The grand hall echoed with the fading melodies of laughter. The dinner had ended, yet the tension still lingered like an invisible mist.
Seraphine stood by the towering windows, her crimson gown pooling at her feet like spilled wine, her gaze lost beyond the marbles arches into the dark night.
She could feel it - a presence, dark and heavy, threading through the air like smoke.
Watching.
Burning.
Her pulse fickered, her instincts sharpening. No enemy lurked here....and yet.
Somewhere beyond the candlelight, behind the veils of shadows, someone hungered.
Before she could chase the ghostly sensation, a voice broke through the spell - smooth, polished and human.
"Can't sleep either? "he stepped closer - not enough to impose , but enough that she could catch the scent of cedar clinging to him.
Seraphine turned to find Prince Evander Thorne, the soft lamplight gliding the golden strands of his hair. His blue eyes, too bright for the dimness, held a gentleness that disarmed her.
"I find peace is often a stranger, after nights like these, "he said offering a smile that was too sincere to be harmless.
She arched a brow, studying him. He doesn't see it... She thought.
Still, she nodded, allowing a thread of vulnerability slipping through her iron armor.
For once, it felt... Safe.
" I know we were born into a world that demands more blade than heart, "he said quietly, " But, perhaps....for tonight.... you can let yourself be just Seraphine. "
The words simple as they were, struck something deep within her.
For a fleeting moment, she wished to believe him.
To believe there could be something soft for her too.
Evander offered his hand - not demanding, but waiting.
Slowly, Seraphine placed her hand on his.
The night air was cool as Seraphine and Evander stepped into the palace's garden, where moonlight spilled like silver over stone and leaf.
The world outside the walls breathed differently - freer, softer.
And for a rare moment, so did she.
Evander held her hand gently - never pulling, never pushing.
He simply was there. For her.
"You know, " Evander said after a stretch of quiet, "they tell tales of you even beyond our borders. Of the Vermillion Fang. "
His words stirred something bittersweet in her. She turned her face away, letting her hair shield her expression.
"Tales are often spun easily, "she murmured, " The truth is too heavy to carry. "
Evander stopped walking.
Gently, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear - an intimate, hesitant gesture.
"You don't have to carry it alone. "
His voice was low, almost a vow.
Seraphine blinked up at him, the fierceness in her eyes softening.
Could she trust it?
Could she trust him?
God. She wanted to.
Before she could answer, the wind shifted and along with it, that familiar burn kissed the back of her neck.
Valen.
Invisible. Yet everywhere. A silent growl against the intimacy blooming between Seraphine and the golden prince.
Seraphine straightened, she looked beyond Evander, into the dark, expecting the shadows to step forward.
But nothing came.
Only the night, heavy, breathless.