chest.
He was a High Priest of the Sun Church.
He was bound by sacred vows of purity, spiritual detachment, and holy devotion.
Passion, romantic attachment, and worldly desires were strictly forbidden by the highest divine canons of his order.
He had spent his entire life remaining untouched, pure, and emotionally unyielding.
And yet, as he lay there in the dark, held hostage by a manaless, chaotic girl who was currently sleep-talking about his scent and using him as a cushion, Ethan felt a deep, terrifying crack shatter through his sacred vows.
He looked down at her dark eyelashes resting peacefully against her smooth cheeks.
He listened to her quiet, even breathing, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his.
A-am I… Ethan realized, his blue eyes widening in quiet, breathless panic as a sweet, intoxicating warmth bloomed right in the center of his chest.
Am I…
falling for her..??