Diab!o

IKEVIL :

-> You're not the only one working!

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SAJA Boys : GROUP

-> Demon Boys' and Sharing

-> Demon Boys' and Others With You

-> Demon Boys' and Jealousy

-> Demon Boys' and Snuggles

-> Demon Boys' and Sexy Dance

-> Demon Boys' and Soda Pop

-> Demon Boyz: Spiked Drink

-> Demon Boyz: Break up?

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

SAJA Boys : Separately

🍼 Baby

-> What's Affection ?

-> Reader Falling on Another's Shoulder

Lanterns hung in deliberate lines between trimmed hedges, their glow soft against the night. Roses climbed along wrought frames, their petals catching the light in quiet flashes of red and ivory. Beyond them, a broad stone terrace opened out, pale slabs laid in patterns that looked careless until you followed them twice, bordered by thick rose bushes threaded with fine strings of light that flickered like distant stars.

Music carried across the clearing, steady and measured. The rhythm of the ball pulled people into motion. Pairs turned across the stone in slow, hypnotic cycles, dresses brushing the ground, shoes gliding in time with the swell of the orchestra.

Everything held a kind of deliberate beauty, arranged just enough to feel effortless.

Right. The mission.

I blinked again and forced my thoughts into place, turning toward him, pulling my focus away from the terrace and its glow.

Harry was already looking at me, his expression unchanged as he repeated the same answer William had given to my question.

Was there anything that could make this easier?

I held his gaze a second too long, my mind still slow to catch up on the conversation.

A breath slipped past my lips before I could stop it. My thoughts stalled, emptied, leaving only the simplest response.

“Huh?”

He gave me a brief, faintly judgmental look that vanished as quickly as it came. His attention shifted past me, scanning the garden. People moved, talked, laughed, all of them absorbed in themselves with no one looking at them, yet.

Then he looked back at me.

We had chosen a spot near the tables lined with drinks and food so we could go over the plan without drawing attention. That had been the idea, at least, before I let myself drift, caught off guard by how beautiful everything had been put together.

I should have been used to this by now. High society events weren’t new to me after joining the Crown.

But being part of them without it turning into a mess of blood or tension was.

For a moment, it made me feel like something else entirely.

Like I belonged here.

The dress didn't help my drifting attention either.

I had meant to wear teal to match Harry, but instead, when I returned to my room after my last session with William, I found a gown laid out across my bed.

Victor, most likely. He had already given me the shoes I was wearing now, ones I had finally learned to walk in without thinking about every step.

I hadn’t hesitated to pick it up then.

I still remember how the soft fabric spilt under my hands. Strapless, the bodice deep black at the top, fading into soft lavender and blush, scattered with fine points of gold that caught the light like distant stars.

A thin silver belt drew in at my waist, tied with a small bow, and the skirt fell in layered ruffles that moved with the slightest motion, each step sending a quiet shimmer through it.

It matched the shoes too well to ignore.

And Harry, in darker shades of teal, didn’t clash with it. If anything, it made the contrast look intentional.

I let out a quiet breath.

Before my thoughts could drift again, his voice cut back in and held them there.

“When I was practising with Alfons and Elbert,” he said, his expression tightening slightly, “Alfons got tired of me leading him like a ‘brute.’”

I pressed my lips together, dipping my head as a smile slipped through anyway, barely holding back my laughter. The glance Harry gave me before looking ahead again made it clear he wasn’t amused.

With a quiet sigh, he continued, “So I was forced into the follow role while Alfons took the lead.”

I watched him, the amusement settling deeper as a faint flush crept across his cheeks. His eyes closed for a moment, shoulders dropping, and I found myself leaning in slightly, drawn in despite myself.

“Let’s just say…” he went on, “I learned very quickly that no matter how skilled the lead is, if the follow doesn’t trust themselves and them, the dance looks stiff. Same the other way around.”

His teal eyes turned to me then, steady, clear, leaving no space to look away. I held his gaze.

“If the lead doesn’t trust themselves and the follow,” he added, “it looks even worse.”

Right. William had said the same thing.

“So,” Harry said, quieter now, “I know trust isn't something that goes hand in hand with a 'Lying fox', but I promise to lead you properly. All I’m asking is that you trust me, Robin.”

He said it with a kind of earnestness that caught me off guard. It pulled a smile from me before I could stop it, something lighter, more playful, as I leaned slightly closer.

His expression shifted at once, wary, and he leaned back just enough to keep the space.

I reached out and poked his arm. “Was that a promise I heard?” I asked, tilting my head. “Should I draft a contract? Just in case I need compensation when you fail to follow through?”

I grinned.

He didn’t hesitate. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression flattening.

“You spend too much time with Jude...” he muttered.

It was quiet, but with how close we stood, I caught it easily.

Something in my chest tightened.

Why is my heart beating so fast?

I turned forward quickly, lifting a hand to my cheek, feeling the warmth there, trying to ignore it. I opened my mouth to respond, to brush it off-

“We should join them next round.”

Harry's calm voice cut in first. His tone even.

I followed his gaze to the dance floor. The music was nearing its end, the last notes stretching thin by each passing second.

“People are starting to stare.”

I glanced around. A few heads turned away the moment I looked, their attention snapping elsewhere as if it had never been on us. Each of them held either a flute of sparkling wine or a fragile plate carrying something delicate and entirely unfulfilling.

Right. We had been standing here for too long without moving and without so much as touching the food or drink laid out before us.

My gaze drifted over the assortment. It looked good, carefully arranged, expensive in a way that was meant to impress, but the tension sitting tight in my abdomen made it clear I would not be able to stomach any of it.

Besides-

Even if it might help us blend in, getting drunk would be a mistake.

Neither Harry nor I handled liquor well, and we needed to stay sharp. Our focus had to remain on the duchess and on getting her to take Harry somewhere private so he could find proof. Proof that she was tied to the nobles she had been accused of supplying, the young men she lured in and sold off, keeping a few for herself.

What a foul woman.

My brows drew together slightly as the thought settled, my gaze lowering for a moment before I forced it steady again.

I swallowed and looked back at the floor as the dancers began to slow, their movements easing with the fading music. It had looked effortless at first, but the longer I looked, the more I saw the tension in their steps, the careful placement of each foot to avoid the uneven gaps between the stones.

I would always be grateful to William for making me train on worse.

The final notes faded, and the pairs came to a stop, bowing with practised grace.

A hand extended into my line of sight.

I followed it up to its owner and met Harry’s eyes. He dipped into a small, elegant bow, a soft, restrained smile on his lips.

“May I, my lady?”

The formality sat slightly awkwardly on his tongue, the Queen’s speech precise but not entirely natural.

I smiled, steadier now, and placed my hand in his. His fingers closed around mine, warm and firm-

-and for a brief second, another memory cut through. Longer fingers, bonier, wrapping more fully around my hand.

Gone as quickly as it came.

I straightened, letting it pass, and stepped forward with him.

My heels soon began to click softly against the stone as we moved toward the floor. I kept my expression composed, offering small smiles and polite nods to those passing us, while my eyes moved past them, searching.

No sign of the Duchess.

Strange...

I came to a stop as Harry did. My gaze drifted past the shifting pairs around us, catching for a brief moment on a flash of deep purple among the brighter colours before my attention was pulled forward by the warm hand that settled against the bare skin of my lower back.

There was a tremor in it - slight enough to go unnoticed by anyone else, but not by me.

A far cry from William's steady confidence.

I stepped a fraction closer, closing the gap the way I had been taught, placing my hand lightly on Harry's shoulder as he lifted our joined hands into position.

I looked up at him.

Ready? I mouthed.

He exhaled through his nose, already tired of this, but gave a small nod, a faint smile pulling at his lips.

The music began again.

Around us, the dancers began to move, and so did we.

.

.

.

If I thought I understood what William meant by “trust” during our practice, moving through this routine among so many others made it clear I had not.

I caught myself just before nearly colliding with another pair, the misstep sending a sharp jolt up my leg as my footing slipped, and Harry adjusted seamlessly.

His hold steadied, his footwork remained precise, and he guided us cleanly out of the path of oncoming bodies, drawing us inward for a brief moment near the centre before easing us back out into the outer circles without breaking the flow.

At least that was something I understood.

The centre drew eyes. It turned a pair into something to be watched, admired, but also judged, measured, and talked about.

Not ideal for those of us only pretending to belong.

I tightened under his lead as we moved, his steps settling into the music with an ease that forced me to follow rather than meet him. My body lagged half a beat behind, correcting itself too late each time.

I glanced up at him, a quiet apology slipping into my expression. His gaze met mine for a moment, steady and unreadable, before shifting away again as his attention returned to the dance.

The only sign that he too wasn't natural and had to concentrate so he wouldn't make a mistake.

But still...

“You really are good,” I murmured, low enough for him alone as I leaned slightly into him.

His hold faltered for a fraction of a second before settling again, drawing me a little closer.

“Don’t undermine yourself,” he said, voice even, though softer than usual. “Whatever William put you through is making this easier.”

As he spoke, he turned us, guiding my body with his. I caught the shift too late. I was meant to move lightly with it, a small lift, a clean step-

My grip tightened instead.

The edge of my shoe caught against the stone.

For a split second, everything tipped-

-and then he adjusted, seamlessly. He turned the misstep into motion, carrying it through, lowering and lifting me in a way that looked intentional, quickening our pace just enough to not collide with the pair beside us before settling back into rhythm.

No one noticed.

I winced. “Sorry,” I muttered, letting my cheek rest briefly against his chest as I exhaled, trying to loosen the tension in my body, to stop thinking about every gap beneath my heels.

His hand at my back tightened-

-and then he pinched me.

I straightened at once, blinking up at him with a sharp look. “Ow!  What was that for?”

He glanced at me, a teasing edge to his expression before his focus shifted back to the steps, guiding us through a turn that carried us neatly around another pair, further from the centre.

“For saying something stupid,” he said.

I huffed, squeezing his hand in response. His fingers tensed before I eased my grip again, still glaring up at him.

“I’m being honest,” I said under my breath. “You’re avoiding everyone like you’ve been doing this your whole life.”

I risked a glance around us and immediately regretted it. The movement blurred the edges of my vision, the motion of the dancers folding into one another as the tempo picked up, the sharp clicks of shoes threading through the music.

I looked back at him, grounding myself against his lean profile.

He let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh as he turned us again, slipping past another pair without breaking stride.

“Maybe,” he said. “But that has less to do with skill and more with knowing how to avoid inconveniences.”

He said it so lightly it drew a short huff of laughter from me. Whether he meant it or not, the faint smirk at the corner of his mouth made the intent clear. He wanted to ease the tension in me.

At least, I think so.

Harry was the most rational among the Crown. With him, it felt like I was back in my old life. Even though I had grown into this new one, learned its weight and its edges, around him, I could set some of it down and find comfort in the past I left behind.

Although-

Part of me questioned it. His curse sat between every word he spoke, a quiet distortion that wrapped truth in something just off. Any sincerity he held could be veiled without his knowing, bent by something unseen rather than his choice.

If he felt normal to me, it might only be because that same curse softened whatever lay beneath, smoothing it into something easier to accept.

Like Jude, and the way people forgot to invite him.

It was only a theory, but it settled too cleanly in my mind to dismiss.

We continued the dance, and the music soon began to thin, the arrangement loosening as it edged towards its close. If we meant to catch the Duchess’s eye, we were failing.

What to do? What to do?

My brows drew together as I glanced to the side, letting it look as though I yielded entirely to Harry’s lead while I checked my footing, careful not to misstep.

I didn't try to guide him, so when our path shifted, angling us inward, I lifted my gaze.

He was steering us towards the centre.

My pulse struck hard against my ribs. I looked up at him, eyes wide enough to speak for me: What are you doing?

He caught it, just for a moment. His expression flickered - thoughtful, edged with apology - before he turned us cleanly with the music.

“I know it’s not the smartest move to put a spotlight on us,” he said under his breath, “but if we stay in the background, the Duchess won’t notice me. And there are other young men here who fit her taste.”

He spun me, the motion drawing me closer without effort. His focus sharpened, and I felt the shift the instant his step faltered. I adjusted before it showed, carrying us through the turn without breaking stride, then eased him back into the lead as if nothing had happened.

His widened eyes met mine, a quiet flash of gratitude passing between us before he continued.

I exhaled. He was growing restless; that much was clear, yet he still held himself back, no doubt seeing through whatever mask I had not realised I was wearing.

It wouldn't have surprised me if he already knew I was still tense.

I caught my lower lip between my teeth and glanced towards the centre of the floor, then lifted my gaze back to him. There was a flicker of hesitation, but I held it steady.

“Let’s do it.” I gave a small nod.

Harry returned only a brief look, his expression unreadable at first, before his eyes sharpened to match my resolve. He nodded back.

We angled towards the centre. I made sure each step followed his lead as he guided us through the shifting patterns of dancers, weaving between them with controlled precision. A few I passed met my eyes, surprise clear in their expressions as we moved through their space.

My heart thudded harder the closer we drew. I drew in slow breaths, but they did little to steady me. My hand tightened around his without thinking. He squeezed back, his gaze hardening for a fraction of a second before softening, his features loosening into something gentler, his eyes taking on a quiet, almost guileless look as we neared the centre.

A performance for the duchess and everyone present.

I swallowed and looked away, fixing my focus to the side. The centre drew closer with every step, every turn.

Just a few more-

The next movement twisted me into place. I expected the final turn to carry us forward, but the pressure at my hand vanished-

-?!

In the same motion, the hand that had held mine a moment ago was taken by another. Longer fingers closed around mine, firm and unyielding, while a second hand settled at my lower back and drew me in against a different chest. The tobacco scent reached me first, combined with-

A sandalwood?

By the time my mind caught up, we had already come to a stop. The music fell silent with us, the surrounding pairs pausing in unison, and my body moved on instinct, dipping into a bow.

As I straightened, my eyes met a familiar shade of amethyst. It held a glint I didn't recognise, something sharp beneath the surface, before easing into the familiar dark, self-satisfied smirk that narrowed my gaze in return.

Jude? What is he- wait. Harry.

I turned quickly, searching for Harry, but only caught a glimpse of teal among the shifting colours as the pairs adjusted, some remaining, others exchanging with different pairs.

There- Ah. He’s with her!

Before I could dwell on the brief flicker of relief at seeing Harry with the duchess, a quiet click of the tongue pulled my attention back.

I barely had time to react before Jude took my hand, lifting it with practiced ease and guiding it into place. His other hand returned to my back, firm and certain as it drew me closer, just as the music shifted and a new rhythm filled the room.

This time, there was no careful restraint in the lead. Unlike Harry's, Jude's steps carried a confidence that forced me to follow, each movement sharper, broader, leaving me acutely aware of every placement of my feet.

“Jude,” I hissed under my breath, catching the melody as it rose again, something about it tugging faintly at my memory.

Wait… I’ve heard this-

His voice cut through the thought, low and rough, drawing my gaze upward as he led me through a wider turn. His stride stretched the pattern, forcing me to adjust, to keep up, my steps landing quicker against the stone.

“Hah? Wot are ya hissin for, princess?”His smirk deepened. “It’s rude to stare at someone else an’ ignore yer partner.”

My heart gave a sharp jolt at the word, even if I knew he was referring to himself as my "dance" partner.

Before I could answer, he spun me out and drew me back in with ease, the motion seamless, his timing exact as he turned us with the music as though it were second nature.

I huffed under my breath. Show-off.

I looked up, glaring. He only looked down at me, that same smirk set in place.

“Harry was my dance partner. It’s natural I’d be concerned,” I said, settling into the pace he set. My attention shifted from keeping up to him; my steps fell in line without thought as I let him lead.

Jude scoffed, glancing aside before his gaze returned to me, a thin layer of disinterest settling over his expression.

“Weren’t you lot meant to draw the attention of that brazen noble hussy?” he asked, the faint edge of mockery clear in his tone.

My lips parted. I didn't know what I was about to say, only that I would defend the plan.

He, however, didn't give me the chance.

He lifted our joined hands, dipping me back in a controlled arc as he turned us. My breath caught as the world tilted, my balance held entirely by him, leaving me no choice but to meet his gaze.

Amethyst held mine, steady and unbroken.

For a moment, I forgot to breathe.

He drew me back upright, and the emptiness in my mind lingered, my chest light, unguarded. It left me unprepared for the next shift. His hands moved, firm at my hips, and before I could react, I was lifted cleanly off the ground. My hands came up to his shoulders on instinct as he turned us, the motion smooth and deliberate.

I didn't even realise he had carried us to the centre.

He set me down without a break in rhythm. My hand settled against his shoulder while the other found his extended hand. The fabric of my skirt gathered between our palms where I had lifted it without noticing, and his hand returned to my waist as he guided us forward.

The space around us widened.

I only noticed because the colour and movement at the edges of my vision fell away, leaving a stillness that hadn’t been there before.

I didn’t look away, however. I kept my gaze on him, wide and searching, while his never left mine.

What is happening…?

I could feel my body easing despite the confusion. The steps shifted into something unfamiliar, patterns I didn't recognise, yet I followed without resistance. Here, at the centre, there were no strict rules. A pair could move as they pleased.

I forgot what we had been speaking about.

The rhythm carried us across the stones, each step placed without thought, until I saw it - the smirk returning to his face, softer now, but no less sharp.

“Seems like ya two were ‘avin’ a bit too much fun an’ forgot,” he said. “Naive bird. Got swayed by the lazy fox.”

There was something beneath it, something restrained behind the curve of his mouth.

It struck deeper than I expected.

I looked up at him, my gaze hardening. He met it with a hollow smirk as he turned us again, the melody threading through the movement, still tugging faintly at my memory.

“We were about to,” I said, my voice steady, “before someone decided to interfere.”

As I spoke, I shifted my footing, aiming to bring my heel down against his.

He moved aside with ease.

The step carried him behind me, his grip never loosening on my extended hand. It was only when he moved out of my direct line of sight that I fully realised where we were - and just how many eyes were on us.

My expression faltered. The realisation set in, cold and sharp, but before it could surface fully, he drew me back against him. The gold chain across his chest brushed faintly against my bare back, the contact sending a brief shiver through me as he took my other hand and turned me away from the watching crowd.

He led me without hesitation, guiding me into a sequence I didn't know, his movements assured, controlled.

The attention around us slipped from focus, pulled away by the closeness and the rhythm he set.

Then his voice reached me, low and drawn out near my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

“Ah. That’s right,” he murmured. “I did help ya.”

I shot him a glare over my shoulder, but he turned me before I could hold it, spinning me back into him. My hands were caught in his as he stepped back, forcing me forward in quick succession.

I barely registered the gaps between the stones before he settled us into a familiar pattern, though wider now, less restrained.

“Wot’s that cute look for, eh?” he said. “Ya owe me, princess. If I adn’t stepped in, ya two’d still be stumblein’ about like kids all night.”

At his smirk, at the ease in his tone, my eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

Jude exhaled, long and unimpressed. His hand slipped from my waist as he sent me into a turn, extending our arms between us before leading me forward. I matched his steps, my gaze fixed on him.

“Think,” he said. “Who d’you see that lyin’ fox with?”

The Duchess... But-

My steps faltered for half a beat before catching again, my eyes lifting sharply to his.

Wait.

“You-” The word broke off as he pulled me in without warning. A short sound left me as I spun straight into his hold, his hands catching me at my sides. Heat rose to my face as he angled us, then turned me out again, guiding us back into the familiar pattern as he led us across the floor.

“Took ya long enough,” he said. “Song’s nearly over.”

He widened the movements, stretching the steps, but I followed without thinking.

My thoughts had shifted.

They settled instead on the music.

Dark, familiar, threaded with something I could not place until-

A single note.

My breath stilled. My body loosened, tension slipping free as my eyes fell closed, a small smile breaking through before I could stop it.

“Huh? Wot are you-”

“I... kno-ow you,” I murmured, the words falling into place with the melody. “I walked with you... once... up-pon a dream…”

His lead slowed. I felt the change in his steps, the rhythm shifting until it fell in time with my voice rather than the orchestra. I kept my eyes closed, letting the familiar tune settle in my chest as I hummed it under my breath, then shaped it into words that felt almost recognisable on my tongue.

“I… know… you… that gleam in your eyes.... is so familiar a gleam…”

“Wot are ya doin’?”

I fluttered my eyes open, still caught in the rhythm, the smile lingering despite the confusion in his expression.

“This song,” I said, “it was in one of the plays Liam performed.”

He dipped me lightly, his hold steady as he turned us and drew me back up without effort. His expression shifted, faintly amused, though the boredom lingered beneath it.

“O-oh? The Brothers Grimm version of Sleepin' Beauty, was it?”

The flatness of his tone almost made me miss it.

“Yes- it was incredible! A bit darker than the one from Sir Perrault, but still very enjoyable. And Liam was- wait.”

The realisation struck mid-sentence. My eyes widened as I looked up at him.

“How did you- hey-”

He used the opening to turn me again, pulling me back against him. This time the contact was firmer, the press of the gold across his chest catching against my back. I flinched at the sting, yet the sensation drew a shiver through me all the same, his hold unyielding as he guided us into a slow sway.

Everything else fell away.

The music dulled. The movement blurred.

All I could register was him, the sharp line of gold at my back, the warmth behind it, and the steady rhythm of his breath near my ear.

I didn't need to see his expression to know he was smirking - I could feel it, faint against the edge of my ear.

“But if I… know you…” he murmured, his voice low and silky, carrying the melody in the proper Queen's English, “I know what you’ll do…”

Another shiver ran through me as he turned me again, drawing me in. My arm was guided up around his neck while his other hand settled at my back, pulling me closer until my palm pressed flat against his chest.

Our faces drew near, close enough that our breaths brushed.

I stared, caught, my thoughts slipping loose.

He didn't look away.

“You lo-oved me at once,” he finished softly, the smirk never leaving his face, “the way you did once u-upon… a dream…”

—

I did not even hear the music stop.

I remained fixed on his eyes, the amethyst seeming softer beneath the fairy lights as he dipped me slowly, that same smirk curving his mouth - less irritating now, but still edged with something sharp that only made me catch my breath.

My heart stumbled as I searched his expression-

A sound cut through it.

THUD.

Then another.

My attention snapped away. The illusion shattered as I took in the scene around us. It was not the music that had slowed and stopped - people had dropped, one after another, the orchestra with them.

My breath hitched.

What-

My heart began to pound, uneven and sharp, confusion rising into something colder as I tried to make sense of it. Bodies lay across the floor, unmoving.

I tightened my grip on the back of Jude’s coat as he drew me upright. I barely registered the closeness, too focused on the still forms around us, the sudden absence of movement.

“What is-”

Jude clicked his tongue.

I looked up.

His expression had reset, the smirk gone, replaced by a familiar scowl as his gaze swept over the fallen bodies with quick precision.

When his eyes met mine, something flickered. Then he smirked again and flicked my forehead.

I flinched, my eyes squeezing shut for a moment before I glared at him, rubbing the spot.

His smirk deepened.

“Wot?” he cockily asked. “Still not used to the sight? After all this time, that’s a problem, princess. Ya should start thinkin’ about packin’ yer-”

“It’s not the sight,” I cut in, my voice sharper than intended. “It’s that I don’t know why.”

I crossed my arms, holding his gaze. For a moment, something like surprise crossed his face before it flattened into something unreadable.

“Weirdo,” he muttered, his attention already shifting back to the bodies. He exhaled, long and tired. “Did ya two even bother readin’ the report the Queenie’s aide gave ya?”

He began guiding me away, not giving me the chance to answer as his hand returned to my lower back, steering us towards the palace with unbothered confidence. The hand steadied my steps despite myself, even as my gaze continued to move over the scattered bodies.

Then a thought struck me.

Wait...

My focus sharpened at once, scanning the fallen figures more carefully.

Harry- Where is-

“Oi.”

My vision snapped back as fingers caught my cheeks and turned my face sharply. I was forced to meet Jude’s gaze, those darkened amethysts fixed on me with clear irritation.

He stopped walking, his grip tightening just enough to hold me in place. My lips parted under the pressure, surprise cutting through my thoughts as I stared at him.

He leaned closer.

His hand slid from my back to my waist, settling there with more weight, drawing me in. The light behind him traced the edge of his features, catching in his eyes and giving them a sharp, almost luminous sheen.

“Look at ya~ he said, his voice low, edged. “Forgettin’ me even when I’m right next to ya.”

His hold at my waist tightened, the fabric pressing into my skin. My breath hitched, my eyes widening as my hand came up instinctively, gripping the front of his suit.

“Didn’t think ya could be this airheaded, princess.”

For a moment, I hesitated.

Perhaps it was the shock, or the way the night had shifted so abruptly, but something in his voice didn't sit cleanly. Beneath the edge, beneath the irritation, there was something else - brief, restrained, quickly buried.

Worry...?

The thought settled before I could dismiss it.

It felt turned outward, forced into shape before it could settle into anything else inside of him.

That was just like him.

Jude didn't allow anything to touch him unless he chose it.

My expression softened before I could stop it. I saw the shift in his eyes at once, the faint flicker of surprise as his gaze searched mine, as if he had expected to see something else entirely.

I still didn't know why he was here, what he intended to gain, but that was the least of my worries as I was reminded of something much more pressing.

I straightened, my grip on his coat steadying as my posture set. My determined gaze held his.

“I promised,” I said, my voice even, firm.

His expression shifted into something openly puzzled. His hold on my face loosened, more from confusion than intent.

“Hah? Wot are ya chipperin’ about?” he asked, his tone flat, though his eyes remained sharp, searching mine.

I smiled despite it, a small sense of certainty settling in my chest. My hands moved to my hips, though when one brushed his, resting at my waist, his grip twitched before tightening again, drawing me a fraction closer.

I didn't step back.

“I promised myself,” I said, holding his gaze, “that I would never forget you.”

I couldn’t properly read the look Jude gave me in that moment, and no matter how many times I turned it over in my head, I knew that unless he told me what he felt when I said that, I would be left with nothing but the sense that I had caught him off guard.

His lips parted a fraction. His hold tightened. I felt his hand firm against me as his spine straightened, his widened amethyst eyes fixed on mine. We stood so close I could see the shift in his pupils as they dilated, just for a second, before the moment slipped away.

He leaned back with a slow exhale, the tension easing out of him. His hand fell from my cheek, though it stayed at my waist as he began to guide me back towards the palace, his expression seemingly settling into something looser, easier.

I let my hands fall, folding them in front of me as I followed his lead, leaving the still bodies behind us without another glance.

“Troublesome princess. Makin’ promises ya can’t be sure to keep…”he muttered in a low voice, though the quiet of the night carried every word to me.

Something in my chest sparked at that. I turned my head towards him with a small, sharp smile. “I can. And I will.”

Jude glanced at me, one brow lifting as a smirk tugged at his mouth. He leaned a little closer, and I matched him without thinking, holding his gaze. “Oh yeah? Wanna write a contract, then? Make it official. So when ya break it, I get somethin’ out of it.”

I huffed and faced forward, lifting my chin as I crossed my arms, walking easily while his hand at my back never loosened. “Now, when did I say I’d allow that?” I glanced at him from the side, letting the satisfaction show. “But if it helps you sleep, be my guest.”

Jude let out a quiet huff as he straightened, mirroring my posture as he looked ahead, eyes closing for a brief moment as a self-satisfied smile settled on his face. “Cheeky princess,” he muttered.

We continued on in a silence that felt settled rather than empty.

Only when we passed the path that led by the palace and began to move away from it did the realisation strike. I stopped short, the sudden halt forcing Jude to stop with me, his hand pressing more firmly against my back from the motion.

I ignored the annoyed look he gave me, the unspoken what now in it, as I turned sharply to stare back down the path we had come from. Then I looked up at him again, wide-eyed, meeting his narrowed, unbothered gaze.

“We forgot Harry!” I exclaimed.

The words hit harder once spoken. He was my partner for this mission, and I had left him behind.

I covered my mouth, the thought sinking in with a dull weight. I’m such a horrible person… My mind scrambled, trying to place where he could be. I had seen him with the duchess, so maybe-

But what if-

Before the thought could spiral further, a firm hand settled at the back of my neck. The warmth at my back vanished, leaving my skin exposed to the night air, and a shiver ran through me, sharp enough to pull my attention back to Jude. My body felt too cold and too warm in the same breath, where I didn't know if I wanted to lean closer to Jude or stay as I was.

He was already looking at me, his expression steady but unreadable as his hand held my neck in place. When he caught me staring, that look shifted, easing into the familiar curve of a smirk.

“It’s not polite to focus on another bloke when ya are claimed by another,”

My heart stuttered.

Why did he have to phrase it like that?!

I stared at him, my expression faltering with something I couldn’t quite name, unsure whether it was the words or the lingering chill that unsettled me more.

Then his hand slipped away.

I drew my shoulders in on instinct as the cold brushed over my bare skin again, and I looked up just in time to catch his next words as he stepped forward, long, unhurried strides carrying him ahead, his fingers loosely linked in front of him.

“I thought the monarch would’ve taught ya better during yer little dancin’ lessons.”

I stood there for a second, staring at his retreating back with gaping mouth.

How did he-

I blinked, watching as the deep purple of his figure was nearly swallowed by the dark, broken only by pale strands of his white hair that caught what little light remained.

He didn’t look back. He kept walking, as if the choice had already been made, leaving it to me to follow or not. Again.

My chest tightened.

I glanced back once more from where we came from, before turning forward. By then, he had already slipped beyond even the moonlight, the shadows of the trees on the side closing around him.

My hands curled into fists. I lowered my head, squeezing my eyes shut for a brief moment.

I’m so, so sorry.

Then I gathered the sides of my gown and moved without letting myself think any further. Determination rose sharp and bright in my chest, cracking through the hesitation as I ran after him, heels striking against the ground, the sound quick and uneven.

Ahead of me, I thought I saw him slow just a fraction, his head tilting slightly, before he looked back forward.

I didn’t stop. I followed him into the shadows, leaving the light behind.

“Oh my God - William, I apologise, I didn’t mean to,” I rushed out.

Didn’t mean to step on your foot again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing the thought as heat climbed up my face. I forced a breath through it, trying to steady myself.

A light breeze drifted through the garden, brushing my hair back over my shoulder. We had chosen to practise near the gazebo, on the stone path, since the ball would be held outside rather than inside.

When I had questioned it, William had suggested it was likely meant to ridicule those less skilled - forcing them to manage either the narrow gaps between the decorative stones or the uneven give of the grass.

Difficult, but not impossible, he had said.

And he proved that point effortlessly.

He had yet to stumble. Meanwhile, I caught my heel in the gaps, lurched into his chest, nearly pulled us both down, or stepped squarely onto his foot in my attempt to avoid doing exactly that.

And yet, he showed no pain, no frustration, no irritation. Only that same composed expression, or at most a soft sigh, touched with a faint smile.

Just like now.

I watched as his closed eyes lifted, revealing that familiar ruby gaze, lit with quiet amusement.

“Please, dear Robin. Your feet are far too light to cause me any real harm.”

His voice moved with unhurried ease, each word placed with care as he stepped forward again, guiding the distance between us. I tipped my head back slightly to keep his gaze, watching as he leaned closer, his fingers lifting to shield the left side of his upturned mouth.

“If I may be honest, you have yet to reach the standard I have endured at such events. Some ladies enjoy wearing gowns so heavy that one would think a brick had been dropped on my foot.”

It was not what he said, but how he said it - the faint strain behind the smile, the look of someone recalling something genuinely unpleasant - that broke through me.

I laughed, bending forward, hand now covering my mouth for an entirely different reason.

When I straightened again, I dropped my hand, uncovering the smile that he had put there - stretching easily across my face.

“Thank you, Will…” I said, softer now.

“Of course,” he replied. “I cannot have my lady troubled by such trivial matters. It will come naturally with practice, I assure you. Though the grace you already possess is… rather rare.”

Grace?

The word caught me off guard. I felt my lips part before I could stop it.

William was a natural gentleman. Honeyed words came easily to him.

But this felt excessive.

Because from where I stood, I must have looked like a staggering drunk, clinging to her partner with one misstep away from being slung over his shoulder simply to make the whole ordeal easier.

Before I could voice my scepticism, William slid his left hand beneath mine and set his other hand firmly against my lower back, drawing me in without warning. A small yelp slipped out of me as I instinctively clutched his hand and caught his shoulder, my gaze lifting in startled focus to meet his.

He looked down at me, those deep ruby eyes steady, almost indulgent, their warmth edged with something sharper beneath.

A quiet chuckle left him as he began to move, guiding me through steps I didn't recognise. It took only a moment to realise he was no longer trying to teach me the formal pattern, but rather was distracting me.

I let out a slow breath and allowed it, easing into his lead as my heels brushed lightly over the stone.

Without the rigid structure, it was easier to move.

The tension that had sat tight in my chest loosened. I found myself stepping from stone to stone with small, unguarded movements, almost a hop at times, while he kept a steady hold on me. My skirt followed the motion, fabric lifting and settling with each shift of weight, and for once, I didn't have to think about where my foot should land.

I simply moved.

The rhythm came on its own. My steps grew lighter, more certain, and when I turned, it was without hesitation. At some point I shifted my hand from his shoulder to his arm, and he adjusted without pause, his hold at my back firm, guiding.

Then the motion changed.

He drew me in and dipped me with smooth precision, my body following the arc without resistance, one arm extending as balance settled into place. The movement held for a breath before he brought me upright again, steady and close.

My free hand came to rest against his chest.

I was smiling without restraint when I looked up at him, and he returned it with quiet satisfaction.

“See? Graceful as ever, Miss Robin.”

The softness in his voice stirred something warm in my chest. I glanced past him, tracing the path we had taken, and realised we had nearly completed the full circle we had set as our goal.

However-

The thought settled heavier than the moment allowed.

I stepped away, folding my arms beneath my chest. “It doesn’t matter how graceful I am when I’m not following the steps,” I said, my gaze dropping. “I still look like a statue when I try to do it properly.”

My skirt shifted with the movement, light enough that I could see my shoes clearly - deep purple, the bows tied neatly at my ankles, faint gold catching in the light sewn into the fabric.

It was given to me by Victor, who told me to wear them during the practice so I would get used to them.

The colour pulled at something in me.

Jude...

I wondered what he was doing.

As a Fairytale Keeper, I was also meant to spend time with the Crown members, to understand them more closely. That included Jude.

Our start may have been rough, uneven at every turn, but somewhere along the way, the constant friction had settled into something enjoyable.

The banter remained, sharp as ever, yet I found myself seeking it out -seeking him - more often than I intended.

Often enough that others had to remind me, more than once, that my time was not meant for him alone.

Or at least-

I let the thought trail off with a quiet breath.

I had come to enjoy it.

I had no clear sense whether he felt the same. Ellis had tried to assure that if Jude truly detested my presence, he would not tolerate it for long. He would have found a way to remove me entirely, not provoke conversations simply to keep them going.

It was a small reassurance, but it held just enough weight to keep me returning, even when every exchange was me getting bullied by him.

“Robin?”

William’s voice cut cleanly through the drift of my thoughts.

I lifted my gaze immediately, focus snapping back to him. His expression carried a mild curiosity, as though he had been watching me for some time.

Ah... Had I truly been standing here thinking about Jude Jazza?!

“A-Ah, yes,” I said quickly. “I apologise, Will. I didn't mean to drift off like that.”

I dipped my head slightly in reflex.

His smile softened, though there was a knowing glint in his ruby eyes that made my chest tighten. I resisted the urge to narrow my gaze at him.

What, exactly, had he picked up on?

“Please,” he said, voice smooth. “There is no need to apologise for allowing yourself to feel and think whatever it is you desire."

His eyes closed briefly, as if savouring something intangible only he could taste, before opening again.

The look that returned was familiar.

It held a deep amusement, but was threaded with a restrained kind of madness I had learned never spelt good news for me.

“Robin,” William spoke softly, yet the sound carried through the stillness, “why did you invite me to teach you.” It landed as a statement rather than a question.

The answer was simple. Elbie had already been assigned to Harry, which meant Alfons was no longer an option either.

Not that I would have chosen him first. I winced at the thought, missing the brief shift of William’s gaze toward the gazebo as it crossed my mind. And Liam, for all his skill as an actor, was no proper noble. That left William.

Although… even if Elbie had been free, I might still have chosen him... maybe.

My brows drew together at the hesitation, but I had no time to examine it. I shook my head once and looked up at William, meeting his patient smile with one of my own.

“Even if Elbie wasn’t assigned to Harry, I would still have chosen you first. You’re more used to noble spaces than anyone from Crown.”

Elbie, despite his royal blood, cared little for such things. I had seen the piles of invitations Alfons set aside without reply, and Elbie never once questioned it.

“Hm.” William tilted his head, that quiet, knowing smile returning, as though he had noticed something I had not.

This time I did narrow my eyes. “What?”

His smile deepened. “Even Jude?”

My eyes widened, taken aback. Right. Jude.

He lacked William’s ease and polish, but his trading company forced him into those circles. He attended the same gatherings, held the same conversations, and had to maintain the same ties.

I remembered him complaining in his office, voice low and sharp, about having to remind those “dunces” to invite him at all. Irritating, he had said, but useful. It gave him leverage and made negotiations easier.

And there had been that one mission - how easily he had carried himself then, measured and composed, almost "princely".

The realisation brought a thin edge of shame. I had forgotten him again.

The feeling that followed was not quite guilt like the first time, however. It settled heavier, closer to irritation, directed inward.

I met William’s gaze. Clear, steady, impossible to sidestep. Any thought of deflecting slipped away before it formed.

“I forgot about him,” I said. The words came out quieter than intended, edged with a trace of sheepishness I had not meant to show.

I turned my gaze aside the moment the words left me, heat rising under my skin at the sound of them spoken aloud. I didn't see the brief shift in William’s attention, nor the flicker of amusement that drew his eyes toward the gazebo before returning to me.

When I looked back up, the red of his eyes had already softened. Whatever had crossed his mind was gone, leaving no trace for me to follow.

“No need for you to wear such a look, Miss Robin…” he said, his voice even and measured in that polished Queen’s English. He lifted his hand and, with the lightest touch of his knuckles, smoothed the tension from my brow. The contact stilled me; my breath caught as I looked up at him, held there for a moment longer than I intended.

Once he was satisfied, he withdrew, standing as composed as ever, the same gentle smile set in place as though nothing had shifted at all.

And yet-

Now that the thought had taken root, I couldn't quite shake it. Jude could have been the one standing there.

Don’t be ungrateful. I checked myself at once. William had taken his time to help me. I had no right to weigh that against anyone else. I told myself as much, forced the tension from my face, though something in the way he looked at me suggested he had noticed regardless.

“To be fair to you, Miss Robin,” William said, turning back the way we had come, “many of us tend to forget Jude when it comes to invitations.”

He raised his hand in quiet invitation. I placed mine in his, and he guided me forward.

We walked at an unhurried pace, the path ahead washed in the dimming light. After a moment, I spoke. “Is it perhaps due to his curse?”

I tilted my head to look at him. The setting sun traced the line of his profile, catching in his eyes and deepening their colour.

William glanced down at me, then returned his attention to the path. “Perhaps,” he said. “There are still many hidden sides of our curses we do not fully understand.”

His grip remained steady, careful as he led me on.

“However,” he continued, “as the fairy tale goes… it may be that the thirteenth fairy curses its sinners to be forgotten, just as she was - so that they might come to understand the resentment she carried.”

My heart tightened at his words.

Was that why Jude kept his distance from everyone?

If he had no one to expect anything from, then there would be nothing to break.

I couldn't be certain. I had no proof to hold onto, no answer I could claim as truth, yet the knowledge that a curse had a hand in my forgetting him set my nerves on edge.

I steadied my gaze ahead as we walked, the line of the path settling into focus, and formed a firm promise to myself and to Jude.

I will not forget you again.

“My… such a fiery look, Miss Robin. You ought to wear it when you accompany Harrison on your mission.”

William’s smooth drawl pulled me back at once. My eyes widened slightly.

A small, sheepish smile slipped through. “Ah, that’s-” I lifted a hand, brushing it back through my hair. I intended to excuse myself, to say something-

But before I could continue, William turned forward, eyes closing briefly, his expression easing as though the matter had already passed.

“No need to explain,” he said. “Whatever it was you were thinking, keep it. Hold onto it. I would hope it preserves that rather unrestrained look your eyes just held.” There was a quiet note of amusement in his voice as we continued on.

The garden settled around us in a low hush. Leaves stirred against one another, shrubs shifting faintly in the breeze, the sound soft enough to draw everything else away until even our footsteps seemed to disappear beneath it.

When we reached our starting point, William guided us into the now familiar position with practised ease, setting the frame of the routine as though it were second nature.

I let out a slow breath.

Right. The break was over.

Still, one question remained.

I lifted my gaze to him again, holding onto that same steadiness he had just remarked upon. It caught him off guard, if only slightly; I saw it in the brief widening of his eyes before it settled.

“Is there truly no way to make this routine easier?”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, a soft chuckle left him. He exhaled, eyes closing, before opening them again with a relaxed smile.

“Well… there is one way to make it easier.”

The curve of that smile did little to reassure me. If anything, it set a faint tension along my spine, as though I had already stepped into something I could not yet see.

Even in the evening chill, I felt the first hint of warmth rise beneath my dress as I returned his look, bracing myself for whatever answer he intended to give.

Even seated, he gave the impression of looming over us. My gaze drifted past him to the tall bookshelves packed tight with books, their spines pressed together with no space.

For a moment, I could have sworn his shadow stretched across them, lengthening into something warped and unnatural before snapping back into place when I blinked.

I pressed my hands against my face and exhaled. It was not fear, not exactly. I didn't feel threatened by Victor, yet there was a pressure to him that no one could ignore, either. Something that settled against the skin and refused to lift.

Perhaps that was why he worked so hard to appear so playful, no matter the situation. I thought, my mind wandering where it pleased instead of staying with the conversation.

When I had first arrived at the Crown, I would have blamed that drift on some feeble attempt at self-preservation. Now, I could confidently blame the simple fact that it was just too early.

Harry and I were still in our nightclothes. I had thrown a robe over mine in haste, while he stood beside me in a loose shirt and pyjama trousers, wearing the expression of someone who deeply regretted answering the summons instead of feigning death when his butler had to come knocking.

Same, Harry. I gave a small, understanding nod.

I turned to him in time to see him blink slowly, his gaze settling on Victor with an unreadable calm. He lifted a hand to his left eye, rubbing at it as he spoke. “You couldn’t wait until breakfast to inform us?” His voice carried the weight of sleep, each word dragging slightly behind the last. I reached over and gave his right arm a brief pat in quiet agreement.

He glanced at me then, eyes sharpening just enough to suggest he was gauging my mood, before returning his attention to Victor, who remained entirely unbothered.

“Now I can’t possibly do that!” Victor exclaimed, his eyes widening with theatrical disbelief. “I can’t hurt my cursed boys like that. Informing you that you were chosen for this mission specifically by Her Majesty the Queen, with Miss Robin accompanying you as your Fairytale Keeper, would surely break their fragile hearts.” He pressed a hand to his chest, his expression stricken as though he could already feel the imagined heartbreak of the others.

Harry regarded him with a flat, unchanging stare. “And why would that be?”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to spend the whole night dancing at the ball with Miss Robin?” Victor replied as if stating an undeniable truth.

My head snapped towards him, heat rising to my face before I could stop it. I refused to acknowledge it.

Harry didn't pause. He simply raised a brow and said, “No one. All of us would rather do our own things.” A fraction of a second later, as though registering how that might sound, he turned to me, a faint trace of concern slipping through his otherwise even tone. “Ah… sorry. I didn’t mean to imply we don’t want to spend time with you.”

I smiled, already used to this, and if I was being honest, I preferred it this way. I lifted my hands in a small dismissive gesture. “No worries. I know you all joined the Crown for your own reasons.”

Even as I said it, a faint bitterness still surfaced.

Jude would only accept something like this if there was something in it for him.

By now, they all knew that whenever they went on a mission, I would follow, documenting their so-called sins. It was routine.

That thought, however, had also clarified Harry’s underlying intention.

I turned away from his steady gaze and looked back at Victor. He still wore that same easy smile, his hands now folded neatly atop the desk as he watched us, patient and attentive, as though nothing about this was unusual at all.

“Victor. You said Harry has to pretend to be a young, naïve noble, and I’m to act as his newly betrothed fiancée.”

“Precisely.” Victor nodded.

I narrowed my eyes at him, scepticism settling in. “Wouldn’t it be more sensible to assign this to William, Elbie, Liam, or even Alfons?”

Harry remained silent beside me, but the stillness in his posture made it clear he was thinking the same.

Those four moved through noble circles with ease, far more naturally than anyone else in the Crown. …There was also Jude... maybe?

I paused on the thought, caught off guard by the way his name slipped from me more slowly than expected. It was strange. His sharp, cutting smile came to mind without effort these days, vivid enough to feel present, yet when it came to invitations of any kind, his name rarely surfaced. And when it did, it carried hesitation.

Could that also be part of his curse?

The thirteenth fairy, uninvited to the princess’s birthday. Was it intentional? Conscious decision? What was the reason that the thirteenth fairy wasn't invited?

Before I could try to answer my thought, Victor’s voice pulled me back.

“Ah, well…” His smile tightened just enough for Harry and me to narrow our eyes in unison. “William and Sir Elbie are far too well known within noble circles, and the target has a preference for pure, naïve young men. Liam - though a phenomenal actor - has a certain glint in his eye. I adore it, but the Duchess would not. From the reports, she is… difficult to deceive. And Alfons…”

The stretch of his smile said enough.

Yes. Alfons would never pass for naïve.

My expression eased as I glanced at Harry. He let out a slow breath, eyes closed, already conceding the logic. He might not be pure, not by any reasonable measure, but his lack of experience within noble society would read as innocence. More importantly, he could rely on his curse to judge the Duchess’s words, and he was clever enough to become whatever she wanted to see.

…Alright. It made sense.

I dipped my head slightly, a quiet apology to Her Majesty for my earlier doubt, then refocused as Harry spoke.

“Understood… Does that mean I need formal training, or am I improvising?”

His expression suggested he already knew the answer.

Victor’s face shifted into theatrical horror. “Goodness, Harry, my dear boy. I’m not cruel. I wouldn’t throw you to hungry wolves unprepared.”

“Please do…”

Harry muttered it under his breath. Victor either ignored him deliberately or genuinely didn't hear. I suspected the former.

“I’ll have Elbie teach you everything required to behave as a proper noble, including how to dance,” Victor continued, entirely unbothered. “The rest I leave to you.”

“Great,” Harry said flatly.

I gave his arm another light pat as a means of comfort, earning a heavier sigh as he resigned himself to what he clearly considered torture.

I turned back towards Victor, ready to ask if that was all, when he spoke again.

“Ah, yes. Miss Robin, who would you prefer to instruct you in proper ballroom etiquette?”

I blinked. “Huh?”

I had not expected to be included. I had already attended several balls on past missions.

“B-But Victor… I do have some experience already,” I said, a faint drop in my voice as I tried to reason it out.

I didn't need to look at Harry to know he was enjoying this.

Victor’s smile remained steady. “Of course you do.”

For a moment, I thought he might leave it there.

“However.” His tone shifted, the lightness thinning into something firmer, and both Harry and I straightened. “The Duchess hosts exceptionally refined banquets and invites only those of the highest standing. It is only thanks to Her Majesty that we secured these invitations.”

That serious?

The weight of the mission settled more firmly against my chest.

“As such, the expectations placed upon you will be higher. While I have been informed of your improvement in ballroom dancing, this time we must ensure it appears flawless.”

I exhaled quietly. I understood.

I still moved too carefully, too aware of each step, each turn, each possible mistake. It showed, even if only slightly. It was better than before, but not enough.

There was no avoiding it then.

I lifted my head and nodded, resolve settling into place as a name surfaced in my mind without hesitation.

He had never refused to help me before, after all.

To be Continued.

---

I stopped midway. My eyes settled on the fancy calendar resting on the vanity near the door leading to the castle halls.

I blinked, lowering my arms slowly, my gaze narrowing.

What day was it?

It was hard to keep track of time when I stayed with Elbie. Partly because I had to watch him, but also because of how he treated me.

The way he tended to me, brushed my hair, dressed me in whatever he thought suited me best. Dresses I never saw him buy, yet somehow appeared, with Alfons standing nearby, offering that strained, polite smile while trying to steer Elbie away from adding more.

By the time that thought passed, I was already standing before the calendar. I reached out and took it in hand.

I blinked. My eyes widened as they settled on today’s date, marked by a small golden bird - no doubt moved there by Alfons.

“Oh no…”

The words slipped out under my breath. My hand flew to my mouth as the calendar dropped onto the table.

I turned and ran.

I didn't stop to think about the silk nightdress or my bare feet as I sprinted into the hall, heading straight to my bedroom that had become my study.

“Nope. Nope. NOPE.”

The words came out in a rush as I ran, passing startled maids who barely had time to react before I was gone.

.

.

.

The sound of my “study” being turned over filled the room as I muttered curses under my breath, ones I had picked up from Jude during those visits that I accompanied Elbie and Alfons to Raven Ltd.

Elbie would wander off, captivated as he trailed after an employee with wide eyes, explaining each item on the list, while Alfons followed obediently with that tired smile. I had long since learned it was better to stay behind than endure every description of each item from A to Z.

I groaned and pushed the underside of the drawer back into place, letting the sheet fall from my hands. The bed beneath it was one I had long stopped calling my own, now scattered with the items I had just pulled out.

“Not here either,” I muttered, frowning as I stood and brushed my hands over my nightgown.

With a sigh, I prepared to dig through the rest of the room when I froze. The door I had forgotten to lock creaked open.

Alfons leaned into the gap with effortless ease, that familiar stretched smile already in place. “My, I thought some unfortunate fool had wandered onto the Crown’s grounds and decided to rummage through our Robin’s room.” He stepped inside, moving around the scattered clothes like a sleek cat without looking away from me. “It seems it was the robin herself. Ms Robin, may I ask what brought this on?”

The polished words translated clearly enough: What are you doing, woman? Are you short of a marble?

I crossed my arms, unimpressed. He did not react, only waited.

I exhaled and ran a hand through my hair, pushing it back without care for how I looked. Alfons had, after all, seen worse. He woke Elbie every. Single. Time.

“I can’t find my typewriter,” I said, turning away from him, hands settling on my hips as I scanned the room again. “And I don’t know how. I’ve seen enough strange things at the Crown that I’m starting to consider house gnomes, or ghosts.”

I kept my tone serious.

“Oh my, how unfortunate~” Alfons replied lightly. “Are you certain you did not simply misplace it?”

I shot him a look over my shoulder before turning fully, staring at him. “Do you think I could forget moving something that heavy?”

There was no way.

His expression flattened. “I have seen you choke a man heavier than you with your hands bound, then throw him over your shoulder.”

I blinked, recalling the moment without effort. I waved him off. “That’s different. If I moved it, I would have remembered it. So no, Alfons, I didn’t misplace it.”

He shrugged, glancing aside, his usual charm gone as his hands rested on the hilt of his sword. “Then I am out of ideas.”

You didn't even try!

I was about to say it, but he had already turned, clearly intending to leave as he had bid me, Good luck!

I was quick to step over the mess and caught his arm before he could go.

“Wait. Wait - hold on. You’re good at tracking things, right?” I asked, looking up at him.

He looked down at me, carefully avoiding contact, his smile turning strained. “My dear, are you calling me a dog?”

I smiled. “No. You’re just good at 'sniffing' out what’s needed, at the right and wrong times.”

I held on as he tried to pull free, his eyes narrowing. “Do you want my help or not?”

My smile widened. “So you will help.”

He stilled, realising too late.

Instead of irritation, he let out a quiet chuckle and placed a hand on my head, patting it three times. “My. You are becoming quite the villainess, aren't you? ”

I let go and stepped back, looking up at him. “So? Where to?”

He studied me for a moment, then glanced upward, thinking. When he looked back, his smile had turned faint, almost resigned.

“Where else, Ms Robin? Where does the Crown look when items begin to disappear?”

I went still.

Ah. Right.

.

.

.

Elbie’s room.

The fact that I had stayed behind to search instead of going straight to the unofficial lost and found made me feel slightly foolish.

I held that thought with a strained smile as I gave Alfons a polite bow when he opened the door for me. He stepped in after me and closed it, and we stood side by side.

The room truly was a mess.

Objects crowded every corner, spilling across the floor and piling around the bed in the centre, which was the only thing still easy to recognise.

My chest tightened.

“Alfons,” I said evenly, my eyes fixed ahead.

“Yes, Ms Robin?” His voice matched mine, calm and steady. He didn't look at me. His smile stayed in place as he looked over the room.

“Remind me to start helping you talk Elbie out of bringing random things in.”

My expression settled as I stepped forward into the mess.

Behind me, I heard his oxfords follow.

“It would be my utmost pleasure, Ms Robin.”

There was something in his tone, a trace of relief beneath the politeness, edged with quiet sarcasm; no doubt aimed at my slow recognition of what he had been going through on a daily basis.

.

.

.

By the time we stopped, both of us were lying back against a pile of objects that had been hidden behind a stack of taller items near the far wall.

I stared up for a moment at the high ceiling, then let out a long breath and pushed myself upright. My hand brushed against a scarf made from a fox. I picked it up and tossed it aside, murmuring a quiet apology to the already dead creature before drawing my knees in and resting my arms over them.

The piles in front of me looked no smaller.

“I will never finish the reports like this,” I muttered.

Beside me, Alfons groaned softly as he sat up. Something glittered in his hair. He reached up, pulled free what looked like the remains of a bow set with small but rare stones, and tossed it aside like it was just a regular cloth.

“Apologies for questioning your intelligence,” he said, his tone smooth, almost idle, “but do explain why you cannot use any other typewriter than your own.”

He shifted, folding one knee and resting his arm over it, mirroring my posture as he turned his attention to me, waiting.

I pressed my lips together. My eyes widened, my heart picking up as I slowly turned my head towards Alfons. He was already looking at me, bored at first, until the same realisation settled over him.

I let out an awkward chuckle and gave him a strained smile. “Ah… right. The castle does have multiple of them, huh?”

How long did we spend here exactly? I asked myself, even though I knew the answer very clearly.

Heat crept up my face. I had not thought that far ahead, instead letting the panic take over.

My expression must have said enough. Alfons’s look shifted, the faint surprise smoothing into something tighter. His smile sharpened.

“Ms Robin…” he said.

My heartbeat quickened as he leaned slightly closer. There was a stillness to him now, like something coiled.

“I highly advise you to run,” he continued, slow and clear, “because in five seconds, I will hunt you down.”

He gave small, deliberate nods as he spoke.

I mirrored it without thinking.

Right.

I was not finishing those reports today.

The moment his lips formed five, I moved. I slid down the pile, catching myself as I hit the uneven ground, nearly tripping over scattered objects.

“Three…”

My face drained as I pushed forward, stepping over tangled items, my balance slipping before I caught it again.

“Two…”

I turned back, moving backwards now, my eyes wide. “A-Alfons, wait. We can discuss this!”

He remained where he was, seated atop the pile, wearing that same sharp smile, his eyes closed as if this were all routine.

“One…”

I spun and tripped over my own feet, hitting the ground. My hand caught me before I went down fully. I pushed myself up at once-

Behind me, something landed.

There was the soft crack of something expensive giving way, followed by the steady sound of steps closing in.

I turned.

Alfons moved through the clutter with ease, his footing precise, his pace unbroken; clearly used to walking through all this.

Panic tightened in my chest as I turned back and headed for the door, moving as quickly as I could without losing my footing.

There was a difference between handling thugs and facing someone like him.

My fingers brushed the door handle, a flicker of hope rising in my chest. I reached to turn it-

Instead, I was pulled back.

My body twisted as Alfons caught my hands and drew me away from the door, stepping back while guiding me forward in a poor imitation of a ballroom dance. My footing faltered as I was forced to follow, my expression tightening when my gaze lifted to meet his.

His blue eyes were close now.

Too close.

He turned us with a smooth shift, placing himself between me and the door. My pulse hammered as he pushed me forward, still holding my hands. I knew what he was about to do. The moment he let go, I would fall straight into the mess behind me.

Then the door opened.

Both of us froze.

I was left leaning forward, hair loose and uneven with disheveled dress, my expression pale. Alfons still held my hands, his arms extended, his composure broken.

“Hm… Robin. Alfons?”

Elbie’s voice came from behind him, soft and clear.

I shifted to the side as much as his grip allowed, looking past Alfons. He turned his head over his shoulder at the same time.

Elbie stood at the doorway, his pale hair neat, his blue eyes fixed on us.

There was no expression on his face.

I blinked, then broke into a wide smile. “Elbie!”

HELP! I screamed it in my head, hoping it showed on my face.

It didn't matter.

Elbie’s gaze shifted from me to Alfons. Alfons returned it with an easy smile, still not letting go of my hands.

“Elbie. What a surprise. Weren’t you having tea with William and Victor?” he asked, as if he knew the answer already.

I shot him a brief look before turning back to Elbie.

“I was,” Elbie said, his voice light as he walked towards us. “But William brought a new tea set. I wished to compare it with mine.”

He stopped beside Alfons.

Alfons still held me in place.

My legs were starting to strain.

If I moved, he would let go, and I would fall.

I stayed still.

I missed whatever Alfons said next. Elbie spoke, and Alfons answered, “As you wish.”

Then I was pulled.

My eyes widened as my balance shifted, but instead of falling, I was drawn into something steady.

Warm. Familiar.

Elbie...

I pressed into him without thinking as his arms came around me, careful yet firm. His fingers moved through my hair, smoothing it back into place. The scent of flowers settled around me, grounding me

My breath slowed.

“Alfons. Explain.”

Elbie’s voice dropped. It carried a cold edge I had only heard a few times.

I leaned closer without meaning to, as if searching for warmth after feeling the chill running down my spine from the tone.

“Ms Robin has misplaced her typewriter,” Alfons replied, light as ever. “Though she has a very good reason for not using the ones in the castle, and therefore must find her own.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

Yeah, he's definitely not done bullying me for wasting his time.

For now, I focused on Elbie. His hand stilled in my hair. When I looked up, his gaze had gone distant, unfocused for a moment before it cleared again.

“Ah. My apologies.”

He adjusted the loose sleeve of my nightdress back onto my shoulder. Heat rose to my face as I realised it had slipped. Then he stepped away, leaving a faint warmth behind, and moved into the piles without hesitation.

Alfons and I stood there, watching.

Elbie disappeared into the mess.

Soft sounds followed; shifting, light movements.

I leaned closer to Alfons without looking away. “Do you think he will actually find it?”

“I would not be surprised if he returns with one covered in jewels actaully,” Alfons murmured back.

I nodded slowly.

That would not be surprising.

A flash of pale gold caught my eye soon. I turned, following it-

Elbie stepped out, holding-

“Ah - my typewriter!”

I moved at once, closing the distance and placing my hands over his. I rose onto my toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He leaned down slightly, making it easier.

“I can finally finish the reports.” I beamed with a big smile.

I tugged at the machine.

It did not move.

I pulled again, then paused and looked up. “Elbie?”

His gaze met mine, clear and steady.

“Would it be acceptable for you to work outside?” he asked. “Victor has planted new flowers. I would like to see them.”

My smile grew. Gathering my skirt in one hand, I looped my arm through his without hesitation. “Lead the way, my prince.”

A faint smile touched his lips as he guided me forward.

As we passed Alfons, we exchanged a brief but sharp look.

Definitely not finished with settling whatever score he made between us.

He fell in behind us with practised ease.

.

.

.

With Alfons beside me and Elbie wandering through the gardens, stopping at each new flower, I finished the reports faster than usual.

That was my mistake.

Letting Alfons help me was an oversight made by my desperation at the time.

“Oh my. How risqué~

Victor held one of the reports Alfons had written. My brow twitched. I kept my smile in place, hands clasped tightly as he read.

I should have checked.

Victor looked up, bright-eyed. “I can guarantee Her Majesty will be thoroughly taken aback. In the best way possible, of course!”

My smile held.

“Thank you, Victor. If you will excuse me.”

I bowed and turned.

The moment the door closed behind me, my expression dropped. I adjusted the skirt of the dress I had changed into and started down the hall at a fast pace.

“Alfons Sylvatica!”

A heavy breath left me. My mind recoiled the moment I tried to follow the memory, like it refused to even touch it. All of that, just because he thought provoking the patron was a good idea.

What should have been a simple assignment given to the Crown had turned into a chase and kill or run and be killed. How long had it even lasted? I couldn’t tell.

I exhaled again, slower this time, and shut my eyes. “I’m going to complain to Roger…” The words came out low, rough. At this point, letting that egoistic hunter decide Alfons’ fate didn’t sound so bad.

My lips briefly twitched into a mean smile at the thought before I wet them. Right. Water.

I reached toward the nightstand without opening my eyes, fingers dragging across the surface until they caught on something. Not thinking, I pulled it closer.

When I forced my eyes open, it wasn’t a glass in my hand.

It was a calendar.

Neatly kept. The handwriting was elegant, familiar - notes marked for Elbert, others clearly meant for Alfons.

I blinked at it, mind slow, still dulled by sleep and pain. Why am I holding-

My eyes settled on the light blue square showing today's date.

My vision snapped into focus. Thought returned all at once, clean and sharp.

“Oh fuck.”

I flung the calendar aside and pushed myself up too fast, the room tilting for a second before I forced it still. My feet met the floor before I found my balance, already moving.

I didn’t fix my hair. Didn’t check my reflection. None of that mattered, with only one thought pressing forward, loud enough to drown everything else.

I have to give Victor the reports by tomorrow!

The urgency carried me out of Alfons’ room, my steps quick and uneven as I cut down the hall toward what used to be my bedroom. I barely slept there now. It had turned into my personal study of sorts without me noticing when that happened.

.

.

.

The next thing I remember is the door swinging closed behind me, left unlocked as I crossed the room in a straight line. The table waited as I’d left it, buried under papers, pens, ink bottles, and a few stray bows. I took one without thinking, fingers moving on their own as I pulled my hair back and tied it high, tight enough to keep it out of my face with only a few strands escaping it, framing my focused expression.

The chair scraped softly as I sat. I cleared space in quick, practiced motions, sliding blank sheets into one pile, my notes into another. The clutter thinned until the surface made sense again, each piece where I needed it.

I rolled my shoulders once, feeling the stiffness there, then reached for the first set of notes.

Sir Elbert.

A quiet breath left me. That was a manageable place to start.

I set his notes within view, fed a clean sheet into the typewriter, and pressed the first key. The machine answered with a sharp, steady rhythm.

One down. Eleven to go.

The thought settled heavier the moment it formed. I paused just long enough to count again, slower this time, and felt the weight shift.

Three more names threaded between the usual nine.

I kept typing, the keys striking harder than they needed to, the sound filling the room.

“Of course,” I muttered under my breath. “The Germans couldn’t have picked a different time.”

The carriage slid. I pushed it back, continued without stopping.

“No. They had to come right when Alfons and I made things official - and everything else decided to just pile on.”

The words came out flat, more breath than voice, but the irritation stayed, pushing at my ribs.

Sometimes I’m convinced Darius can smell chaos before it happens, following it as quickly as not to miss a scene.

.

.

.

I don’t know how much time passed. The only measure I had was the shifting piles in front of me - the stack of notes thinning, and the finished reports growing.

Five more. Five more.

I kept the count running in my head as my fingers pressed the keys, each strike landing in a rhythm I no longer had to think about. The sound filled the room, even and constant, until everything else faded behind it.

It must have, because I didn’t hear the door ease open. Didn’t register the soft click of oxfords crossing the floor. Not even the shadow stretching over my desk pulled me away. My focus stayed locked on the page, on the next line, on-

“Ah!”

The yelp tore out of me as my chair tipped back without warning. My stomach dropped, hands snapping to the edges of the wood as I braced for the fall-

-but it never came.

The motion stopped halfway.

My breath caught. I looked up, wide-eyed, fingers still gripping tight, and found him there. Those dark, starless eyes held mine, quiet and intent, a faint, curious smile resting on his face.

My chest rose too fast. He said nothing, and in that pause I dragged myself back together.

“Alfons!” I snapped, the name sharp as I shot him a glare.

It only made him smile wider.

“My~ It’s always a delight to hear you scream my name,” he murmured, voice low and pleased.

I parted my lips to snap back, but the words stalled as he leaned closer. The chair dipped slightly under his hold, pulling me with it, and my eyes widened again.

Our noses brushed. He looked down at me, close enough that I could feel his breath.

“Though,” he added softly, “I would prefer a more pleading tone next time, mijn vrouwe~”

“Alfo-ons~” I dragged his name out into a groan, tipping my head back, eyes closing tight.

I don’t have time for this.

“Bravo!” he said at once, bright with approval. “Now, just a touch more breath-”

I cut him off with a look, sharp and flat over the bridge of my nose, my grip on the chair tightening, hoping the shameless man received the silent message clearly.

He blinked, the shift immediate. The amusement softened, giving way to something lighter, edged with curiosity. His head tilted, loose strands shifting with the motion.

“Hm? Is something the matter?” he asked, tone smooth, each word shaped with care. “Why such strain on your fair skin, Miss Robin?”

I exhaled, slow and tired, my gaze fixed on his. There was no avoiding him like this.

“I have work to do, Alfons,” I said. “I can’t be interrupted right now.”

He held my gaze a moment longer, then straightened. The chair lowered back to the floor with a quiet, controlled motion, his gloved hands never leaving its sides.

Relief slipped out of me as my shoulders dropped.

I didn’t react when he leaned in again, closer this time at my side, his frame brushing mine as he looked over the desk.

A beat passed.

“Ah…” he hummed. “Did Miss Robin forget her duties as the Crown’s Fairytale Keeper, hm?”

I closed my eyes, a quiet sound leaving me.

I wanted to blame him. It would have been easier.

But the truth was I had let it happen. Let myself drift through the month at his pace, indulging his whims, letting the days slip between distractions - his, the Crown’s, Vogel’s.

And now it had all come to bite me in my arse.

I part my lips to answer Alfons’s question, but a shiver cuts me off. My shoulders draw in when his bare fingertips brush the underside of my neck, light at first, then pressing into the tight line of muscle. “Wha-mhhhm” The word slips into a low groan as the pressure deepens.

I feel his sharp smile more than see it. His gloved hand settles on my left shoulder, working into the joint, while the bare one moves slowly along my neck. His warm lips touch just behind my right ear.

“You’ve worked this whole time, didn’t you?” he whispered with certainty.

A breath leaves me, heavy, and I sink into his hands without answering. I don’t need to. With who his best friend is, he reads it easily enough.

He chuckles, soft against my ear, his mouth brushing along the edge before giving the tip a brief, gentle nip. His hands never stop. I exhale again as he nudges me forward, guiding my posture while he keeps the same steady rhythm of his hands.

“My~ So tense. Huhuhu~ Let me at least give you this, since I couldn’t give you anything today.”

There’s a strange tilt to his voice, airy, almost indulgent, not quite like him.

What does he mean by that?

My thoughts blur as I watch him push the typewriter back with his gloved hand, precise even in the motion, before returning to my shoulder.

What… what time is it?

My body lowers without resistance. I fold my arms beneath me, resting my head on them, a quiet smile settling in as the tension drains out in slow waves.

“How does five minutes sound, Miss Robin?”

His breath grazes my ear. I lean into it without thinking, my head turning until it rests against the side of his jaw.

Five minutes of what?

I mean to ask, but only a soft hum leaves me, loose, unguarded.

His chuckle is the last thing I hear before I let go, sinking into the slow, careful release of muscles I hadn’t realised were tight.

.

.

.

My body jolts upright. My eyes snap open, wide, and my reflection stares back at me from the vanity, just as startled.

Wait… what time-

I turn toward the window. Pale light slips in at the edge, the first hint of morning.

I stay like that for a second, disoriented, then shake my head and press my palm to my forehead, eyes closing as I try to piece it together.

Not the time. What date is it?

The last thing I remember is working, the steady rhythm of keys under my fingers, and then-

My eyes open again. I lift my hand, turning it over as if it might tell me something.

Was he wearing a glove or not?

I couldn't answer my question with certainty. I remember both - his bare touch, and the leather - but I couldn't say which worked which muscle.

And then… nothing.

I barely remember dreaming - which alone feels wrong. When Alfons uses his curse, the people do remember the illusion afterwards. But I only remember slipping under, and then-

My gaze shifted to the typewriter in front of me. It sits there, quiet, unchanged. I narrow my eyes at it, then bite the side of my bottom lip.

I do remember… typing.

A few minutes after he… left?

The thought comes with hesitation. I reach forward, fingers brushing the keys, waiting for something to surface. Nothing does.

A breath leaves me, uneven. There’s a trace of tension still in me, but it’s lighter than I remember, loosened in a way that doesn’t match the gap in my memory.

I turn, scanning the desk - and stop.

My notes are stacked neatly at the edge.

“Wait… I actually worked?”

I reach for the reports on the other side, where I always leave them. My fingers move quick as I skim the names at the top.

All twelve are there.

Finished.

I press the papers to my chest, my eyes lifting to the mirror again.

No way…

The realization spreads through me, quick and bright. A grin pulls across my face before I can stop it.

No way!

The energy hits all at once. I push to my feet, the chair scraping back as I move, and I’m already out the door, pace quick, almost breaking into a run.

I didn’t even care that I still wore yesterday’s pyjamas as I headed straight for Victor’s office, the grin still fixed in place.

.

.

.

“Victor!” I push his door open without knocking, a grin already in place as I step inside, the reports tucked to my side.

He looks up from his desk and returns it tenfold. “Miss Robin! What a delight. You outshine the waking sun.” His tone stays light, open. “How may I assist you?”

I don’t slow. I cross the room, stop at his desk, and set the reports down, sliding them toward him with both hands.

“Submitting last month’s reports for Her Majesty the Queen.”

The words come out steady, confidence settling into me before I can question it.

Victor’s brows lift. “Oh my - thank you. I will read them with care.” His fingers rest on the stack, but his smile lingers on me. “Though I must confess. It seems I've been enjoying them for my own indulgence as of late.” His gaze softens. “It feels like reading true fairytales.”

Usually I would shrink at that. Today, I don’t.

I straighten and bow. “Thank you, Victor. I’ll be sure to maintain the quality.”

A quiet chuckle leaves him. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with amusement. “Is there anything further, Miss Robin?”

I shake my head, the smile still holding. “No.”

“Very well. Dismissed. And do not hesitate to come to me for anything you require.”

He speaks slowly, measured, as if sewing the words carefully into my memory.

I nod once. “I’ll remember.”

I give him a final bow, then turn to walk towards the door.

My hand closes around the handle. I press it down and pull it open, one foot already stepping past the threshold, ready to leave-

“Oh my - how delightful!”

I pause.

“I’m glad to see you’ve grown more comfortable with Her Majesty.” His voice carries easily behind me. “A touch intimate, perhaps, but I believe she will appreciate the personal detail on each page.”

My smile slips.

I turn back sharply, my grip tightening on the handle. “Personal what?”

Victor only smiles, unaware or unconcerned to my changed mood. He lifts the reports, angling them slightly as he gestures.

My attention drops.

At the bottom corner of each page - marks.

Lipstick.

Different shades pressed into the paper, one on every report, as if each had been… signed.

My breath catches. I stare, trying to make sense of it, but there’s nothing to reach for. I didn’t do this. I would never have done it. Which means-

“You seem to have taken your role as the official Fairytale Keeper to heart,” Victor continues, almost pleased. “Such care. Even distinct perfume on each - do tell, did my cursed boys do something to earn-”

I slam the door before he can finish.

My steps hit the floor hard as I move down the hallway, pace sharp, voice cutting through the air.

“ALFONS!!”

The shout echoes, carrying back through the closed door.

Behind it, Victor was left staring at it, his smile lingering, then curving into something quieter, knowing.

The thought dragged, low and tired. He never listened when I told him to leave his side of the bed just slightly undone, if not fully made.

And yet, every time he flashed that reassuring grin before slipping off to whatever corner of madness had claimed him that day, I already knew how it would end. Five minutes later, the conversation would be gone from his head.

My gaze shifted to the nightstand. The reading lamp stood where it always did, its base catching the light. Beside it, the small red clock ticked steadily next to a crowded calendar, stickers filled edge to edge., going even over Liams barely readable handwriting.

I had given it to him after the third time he missed something important. It hadn’t helped much. He still forgot or got easily distracted by seomthing making him arrive later.

If anything that gifted callander could be considered just part of his bigger hoard of callenders if not for his constant use of it and showace that it was more precious than the other callenders.

But my eyes didnt' linger longer than neccessary, instead settling on the porcelain cup. Thin threads of steam curled upward, carrying a faint sweetness that reached me even from the bed. Beside it, slices of bread rested on a plate, their surface glazed with honey that caught the light in soft gold.

I smiled to myself.

Liam always forgot dates. His mind wandered, slipping from one thought to the next, never settling long enough to hold onto small things like that.

But when he woke before me, he never forgot to bring me breakfast. I long came to associate the faint smell of something warm already filling the air with Liam silently apologising for not being there.

“Thank you, love,” I murmured under my breath, the words falling into the quiet room.

I pushed myself up and leaned against the bedframe, drawing the plate closer. The bread was still warm. The honey clung to my lips as I took a bite, soft and sweet, melting across my tongue.

Halfway through, I reached for the tea. I paused, letting the steam brush my face as I breathed in.

Cherry!

I took a careful sip, the warmth spreading slowly as I swallowed. My eyes drifted, settling on the calendar. Stickers crowded its surface, bright and scattered, layered over cramped handwriting that was barely readable. It looked like chaos, but I had learned how to read it. Liam always made sense of it.

I leaned closer, scanning the past few days. My eyes moved down, ready to see what today held-

I choked.

The tea burned at the back of my throat as I coughed, my hand snapping over my mouth while I held the cup away from the bed. My vision blurred for a second, then snapped back, locking onto the calendar again.

The pink circle.

Today.

Fuck.

I squeezed my eyes shut and coughed again before setting the cup down with a quick, uneven motion. My legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet hitting the floor as I pushed myself up, still trying to steady my breathing.

I was already moving.

Out of Liam’s bedroom, into the hall, then faster, my steps quickening until I was nearly running. My pyjamas clung loosely as I crossed the distance to my room - the one that had slowly become more of my private office, seeing as more and more of my things find their way to Liam's room instead.

.

.

.

I slipped inside and shut the door behind me, turning the lock until it snapped into place, sending a clear message to whoever decided to interrupt me today.

A groan pushed out of me as I pressed my palm over my face and turned toward the room. “I really ignored it the whole month…”

I drew in a breath and held it, then let it out slowly until my chest settled. The desk waited where it had always been. The typewriter sat in the centre, papers spread in uneven stacks that leaned into each other.

“Good thing I still made notes,” I said under my breath.

I pulled the nearest stack closer and sat, flipping through until I found the first set. Alfons. He had fewer pages than the others. An easier place to begin.

I slid the report into position, nudging the edges until it lined up with the machine. My neck turned once, then the other way. My shoulders followed, arms stretching overhead until the pull ran down my sides. I let them fall.

My fingers came to rest on the keys.

For a moment, nothing moved.

Then I started.

The keys answered in a steady rhythm, each press sharp, controlled. The motion settled into my hands without effort, familiar enough to push everything else to the edges.

It should feel calm. It always has.

But this time, there was weight behind each strike, a pressure that kept my fingers moving, faster than usual, tighter. I didn’t pause. I didn’t think my sentence through.

I just write whatever came to mind while reading what I've written on Alfon's "evil" deeds.

The room slipped away.

Only the pages remained in my line of focus.

.

.

.

The keys kept a steady rhythm under my fingers, drowning out everything else. Each line pulled me forward, letter by letter, until the page held all of my attention. I did not notice the light in my room fading. Day slipped out without a sound, and the chatter of birds gave way to a quiet broken only now and then by a distant owl.

I do not remember if anyone tried to open the door. Already too deep into my work to notice such things.

At some point, I reached for the table lamp and switched it on. A warmer circle of light settled over the desk. Shadows gathered at the edges of my vision. I saw them, registered them, and went back to the next page. Just four more. I can do this.

Cool air moved through the room, brushing past my skin, lifting a few strands of my hair. I did not turn. I did not see the window draw shut to my left.

There were no footsteps. Nothing that could further warn me. The shadows had already been there, so I didn't register when a long one joined them, melting into them.

A moment passed in tight silence, one my body caught before I did, the tension settling into my shoulders without my notice.

Then the page in front of me lifted.

It rose in a quick, clean motion, as if someone had taken it between their fingers and pulled.

“Ah- what the- Huh!” I pushed back from the desk, reaching for it, but something pressed against my chest and forced me down. My breath caught. My back met something solid, but not the chair I had been sitting on.

I swallowed and tilted my head up, eyes fixed on the sheet hovering above me. Without thinking, I left my throat open. The pressure shifted, sliding higher, settling at my neck. My body went still.

What is-

The thought broke off.

Something behind me moved. A shadow stretched over my lap and the table, drawn long by the thin moonlight slipping through the window.

The fear dropped out of me right after.

Ah… sweet. I commented on the familiar scent washing over me.

I let myself lean back into the warmth. My neck arched, slow, giving space as something unseen traced along the side of it, light at first, then firmer.

A breath left me.

I smiled and whispered, “Liam…”

As if answering a command I had not spoken, the page stilled midair and slipped into narrow fingers. It hung there, swaying in front of me. The hand at my neck shifted, sliding down to rest over my upper chest, firm enough to hold me in place. Warmth brushed my temple. Then lips, soft, familiar.

“Robin~”

He sang it into my hair. I felt the curve of his smile more than I saw it. Mine came just as easily, and I leaned into him, pressing closer until he let out a quiet chuckle and gave in, kissing me again, with more weight behind it.

We stayed like that for a moment.

Then his chin settled on my shoulder. I turned my head, catching the dim red of his eyes as they flicked toward the typewriter. The page still moved lightly in his other hand, back and forth at the edge of my vision, while his arm held me in place.

“Whatcha doin’?”

I let out a small breath. “I forgot the reports for this month.” My gaze dropped to the desk. “I’m trying to finish them all in one go.”

He did not answer right away.

I looked back at him. The pause felt wrong. Liam rarely held still long enough for silence to stretch like that.

His expression had gone quiet, turned inward in a way I did not see often.

I shifted, leaning forward just enough, and reached up to brush my fingers along his cheek. “Liam? Is something the matter.”

The change was immediate.

His eyes lit, sharp and bright, and that familiar grin spread across his face, wide and a little too knowing. He pressed his cheek into my shoulder, lids lowering as he looked at me.

“I was just worried all this time.” His voice softened. He closed his eyes, and a small, uneven smile followed. His fingers found a few loose strands of my hair and began to toy with them. “Had all sorts of thoughts about what could’ve kept you busy. Not one of ’em said you forgot your actual job.” His lips twitched. “Am I rubbin’ off on ya, Robin~”

The grin returned, fuller now, pleased with itself. He leaned into me, content, almost drowsy in the lamplight.

“That makes me so, so happy.”

I smiled, though it did not sit as easily.

My eyes flicked to the unfinished pages on the desk. The weight of them pressed at the edge of my thoughts, but I let it drift. Just for a moment.

I reached up, brushing his fringe back so I could see him properly. His gaze widened a fraction, following the movement, caught.

“What made you have all those ‘mad’ thoughts, silly kitty?”

He blinked.

The smile that came after was smaller. He closed his eyes again and leaned into my touch without hesitation, like a cat asking for pats. I let my fingers move through his hair, slow, steady, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He did not speak immediately, and I didn't push him to do so.

I let the silence sit between us. His thoughts always moved too fast at first. He needed time to sort them, to let them settle.

After a while, he exhaled. His eyes opened, but his focus stayed somewhere distant.

“Today was my play…”

The words made my hand stop.

I went still, then everything rushed back at once. The date. The scribbled notes. The mark on the calendar.

“Shit.”

My head tipped back with a low groan, my hand dropping from his hair.

Of course. Of course.

So that's what he meant by him rubbing off on me.

A breath slipped out of me, then another, and before I could stop it, a quiet laugh followed. It built slowly, catching in my chest. From beside me, Liam, after a baffled pause, joined in. His laughter was lighter, brighter, threading into mine until I could not tell them apart.

Tears blurred my vision.

His arms came around me from behind, both of them this time, pulling me close as he pressed his face into the side of my head. Our laughter softened, folding into each other, until it was nothing but warmth and breath shared in the dim light.

When the laughter faded, I let out a long breath, with a smile still lingering on my face. Liam followed the motion, his chin settling over my shoulder again. He looked pleased, looser now, the earlier edge gone.

My hand moved on its own, slipping back into his hair. Only then did I notice the faint glitter caught between the strands, dull sparks in the lamplight. I wondered what role he had played, what lines he had ad-libbed, what I had missed.

With the thoughts at the front of my mind, I easily recalled his excitement and how he had wanted it to be a surprise and told me nothing.

I wanted to ask. To hear him tell me all about it, step by step, with that restless energy of his.

But my eyes drifted back to the unfinished pages on the desk.

My hand slowed, then stilled in his hair.

He noticed.

His cheek pressed against mine as he leaned in, taking the same angle as me, both of us facing the desk now. His presence filled the space easily, light where mine had grown heavy.

“You still have to finish this, right?”

His tone was flat, but there was something under it, a quiet turn of thought.

I sighed and let my head tip back until it rested against his shoulder. “Yeah… sorry. You’ll have to sleep alone for ton- huh? Liam?”

He pulled away before I could finish.

I turned, caught off guard, watching him already walk towards the locked door without a word.

The door clicked open, and he slipped out, closing it quietly behind him.

My chest tightened, the space he left behind too sudden. I stared at the door for a moment, then let out a small breath and turned back to the desk.

That was easier than I thought.

Still…

I pressed my lips together. Him leaving like that sat wrong.

I shook my head and tapped my cheeks lightly, forcing the thought away. My shoulders rolled as I stretched, neck cracking, fingers stiff when I flexed them.

Back to work.

The keys picked up again, though not as steadily as before.

I had no sense of how long had passed before I heard the door open again.

The sound cut through the stillness. My hands stopped. I stared at the page, then blinked, realising I had not sunk back into it the way I had before.

I knew why.

A yawn pressed up, and I swallowed it down as I turned toward the door.

Liam had to forget to lock the door behind him.

“I'm sorry, but I'm- huh?”

Liam stood there, smiling widely, a typewriter held in his arms like something he had just pulled from a hidden treasure. He lifted it slightly, showing it off.

“Looky what I found, Robin!”

He sounded like he had found something precious.

I could only watch as he carried it in, set it down on the floor, and dropped into a cross-legged seat beside my chair. His eyes gleamed up at me, grin sharp and bright.

He raised a hand, palm up. “M'Lady. Will you allow me to shoulder your ‘sin’?”

I let out a quiet laugh. “Dramatic.”

Still, I reached for one of the reports and handed it to him. As he took it, I held his gaze for a moment longer, hoping he could read the depths of the words I uttered.

“Thank you.”

His smile widened before he turned to the machine, expression shifting, focus settling in.

I watched him for a second. Then I noticed the floor beneath him.

Cold.

I stood, grabbed the blanket from my bed, and draped it over his head before sitting back down.

He looked up at once, eyes wide, caught between confusion and curiosity.

“I don’t need you getting sick on me,” I said, already turning back to my own typewriter. “I still have to apologize for missing your play.”

The keys started again, steadier now.

There was a small shuffle beside me. Then the weight of his back pressed lightly against my leg as he leaned into me. A moment later, the sound of his typing joined mine.

The rhythm settled.

Two sets of keys, side by side.

After a while, a small smile formed without me noticing.

This actually feels nice.

It had taken time. He had resisted it at first, stiff in every movement, careful even in private. But little by little, he had opened. And when it was just us, he was far greedier than I had expected. Less careful. Less afraid. Even the weight of his curse seemed to loosen its grip on him.

A quiet breath left me as the last of sleep slipped away. My eyes opened, blurred at the edges, and I rolled my head just enough to ease the stiffness in my neck, careful not to disturb him. His grip did not change.

I carefully pushed myself up onto one elbow and looked toward the tall windows. Thick veils covered them, dulling the morning light into a pale wash that spilt across the room. Dust moved through it in slow, drifting lines.

My gaze shifted to the nightstand. The clock read past seven. Beside it sat the calendar William never used, pristine, untouched except for the time I turned a page for him.

I looked at it without thinking, then paused.

The number sat too large, too clear. Over it, the month was marked in small, neat lettering.

I leaned closer. Read it again.

My mind caught up all at once.

“Oh no…” The words slipped out under my breath.

The last day.

I moved before I could think, ready to throw the deep red duvet aside and rush back to my room that had become more my study than anything else - but I did not get far.

The arm draped over my abdomen tightened.

In the same breath, it locked.

His grip pulled me back, firm and unyielding, pressing my spine flush against his chest. The warmth of him closed in around me. I stilled, caught off guard, and in that moment he shifted again. His other arm slid beneath me, trapping me fully, both arms wrapped tight, unbreakable.

William?

I turned my head as much as I could, trying to see him. “Will? Are you-”

His voice brushed against my ear before I could finish. Soft. Low.

“Stay.”

The word settled into me at once.

Everything in me stilled. A familiar feeling of smooth and weightless cloth had been laid over my body, holding me in place without pressure, without strain, and yet leaving no room to move. I could still breathe. Still speak. But my limbs refused to listen to me.

Behind me, he exhaled, content, and pressed closer. His nose nudged against my ear, his cheek settling against the top of my head as if he just didn't use his cursed power on me.

Oh, no.

“Will,” I called, keeping my voice low, controlled. I could not turn to face him, could not pull away. “Will!”

Nothing.

I tried again, sharper this time. “William!"

“Shhh.”

The sound was quiet, almost lazy, but it slid through me the same way. My mouth closed on its own.

Damn it.

I stayed still, counting the seconds by the rhythm of his breathing until it evened out again. Only then did I let out a slow breath through my nose. If I pushed too far, if I forced him awake the wrong way, he could command me to be quiet without meaning to. The thought settled cold in my chest.

When did he even start sleep talking anyway...

I lay there, staring at nothing, and tried to think.

He rarely slept this deeply, showing just how much he neglected his sleep. The weight of it was clear in how undisturbed he held me, how easily he sank back into his sleep.

I will scold him later. Right now-

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t risk raising my voice. No one from the cleaning staff would come in unless William was gone, and he wasn’t.

Every path led back to the same wall.

I pressed my teeth into my lower lip and held there, steadying myself. Think. Think.

Nothing came. The room stayed the same. The clock ticked. My breath slowed and went nowhere.

I shut my eyes.

William’s curse… of all of them, his was the wickiest.

At least it isn’t as intrusive as-

I opened my eyes.

Wait.

The thought settled into place, sharp and clear. My focus snapped toward it.

There was a way.

I drew in a slow breath, wet my lips, and kept my voice low. “Roger… if you can hear me, come to William’s bedroom. I need your help. It’s urgent.”

The words slipped out and thinned into silence.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them again. My gaze returned to the calendar, to the number that would not change, to the clock beside it as the seconds kept moving.

Please be here.

Behind me, William shifted. His pale hair brushed against mine, catching lightly as he exhaled, quiet and content.

I glanced back as far as I could. Irritation tightened in my face. Good for you.

The feeling drained just as quickly, leaving a dull weight behind. I shut my eyes again, held prisoner in my own body that would not answer me.

Please… Roger. Anyone.

.

.

.

8:35.

One... Two... Three...

I had my gaze fixed on the clock and counted each second in time with the sweep hand. It kept my mind from slipping, kept me from thinking about the rest of my body, heavy and unresponsive, while only my face still obeyed.

Nine minutes since I called Roger. Five since I tried again.

I was close to risking it, ready to shout the moment I heard someone pass the door, curse be damned-

The minute hand moved again.

8:36.

The door opened with care.

My heart jumped. My eyes snapped toward the sound, but my body stayed still. The motion stopped short against the bookshelf at the edge of my view.

I couldn’t see who it was.

But I had only called one person.

Hope pushed the words out before I could hold them back. “Roger… thank you for coming. I’m so, so sorry for bothering you.”

Footsteps approached, soft and measured.

Then a voice answered, light and cool.

“Nhaaa~ Not the egoistic hunter. Looks like someone else found the little robin trapped.”

Harry.

Relief flooded through me. If I could move, I would have smiled. “Harry!” I whispered, the name slipping out quick and bright.

Roger had to send him!

A few more steps, then he leaned into view. Light chestnut hair, eyes sharp with a hint of mischief as they moved over me, then past me to William, still holding me in his sleep.

“Mornin’, Robin.”

He straightened, then crouched in front of me. His head tilted, smile pulling wider.

“Got yourself captured by the monarch now, did ya?” He rested his elbow on his knee, cheek against his fist, studying us. “What’d you need that old man for? Thought he’d come pick you up and steal you from the queen?”

I blinked.

I hadn’t thought that far.

My lips parted, then stopped. I closed my eyes for a brief second, then looked back at him.

“I don’t know, alright? Anything would help,” I said, keeping my voice low.

He hummed, clearly entertained.

I exhaled through my nose. Prick.

Harry stretched his arms forward, still crouched, then folded them over his knees and rested his chin there. His gaze stayed on me, light and curious.

“Alright. Say I do that. What then?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Even if I get you out, you’re stuck,” he said. “Either you wait the curse out, or you wake him up and get him to tell you to do whatever.”

I shut my eyes as I exhaled. Behind me, William shifted again, pressing closer, as if he could hear us plotting how to get me away from him.

Any other time, I would have cooed over it. Might have even leaned into it.

Not now.

My eyes opened. I held Harry’s gaze.

“Alright,” I said.

The words settled before I finished them.

“Wake him up.”

Harry blinked at me, mint eyes widening.

A pause settled between us. I narrowed my eyes, already thinking he had drifted off and I would have to repeat myself.

His gaze sharpened instead, offense slipping in.

“And here I thought we were friends.”

He said it like I had broken something between us.

I stared at him, caught off guard. “What are you on about?” I whispered.

He huffed and looked away, lips set in a sulk. “Friends don’t want their friends dead, now do they?”

“Pardon?”

The word left me flat. I could only stare, trying to follow him and failing.

Any concern I had for him, however, dropped the moment I caught the edge of a smile at his mouth.

This sleazy, sly fox.

Understanding settled in. My eyes narrowed, ready to snap at him for picking at me now of all times-

He turned back before I could speak, the smile no longer hidden. He gestured lightly toward William, voice still low.

“You seem to forget what our resident ‘queen’ is like,” he said. “He’s particular about who gets to see him like this.”

His eyes held mine. Steady. Clear.

“And if he wakes up while I’m here,” he went on, “working under Jude will feel like a break compared to whatever he decides to do with me.”

I exhaled slowly. There was nothing to argue with. William let people act as they wished, but he never spared them the cost after.

I looked at Harry, expression flat. “So you’re not going to help me.”

He tilted his head, watching me, something unreadable in his face. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

Heat rose to my face before I could stop it. I shot him a look.

He grinned and lifted his hands in surrender, eyes closing for a brief second. “You do, though.”

When he opened them again, the teasing had softened. He rested his arms across his knees and looked past me.

I followed his gaze as far as I could.

William was still there, pressed close, holding me like I was something for him to treasure with care. His breathing stayed even, his grip stil firm.

“Both of you…” Harry murmured, a small smile pulling at his mouth.

Warmth slowly spread through me again, but this time I let it sit there for a moment before I pulled my focus back.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m his partner. Of course I do.”

Harry hummed, still crouched, his attention slipping inward.

I glanced at the clock. 8:55.

I pressed my teeth lightly into my lip, then looked back at him. “So?”

His eyes returned to mine at once. One brow lifted.

I let out a breath. “Are you going to help me or not?”

He watched me in silence before speaking.

“What do you want me to do, Robin?”

I opened my mouth to repeat myself, then stopped.

My gaze drifted past him as I thought it through. He wouldn’t wake William. That much was clear. And if I tried myself…

The answer came easily. Too easily.

My chest tightened.

What I wanted-

What I desired.

I looked back at him.

“Can you write the reports?” I said. “On all of you. From my notes.”

I kept my voice steady.

“They’re in my study- room. My room, on the table. Next to the typewriter.”

Harry smiled at my request, soft and easy. He rested his cheek against his fist again, elbow propped on his knee.

Hope rose in me as I watched him part his lips.

“Sure,” he said, quiet and light.

Then he added, “For a price.”

The hope went out just as fast.

I gave him a flat look, then shut my eyes with a slow breath. For a moment, I had forgotten who I was dealing with.

Selfish. Shameless. Villains.

“You sound like Jude,” I muttered.

“Don’t be silly. I have healthy hobbies,” Harry replied without pause.

A short breath left me, almost a laugh. Fair.

I groaned and looked back at him. “Fine. What do you want?”

His grin widened. The kind that never meant anything good.

.

.

.

“You can’t be serious.”

From where I lay, William still wrapped around me, his weight warm and steady, I watched Harry set up a bellows camera. He fixed it onto its stand and angled it toward the bed. Toward us.

I closed my eyes and groaned, heat rising to my face.

Still… a small part of me caught on to the thought of it. This moment captured and forever preserved sounded nice.

Harry, of course, had different reasons.

“Desperate times,” he said, distracted, adjusting the frame with care, “call for desperate measures.”

I opened one eye. “Remind me what this is for again?”

He flashed a quick smirk, then returned to the camera, checking it with quiet focus. “It’s hard to get anything on Will. I’d be a fool to miss this.”

I stared at him.

Right.

I let it go. No point arguing.

“Mhm…”

William stirred behind me, a low sound slipping from him as he pulled me closer. His arms shifted, settling under my chest, his face pressing into my neck.

I bit my lip.

The brush of his breath, the slow nudge of his nose, sent a faint shiver through me that I couldn’t hide.

If I didn’t have work-

I shut my eyes, groaning lowly through it as he held me tighter.

When I opened them again, I stared up at the ceiling, trying to steady myself.

Then I felt it.

A gaze.

I shifted my eyes as far as I could and caught Harry watching us, his mouth tilted, something between judgment and sourness.

Heat rushed to my face.

“What are you staring at?” I hissed under my breath. “Do you want the picture or not?”

He held the look for a second longer, then turned, stepping behind the camera.

“What a shameless woman…” he muttered, just loud enough.

My eyes narrowed further.

“Listen-”

The words died as I caught the flicker of his smile before he pulled the cloth over his head.

I stared straight at the lens, face warm, William still nestled against my neck.

I didn’t know how it looked from his side.

But it felt…

I pressed my teeth lightly into my bottom lip.

A flash cut through the room almost right after.

My heart jumped, eyes shutting tight for a moment before I forced them open again, vision slow to settle.

Harry was already stepping back, pulling the cloth away, satisfaction clear on his face.

I met his gaze with a glare the second I could focus.

He laughed, light and unbothered, lifting the camera with ease. “Alright, alright. Little Robin doesn’t want me in her nest anymore. I get it.”

He turned and headed for the door.

My chest tightened despite myself. I knew he would follow through, but still-

“Harry?” I called, quieter now.

He paused, hand on the handle.

Silence stretched, brief and thin.

He glanced back over his shoulder, his expression softer. “Lose the worried look. I’ll finish the reports and get them to Victor by evening.”

I held his gaze, then nodded. “Thank you.”

He turned away again. I caught the edge of a grin he no doubt tried hiding.

“Such a naive robin.”

Then he slipped out, closing the door behind him without a sound.

I let out a long breath and closed my eyes.

With that settled, the weight over my head eased. What was left didn’t seem so-

My eyes opened.

A slow curve pressed against my shoulder where William rested.

Oh no.

I couldn’t move, but I felt the change at once. My body went cold, my heart picking up, fast and uneven. I couldn’t tell if it was worry or anticipation that held stronger.

“W-Will, I- ah… mhm-”

My eyes shut tight as I tried to swallow the lewd sounds. His teeth grazed my neck, sharp enough to make me tense, not enough to break skin. His fingers slid into my hair, long and steady, guiding my head back.

His tongue followed, slow and hot. He hummed when I spoke his name. The scrape of his nails across my scalp sent a shiver through me that I couldn’t stop.

My eyes fluttered open, unfocused. I caught part of his profile as he leaned over me, that smile already there.

It took a moment for my thoughts to settle into place.

“How long?” I asked. There was no need to explain.

He didn’t answer right away. He leaned closer instead, eyes lowering as he traced the line of my jaw with his nose, then my cheek, then my ear. His teeth caught there, light, enough to pull a quiet sound from me.

I felt his smile against my skin before he spoke, his voice soft, smooth, no trace of sleep left in it.

“Long enough to know my lady doesn’t hesitate to call another man’s name while lying beside me.”

My breath caught.

His other hand found mine, still useless at my side. His nails traced along my palm, slow, deliberate, up to my fingertips before he closed his hand around mine and pressed it down above my head.

The hand in my hair shifted, guiding me lower, turning me until I lay beneath him. I could see him fully now, his figure leaning over mine, his gaze fixed.

His eyes held that same deep red, steady and intent, something unrestrained sitting just beneath it.

His grip on my hand tightened slightly.

“Will my robin allow me to be greedier than I already am?” he asked, each word drawn out, careful.

I knew he had heard everything. Knew he had pretended to sleep, choosing not to move and indulge instead of allowing me to move away.

Still-

I smiled.

My gaze met his, steady, open.

“When have you ever stopped me from taking what I wanted from you?” I said, just as quiet.

For a second, he stilled.

Then his expression shifted, something brighter breaking through. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating as if the answer alone had pleased him.

After that-

We didn’t leave the room again until dinner.

Maybe I'm becoming something like Jude's "doggy" the same way Ellis seems to be. The thought made me smile, a little sheepish, as I set the brush aside and leaned closer to the mirror.

I gathered my hair with slow fingers, letting it fall into a loose, careless style. The deep purple bow rested where I had left it, its fabric soft against my fingertips.

Ellis had picked it out for me during a walk, after he saw me gazing at it with wishful eyes. I tied it in place, adjusting it once, then again, until it sat just right. When I finished, I held my own gaze for a second and allowed myself a small, satisfied smile.

Smile… I couldn't quite recall when I had last stopped smiling these days.

My eyes shifted, almost idly, towards the calendar pinned nearby. I rarely had reason to look at it. Most days blurred into one another between helping Ellis at Jude’s company and letting Ellis pull me away from it all again. The dates hardly mattered when I spent nearly all of them the same way.

Still, something made me pause.

I leaned closer.

“Oh my goodness-”

My hand came up to cover my mouth before I could stop it. I leaned even closer, close enough that the neat lines of Ellis’s handwriting sharpened into focus. Important dates were marked in careful strokes, colour bleeding across the page in bright highlights, little scribbles tucked into the margins that always made me smile when I noticed them.

I did not even had the focus to apricate them.

My eyes fixed on the date where blue square marked the edge of the month.

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

The words slipped out under my breath, one after the other, as the weight of it settled in. The last day. Tomorrow is-

I straightened too quickly, the room tilting for a brief second before snapping back into place. My heart had already started racing ahead of me. I did not think. There was no time left for it.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I turned and hurried out of Ellis’s room, my heels striking sharp against the floor as I broke into a run. The corridor blurred past me. I barely registered it before I reached my own bedroom - if it could still be called that. I used it more as an office than anything else, a place where work piled higher than sleep ever did.

I pushed the door open and rushed inside, the panic pressing close and loud in my chest.

Work I should have already finished.

Work I had completely forgotten about.

.

.

.

I did not think at all once I sat before the typewriter. I lined up the notes I had gathered on the men, stacked and marked, and let my fingers fall into their familiar dance across the keys. Afterwards, the clacking settled into a steady cadence. My eyes moved between paper and page, lifting a detail, placing it down, then moving on. The work pulled me in with no resistance.

Time lost its relevance. The room brightened, dimmed and darkened without my notice. I forgot the stiffness in my shoulders, the dryness in my eyes, the slow ache building in my back. None of it reached me.

The window slid open at some point. Cool air slipped in and brushed the nape of my neck, stirring loose strands of my hair. I did not react. A shadow stretched over the desk, over my hands, over the page, and still I did not look up.

Arms closed around me.

“AAAH-!” The sound tore out of me before I could stop it. My chest jolted as a hand pressed flat against my chest, fingers long and steady, feeling the sharp hammer of my heart. A cheek settled against my left shoulder. Soft curls (?) grazed my skin.

I turned, breath catching, and met a familiar gradient of deep violet fading into sunset orange.

“Ellis.” I breathed out; the tension left me at once. I leaned back into him, letting my weight rest in his hold. Wait... Didn't I looked the door?

However, before I could think further, with the spell broken, everything returned at once. My fingers throbbed from the hours of use. My back pulled tight when I shifted. My eyes burned when I blinked.

“I’m home.” His voice brushed against my ear, low and close. He nuzzled into the side of my neck.

“Welcome home,” I said, rubbing at my eyes before tilting my head so my cheek pressed into his curls.

“Mhm… What are you doing?” he asked, quiet, careful not to disturb the stillness that had settled around us. Or more like not to disturbed the thorns engulfing me. The thought dragged sluggishly through my mind. I remained still, eyes unfocued.

“Robin?”

I blinked. The word reached me slowly. My thoughts dragged, heavy and unfocused. I shook my head once, turning slightly toward him. He had drawn back just enough to look at me, his arms tightening around my shoulders.

I gave him a small, tired smile. “Ah… apologies. I forgot about the reports. The ones for the Queen. I haven’t finished them.”

Silence settled between us. I glanced down at the desk, scanning the spread of pages. Only two documents remained. A quiet breath slipped out of me.

Ellis shifted slightly. “Was your submission date postponed?”

“Huh? No. Why?” I frowned and looked past him toward the window. The sky beyond it had gone dark. The glass reflected the dim room back at me. I had been here the entire day.

I still had a few hours left.

I opened my mouth to explain, to apologize, to say I needed a little more time-

“It’s the first today, Robin.”

“What?!” I jerked up too fast, pain cutting through me as my vision tilted and swam. A groan slipped out before I could stop it. I would have folded forward if Ellis had not held me, his arm firm across me, keeping me steady against him.

My head felt heavy. Thoughts would not line up.

Then a low sound broke the quiet. It took me a second to realize it came from me. Heat crept up my neck as my stomach rumbled again, soft but impossible to ignore. I stared down at my lap and refused to look at him.

Ellis said nothing.

If it was still this dark, then it had to be early. Four hours, maybe five, before I had to hand the reports to Victor-

Something brushed my elbow.

I blinked, slow, and turned toward it. Warmth slid along my arms, down to my hands. Ellis’s hands settled beneath mine, larger, warmer.

I watched, dazed, as he lifted them. He straightened with them, my back now settled against his abdomen. My hands hovered over the typewriter. Then his fingers shifted, sliding over mine, longer, enclosing them.

It felt strange. Like I wasn’t fully in control.

Like a marionette.

I felt his chin came to rest lightly on my head. Then his voice, low and even, filled the room as he pressed down. My fingers followed, the key striking under them.

“Since I know it would make you unhappy if I did the work for you…” he said, careful with each word.

Another key. Then another. He kept the pace slow, steady, pulling me along with him.

“You always said working together makes you happier.”

The sound of typing settled into a rhythm. Our fingers moved as one, finishing the reports I had left behind. The room stayed quiet except for the keys and the faint sound of his breathing behind me.

At some point, my eyes closed.

I did not remember when.

Darkness took me without warning, and still, even as I slipped under, his hands kept mine moving, pressing each key in a steady rhythm, his warmth holding me through the cold.

.

.

.

I woke with a sharp breath, lifting my head as I looked around-

My room?

I blinked and rubbed my eyes, fingers catching in my hair as I tried to make sense of it. It was some time since I last slept here- Wait.

I looked down.

Not the bed.

The desk.

I had fallen asleep at the table?

My chest suddenly tightened as I pushed up from the chair. A blanket slipped from my shoulders, falling to the floor without a sound. I barely noticed. My hands moved on their own, searching, flipping through the stacks where the reports should have been.

Nothing.

Only my notebooks, set now neatly on the side of the table, easily illuminated by the morning light filtering through the window.

“Oh no, no, no…” I dragged a hand through my hair, shaking my head as my pulse picked up. “Did I dream all that?”

It would not be the first time. I had lost hours before, filled them with things that never happened; especially the ones that included-

Ellis...

The thought hit hard. My chest dropped at the idea of him sleeping alone in an empty bed.

I had to pushed it aside, however.

No time. I make it up to him later. I promised myself.

I turned and rushed out of the room, down the hallway, my steps uneven as I headed straight for Victor’s office.

Right now, I needed to beg for more time.

.

.

.

“Victor!” I pushed the door open too hard, the wood striking the wall as I stepped into his study. I stopped in the doorway, breath tight, and looked straight at the Crown’s "Reaper".

He glanced up from the papers in his hands and smiled, bright and easy, as if nothing was amiss and it was just another fine morning.

“Robin! My dear. What a pleasure to see you this early. Is there something pressing that requires my attention?”

His tone was light. It should have comforted me. It did not.

I stepped forward, forcing my shoulders straight, the urgency still sitting in my chest. His smile faded as he watched me, his eyes sharpening with focus.

“Victor, I apologize, but may I request an extension for the submission of the reports? I… I seem to... have…” My voice caught. I bit down on my lip, words stalling.

I did not want to lie.

“It would be very helpful.”

Silence stretched between us.

I held his gaze at first, hope thinning into something tighter, something close to dread. When it went on too long, I looked away. My shoulders sank.

I’m sorry, Victor.

The thought pressed heavy. I knew how important this was, and I still-

A sharp clap cut through the room.

I looked up.

Victor’s expression had changed. His eyes shone, hands clasped together in clear delight.

“How admirable! You’ve begun to grasp the nature of the unexpected that co-occurs in the Crown. To anticipate deviations from the obvious course…” He nodded, almost pleased with himself. “I would have no issue requesting a week’s leisure from the Queen before final submission. I am certain she will agree.”

He said nothing about the reports due today still.

My thoughts stalled, then shifted, something not quite fitting into place.

“Ah… Victor?”

“Mhm?” he replied, waiting.

“What about today’s reports?” I asked, careful, unsure.

Understanding lit his face at once. He turned slightly and tapped a stack of papers to his right.

“Ah, yes. Ellis delivered them two hours ago. Said you worked very hard. Exhausted yourself, even.” His expression shifted into something resembling scolding look, though the warmth did not leave it. “I appreciate diligence, Robin, but your health remains my priority. Please, don't push yourself too hard.”

I blinked, trying to follow, the tension loosening all at once from me.

“Ah… thank you, Victor,” I said, quieter now.

My gaze drifted to the familiar papers I've always use for the reports.

“Victor… did you notice anything… different about them?” I asked.

He glanced at the stack, then back at me, the hand that rested on the papers coming up to rest beneath his chin as he considered it.

“I only had time to review the first. Harrison’s file.” He paused, thinking. “No significant difference in your writing. Why? Were you attempting a new method?” A small smile returned. “If so, I will read them more carefully and provide thorough feedback.”

I shook my head at once, lifting my hands in a small, quick motion.

“No. No, just curiosity. I was tired while typing them, that’s all.”

That part, at least, was true.

A breath left me, softer this time, and a faint smile settled in its place.

Ellis.

I really need to thank him.

And apologize.

Jude.

My lips curved at the memory of him, and that was when I became aware of the colder space to my left. I turned, already knowing what I would find, and saw his side of the bed neatly made and empty.

Aah… who is in the lead now?

The thought came unbidden, almost amused. Jude’s ridiculous waking hours had long since turned into a quiet rivalry between us. Who would wake first? Who would greet the other? Who would steal the first kiss of the day? I found myself smiling sheepishly as I tried to recall who had won last.

I should just ask him… though he will no doubt tease me about-

My thoughts broke off.

My eyes had drifted without intention to the calendar on Jude’s writing table. The sight of it pulled something taut inside my chest.

I felt my heart stop.

For a moment, everything held still. Then my body moved before my thoughts could catch up, the duvet tangling as I struggled free. I nearly lost my footing in the process, my balance slipping as I swung myself out of bed. The cold of the floor met my feet, sharp and immediate.

I steadied myself and hurried forward.

The calendar remained where Jude had left it, its surface marked with annotations, scribbles, and explanations that spoke of his relentless schedule. I ignored all of it. My focus locked onto a single detail: the red square.

It had been shifted.

“Day before next month!”

The words left me in a strangled exclamation, my hand snapping up to cover my mouth as though I could physically contain what that meant. The realisation settled heavily, final in a way that made my stomach tighten.

Without wasting another second, I moved.

Still in my satin nightdress, the fabric barely noticeable against my skin, I rushed to the closet we had begun to share. My fingers found the warmer robe Jude had given me on my birthday, and I pulled it on in haste. There was no pause, no hesitation. I left his room behind, crossing the threshold into the space that had once been mine but had gradually become my working space.

My "office".

.

.

.

Once inside, I shut the door and locked it. Then I barred it, pushing any furniture I could move before it with a hint of urgency. Only when I stood facing it did I allow myself a breath.

I pressed my hands together in a prayer.

“Please forgive me and have mercy on my body,” I murmured into my clasped fingers.

The words felt almost similar to how nuns pray to the statue of their god, though the intent behind them was far from pure. It was less a prayer and more a plea directed at the devil himself that I would rather not confront.

I had no time explaining to him why I had to disappear into this room, knowing full well that once I spoke to Jude, I would have no motivation to sit and write reports on nine unpredictable men, with three more added to that number not long ago.

I lowered my hands.

With renewed focus, I turned to my desk and took my seat at the typewriter. My posture settled into something more familiar, more controlled. My hand reached for the first notebook I made on-

My expression soured, sir Elbert... The stack alone was thick enough to make my shoulders tense. I set them aside with care, choosing to leave them for last. Liam’s notes came next, far more manageable, and I allowed myself to start without interruption.

.

.

.

The typewriter’s sound became a constant presence, repetitive and grounding.

It was no surprise, then, that I barely reacted when something struck the barricaded door.

A voice followed immediately, familiar and sharp with irritation.

“What the hell. Oi!

The door rattled under the impact, the force behind it unmistakable. Whoever stood on the other side was not holding back. The wood shifted slightly within its frame, the pressure visible in the way it resisted. There was no restraint in the attempt, no concern for the expense or the condition of the door. Only intent.

They were trying to get in.

Only when a forceful kick struck the door did the crack of the wood echo through the room, the walls shuddering faintly with the impact. I gasped, jolting away from the typewriter as my chair rattled beneath me. My body stilled almost at once, one hand flying to cover my mouth. My eyes widened as my breathing turned shallow, each inhale carefully restrained in the hope that he didn't hear me.

I could feel my heartbeat pressing against my ears.

My gaze drifted, almost instinctively, to the elegant watch on the table that Jude had chosen for me, which sat angled just enough for me to easily read the time.

Shit… it was nearing lunch.

I squeezed my eyes shut as a memory surfaced. Jude had mentioned it yesterday, his voice casual, leaving no space for refusal. He had said he would take me out, that I should dress warmly since the place was near the sea. The season was changing, and he had insisted he would not have me falling ill. His tone had carried that familiar blend of concern and teasing.

Though knowing him, he would not mind seeing me unwell if it gave him something to bully me over.

My brow tightened at the thought.

A soft thump drew my attention back to the door again. It came again, closer this time, followed by the faint drag of something shifting against the wood. Then Jude’s voice, low and steady, carried through the barrier as though he were leaning against it with his weight, forehead resting somewhere near the surface.

“When’d me princess turn this naughty, eh? Haah~? Didn’t twig I’d done such a poor job last night that you’ve got the strength to shove the furniture in front o’ a door.”

A shiver ran through me.

I pressed my knees together, shoulders tightening as warmth spread across my body in a way that made my thoughts falter. Unbelievable, I thought, keeping my eyes shut as my hand remained firmly over my mouth.

If I stayed quiet, he might assume I was not here. If I kept my breathing steady, perhaps he would leave.

The silence stretched.

For a brief moment, it felt as though it might work.

Then another voice cut in, followed by the sharp sound of something being unsheathed. Ellis. His tone carried confusion as he addressed Jude.

My eyes snapped open. Realisation of what Jude planned on doing made me turn in my chair and speak without thinking, my voice rising before I could stop it.

“Jude! Don’t damage the door!”

The words left me immediately, followed by overwhelming regret. I pressed my lips together, lowering my head. Good job.

A familiar, mocking laugh followed from the other side.

“Aah~ So the naughty Robin ain’t playin’ dead, is she~? Fancy explainin’ why you’re not only hidin’ but avoidin’ me as well?”

Something sharp embedded itself into the door with a solid thud, the sound making me bite down on my lower lip.

I should not be finding this appealing.

I wet my lips and forced my voice out, steadier than I felt. “I am not avoiding you.”

Silence followed.

It lingered just long enough for me to draw a breath, though I knew better than to treat it as reassurance. In Jude’s hands, silence rarely meant acceptance.

My expression flattened as I looked away from the door, my fingers fidgeting together in my lap.

“I just realised it is the end of the month,” I continued, my tone more measured now, “and I have not even begun my work as a Fairytale Keeper for the crown. I have too many reports to complete.”

I let out a small groan at the end, more for myself than for him. Sympathy was not something I expected.

The silence that followed carried a different weight, however, and it made me hope even if just a little.

Then his voice returned, softer in tone but edged with something unmistakably deliberate.

“Ro-bin~?”

A shiver ran down my spine at the mocking sing-song lilt. I straightened slightly, my expression tightening.

“Yes?” I answered.

"If you don’t unblock this door in three seconds,” he said, each word measured, “I promise you I’ll get me hands on you and have you quiverin’ and cryin’ the whole day, till you wake up achin’ and can’t rightly recall what day it is.”

The sweetness in his voice carried a quiet threat beneath it.

I let out a small, startled sound.

There was no hesitation after that.

I moved at once, abandoning any thought of resistance as I pushed myself to the door and began unblocking it.

Although… part of me, the quieter, more twisted part that had grown with each passing day, urged me to do the opposite. To see what Jude would do. To test the edge of his restraint.

But thinking him not to punish me for this was still foolish.

When the door finally opened, cold air brushed against my skin. I met Jude’s eyes first. His amethyst gaze held a suppressed relief that was easy to miss at a glance, but unmistakable once I caught it. The tension that had been coiled in his expression eased for a fraction of a second before something else took its place, something sharper, more intent. His relief gave way to a focused heat that settled behind his eyes, and for a brief moment I wondered what had caused the shift.

Then I remembered my appearance.

My breath caught.

Wide-eyed, I turned my gaze slightly to the left, where Ellis stood. He looked at me with a gentle, almost innocent calm, his expression soft as he took in the scene without apparent judgement.

“Morning, Robin,” he said, unaware of the growing shift in atmosphere. “Oh… I mean, afternoon.”

He corrected himself with a small, easy smile, his attention remaining on me as though nothing else in the room demanded it.

Ellis… I silently pleaded.

I returned a trembling smile, careful not to draw further attention. Speaking to him felt unwise in that moment, as though any additional word might tip something out of balance. Instead, I shifted my focus back to Jude.

He wore a self-satisfied smirk, looking down at me slightly from where he stood.

“What a nice dress ya got there, princess. New style ya tryin’? Fancy lettin’ me test the quality?”

Before I could respond, he stepped forward. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, firm but controlled, and in the same motion he guided me backwards into the room. The door shut behind us with a decisive click, the lock turning immediately.

His eyes never left mine.

The last thing I registered was the depth of that gaze, the darkened amethyst still holding onto that earlier intensity, before the moment dissolved into something far more consuming.

Time slipped.

.

.

.

I woke with a low groan, my body heavy and unresponsive at first. Light filtered across my skin, and an unfamiliar soreness lingered in my muscles. My cheeks felt tight, the remnants of dried tears still present against my skin.

For a moment, I lay there, blinking slowly as my mind struggled to place where I was, what time it might be, even what day had passed. The silence around me offered no immediate answers.

Eventually, I shifted onto my elbow, turning my head to the side.

The space beside me was empty, the bed neatly arranged. I exhaled through my nose, letting the tension in my shoulders ease as I sank back into the pillow.

“Curse you, Jude Jazza,” I muttered under my breath.

.

.

.

Later, I sat dressed in a comfortable blouse and a long skirt, my posture slightly slouched as I drank freshly squeezed juice. The taste helped settle the meal I had just finished, cutting through the heaviness that lingered.

I sat at the long table alongside several members of the Crown and Vogel groups. Conversations moved around me at a steady, but tensed pace, though none required my direct involvement at that moment. Jude and Ellis were absent, both likely occupied with duties at Jude’s company already.

I closed my eyes. I should get going myself.

Just as I was about to rise, my gaze drifted, and it landed on Victor. He had just stepped out of the kitchen, dressed in a ridiculously large chef’s hat and a blue apron that hung neatly over his frame.

Our eyes met.

A sudden rush of memory flooded back to me. What I was supposed to do. What I had forgotten and what I had eventually was forced to step away from.

My eyes widened in realisation, while Victor continued to stare at me with an unblinking, blank expression.

Oh my god-

“Victor!” I called out, my tone sharper than intended, drawing attention across the room. I ignored Ring’s slight flinch at the sudden volume, as well as the curious glances from the other Crown and Vogel members as their conversations paused and their heads turned.

“Robin!” Victor responded with equal enthusiasm, his face breaking into a bright, dazzling smile.

My fingers gripped the edge of the table as I watched him approach, waiting for whatever he was about to say. His next words, however, stopped me cold.

“The reports from yesterday were truly magnifique! Although a bit less descriptive and more blunt, I must say the way you worded each event was a treat to read, my dear!” he said, his voice carrying complete sincerity.

I stared at him, forcing myself not to gape.

For a brief moment, my thoughts drifted to Jude. The realisation of what he must have done brought a small warmth to my chest, though it faded almost as quickly as it appeared.

Victor stepped closer, his expression shifting to one of mild confusion as though something had only just occurred to him.

“Oh yes. Before I forget, this letter was at the very bottom, intended for you. I imagine that late at night you must have accidentally handed it to Jude along with the reports.”

He spoke with calm precision as he placed a gleaming black envelope into my hand. A familiar raven seal marked its surface, making my body stiffen instinctively.

Ignoring the confirmation that it was Jude who had to do all the reports for me, my grip tightened slightly as my thoughts ran ahead of me, already anticipating what it meant for me.

Opening it with my shaking fingers, I read on, my eyes widening with each line as the colour drained from my face.

I let out a slow breath and allowed my head to drop onto the table with a quiet thud after reading the contents of the letter. The notice from the debt collection letter sat heavily in my mind.

I am going to die~

The thought dragged out in my head, drawn and weary. I kept my knees pressed together beneath the table, a faint flush creeping across my face, grateful it remained hidden.

“Oh my!” Victor exclaimed beside me.

Harrison let out a snicker, while Roger joined in right after. “If you have consciousness, please tell me so I can treat you immediately, lil' lady~”

“Ach, ach.” Darius’s voice followed, smooth and light, cutting through the air with ease.

I ignored them all.

There was nothing left for me to say, no reaction worth giving. I had already accepted what was coming for me.

Maybe with a bit too much ease.

“Why?”

Mystery’s voice stayed level, but the tension behind it cracked through the surface. He snapped the book he was holding in his hand shut — Manga, it was called — and his clawed fingers dug slightly into the glossy cover.

He felt how the paper tore under his grip, not moving his head towards where he knew you were.

He didn't need to. Mystery could "see" even though his eyes were veiled. His senses gathered all he needed as he easily tracked your wave that flickered towards its core - you. Showing him you were a few feet from where he sat on the couch.

He could taste your nerves — bitter, and faintly metallic. Could hear the sound of skin against skin, fingers picking at the tender flesh holding the nail. The soft, muffled drag of your teeth tugging your bottom lip.

You were stalling, even as you stood there trying to force yourself to speak

Why—Why—Why— The word rang in his mind. It didn’t make sense.

Hadn’t he mimicked every gesture, every sentiment, every desire captured in the pages of human literature — the kind humans seemed so desperate to have? Wasn’t he the perfect reflection of what humans longed for?

Inside his chest, that hollow space pulled tight — like it was trying to fill with something that just wouldn’t come. But what was he meant to feel?

What... gave me such a feeling? His brow drew low. His clawed fingers bit deeper into the manga’s cover, and he felt you flinch. Heard you take one step back. One sharp breath.

Understandable..., Mystery didn't blame you.

After you’d both agreed to enter this new, intimate relationship, Mystery had decided it would be inconvenient not to show you what he was.

He needed the time to shed the itching skin of a human and let his true form breathe. Humans were always fearful creatures when facing something unfamiliar, and he understood why. But by now… surely you knew he had no intention of feasting on your soul?

Not yet, he thought dryly. The idea still sent a hum through his body. Would it help? Would it fill him, if he finally gave in? Of course not. But the fire inside him lied. And it lied well to his insatiable body.

He didn’t entertain the thought long. It always left a scratch behind his eyes. Let Jinu cling to the fantasy of redemption and lost souls being returned. Mystery had stopped hoping for that long ago. There was no clean way out of what he’d become. No easy answer to what every demon secretly desired.

This was just what he - they were. Demons reborn to take. He didn’t want to feed on humans. But want had nothing to do with need.

And the closer you got, the more your soul offered itself to him through your vibrant crimson wave, making it harder for him not to devour what you were so graciously offering. So he stole little pieces, enough to dull the ache of his growing hunger.

But it wasn’t the taste that kept him near you.

You’d reminded him of things. What the trees looked like in different seasons. What a genuine smile felt like. What it meant to sit beside someone and not do anything other than just be.

You gave him pure answers to his questions and asked in turn, reacting with colours of expressions he forgot the human face was capable of making.

So he gave in — accepted your offer for something deeper, and once again began reshaping the unfamiliar until it fit into something known.

He paid more attention. Learned what made you stay. Because if he wanted you close, then keeping you content was no longer optional.

So he gave you what you wanted. Spoke the words you wanted to hear. Bought the objects your gaze lingered on a moment too long. Sent photos of himself to you that were not even given to the humans who were in charge of running those icons in his “mini TV.”

So... what did he do wrong? Why were you pushing him again toward something shapless? Why were you dragging him back into something he already believed he'd mastered?

Whywhywhy—!

“I…”

Your voice, soft and unsure, pulled him back.

He looked down. The manga was torn — his clawed fingers had gone right through the cover. But the rest of his human form still held. At least there was that.

He straightened. His attention settled on you fully.

He heard your breath hitch. Heard how your lashes flicker under the weight of something you hadn’t let fall. He couldn't feel your heart, not in the way others could, but he could hear it — stumbling, too quick. No proper rhythm, only recoil.

You pulled in a steady breath. It did little to hide the tremble in your arms he could feel from your wave, but when you spoke, your voice was clear. Each word was chosen carefully.

“‘Tery — Mystery, I… This. Me and you. We as a couple — don’t work well together.”

There it was. The problem.

And every problem had a solution. Mystery could still fix whatever you believed was broken.

He didn’t move suddenly. That would only feed the tension thrumming off your wave. Instead, he carefully withdrew his claws from the manga’s ruined cover and placed it on the table.

Then — silence.

You filled the quiet one second later from what he expected.

“Don’t get me wrong, please. You’re - were a great partner to me. You treated me so, so well! But… I…” Your breath hitched. “Mystery, I felt nothing from any of it.”

Your words didn't hurt. They just stalled him.

Nothing?

That wasn't new. But the situation made it hit different.

He almost laughed — a dry sound that never quite left his throat. Instead, something old surfaced. A flicker from a time before hunger became the only feeling that he could call his. When he was still a human child who could feel joy from a simple picture.

It took becoming a demon for Mystery to realise: whatever lived inside a person shaped everything they did.

And you can’t fake what isn’t there. You can’t share what you’ve never held.

His gaze dropped. Veiled eyes traced the carpet in silence, as if searching for something buried beneath the fibres — a pattern, a set of steps, anything to guide him forward. But there was nothing.

Only that one sharp truth. You have to feel... to be felt.

He exhaled, unsteady. A hand lifted to his forehead as the pressure swelled behind his eyes — old memories scraping against the moment now, too loud to push aside. What had once felt mapped out was shifting under him a bit too fast.

How do I keep you, if I can’t feel a single thing—

The thought broke off. His body stilled. Then straightened.

His focus narrowed to you.

You flinched — just slightly — when he moved. Eyes wide, blinking as he rose from the couch. He crossed the space between you with slow, even steps. You didn’t step back, but he could feel your wave tighten, betraying how aware you were of the distance shrinking.

When he stopped, his hand rose slowly. Steady fingers brushing under the fringe that always shrouded his face.

He hesitated. Not because he felt anything in that moment. There was nothing beyond the dull static of your wave and the familiar hollowness pressing in from within.

But still, he paused because of you.

You hadn’t moved, but he sensed the tension vibrating from within your line. It crawled across the space between you, subtle and sharp. His body nearly responded — a breath caught at the threshold of stillness — but the flame inside him flared, burning your feelings immediately leaving him hollow once more.

With a quiet exhale, he lifted the fringe.

Eyes the colour of fractured sky met yours. Clearer than his brothers’, rounder than Baby’s. Unblinking. You easily caught your own image staring back at you — wide nervous eyes with sadness and resignation reflected right back at.

Your breath caught. Your pupils dilated.

He let the moment stretch, watching closely as the reality that what you saw in his eyes was all yours, not his.

"I can’t feel," he said at last, voice flat but honest — as if stating a fact, not a confession.

You blinked once. The tension in your face settled, just slightly. Then came a smile — faint, drawn at the corners, tired more than anything else.

“I know,” you said.

His head dipped. A phantom feeling of what he had forgotten moved in his chest. Fading before it could take hold. Whatever it was, it never stayed long. A seed without proper soil could never grow.

When your hand lifted to brush back the fringe covering his face, he didn’t stop you. He let his own hand fall at his side and stood still, exposed in the only way he could be.

Your gaze held him. Warm, searching — steady with something he recognised only through your wave. His chest rose, as if reaching for it. But when it fell again, it carried nothing with it.

He understood the feelings. Understood the meaning behind your touch, the steady shape of your breathing. But it couldn't reach him.

Not unless he fed on your wave.

The silence that followed lingered. Then, quietly, he asked, “Will you still leave?”

There was no edge to the question. He wasn’t trying to sway you. He only wanted to know.

You didn’t answer right away.

Your brow furrowed, lashes lowering as your eyes scanned his — still open, still bare. You were searching for something. Something you’d hoped to find. When it didn’t appear, your breath slipped out, and your head dipped.

“…Yes,” you whispered.

It happened again — the fire. Crawling up from inside him, clawing at his ribs. It pushed forward like instinct, tightening everything in him. His shoulders twitched. His mouth dried. Every part of him reached for you with a hunger that demanded him to act.

He could consume you. Could take you into himself in the only way he truly understood.

His forehead came to rest against the back of your head. Your hand, once holding his fringe, slipped down to his chest, resting lightly against the fabric. The heat of your palm bled through his shirt, quiet and longing.

His hair mingled with yours where it brushed your crown. He shut his eyes slowly.

He remembered. Long ago, before the fire, there were fragments. Hints. Echoes of what it meant to feel.

But the flame that fueled all demons had never let them linger long enough for them to remember.

He pressed his forehead more firmly into your hair, breathing deep, trying to suppress the burn clawing at his throat. This was the part he hated. The blankness. The not-knowing. He could adapt to anything — mimic, copy, perform — but this… this he couldn’t fake.

His fingers curled at his sides.

Something inside his human shell shifted — strained. It wanted to give way. To split open and let the other form take over. But—

You touched his arm.

The moment your hand met his skin, his body moved on its own.

His arms wrapped around you, swift and firm, locking you to him. He pulled you close — chest to chest, your form pressed flush against his. The grip was too tight, almost severe, but it was the only thing that stopped the fire from rising any further.

He forced his lungs to work. Each breath was measured. Careful. If he slipped, even for a moment, his body might act on the ache still gnawing at him.

It wasn’t pain. Not exactly.

It was the hollow — stretched wider than before, sharpened by proximity. Your soul, your presence — so near. It made everything inside him roar.

He wouldn’t feel this again. Your voice, your warmth, your questions that always came without hesitation — all of it would echo in the space left behind.

He needed you to stay.

Not just for the hunger. Not even just for comfort. But because you’d taken him somewhere he didn’t want to leave.

But if he made you stay — if he wrapped you in illusion, fed you every fantasy you wanted, tethered you to him with powers you wouldn’t recognise until it was too late — he’d lose the last thing he foolishly clung to. His one remaining piece of humanity.

So, while his ribs ached from holding it all back, he let go.

His arms dropped from your waist.

He stood there as your wave brushed against him quietly. The beat of your heart was the only thing he let guide him, matching its rhythm with his breath to give the impression of a hearbeat.

But inside, there was only silence. A form of rotten peace.

He straightened.

The fringe fell back into place, casting his eyes in shadow again. He didn’t need to see your face. He could taste your tears falling — could sense how they dimmed the light of your wave.

It's so- His lips parted slightly. Then closed again.

Mystery wanted to shape your feelings into something edible — to interpret your sorrow the way his kind was built to. To make sense of it as flavour, as nourishment, as something he could take in and be filled by.

But he refused.

Not now. He would not let your pain become his sustenance.

Your wave shimmered faintly, softened by tenderness. It told him you were smiling at him, sadly. He heard the wet sniffle that followed, the gentle motion of your hand brushing tears from your cheeks — careful, almost apologetic, as if even now you didn’t want to burden him.

And yet, every movement echoed louder in him than the flame in his body ever could.

He followed you as you walked to the front door, the movement of your wave brushing along his side with a gentle plea.

It called to him to stop you, to do something.

But Mystery didn’t listen.

He wanted to. He wanted to take it all back, fall back into the illusion of what you both tried to be — a happy couple, a working version of your love. But he couldn’t. Because he was already standing in the unknown. And he knew where this led.

He knew what you needed. He knew he couldn’t give it to you. He knew what would happen if he clung to you anyway. He knew this would only repeat. He knew... Mystery knew this would repeat if he were to step to stop you.

He felt your final glance before you even turned — your still-crimson wave dimmed by sorrow, but glittering with stubborn particles of adoration. For him. For his brothers. For the parts of him you couldn’t bring yourself to dataset.

From behind his fringe, Mystery tilted his head just slightly to the side so he could catch the outline of your back as you reached the door.

He watched everything.

The way your clothes folded as you moved. The loose strands of your hair curling near your neck. The subtle gleam of your line. The way your hand lingered on the doorknob before turning it.

He knew you wouldn’t look back.

And you didn’t.

The door shut softly with finality — and he could smell the tears already spilling down your face, blurring your sight, thickening your breath. Hear your steps sounding down the hallway, muffled by the carpet.

And all Mystery could feel was—

“Huh…” The sound escaped him in a half-breath as he stared down at his own steady hand.

The fire inside him roared in protest. Furious. Starving. Displeased with his decision.

He ignored it. Mystery had long since learned how to silence Gwi-ma’s hunger, how to stand upright while his nerves were ground down to ash. He turned away from the door and stood there, alone with his reshaping thoughts.

He thought that maybe — once he let you go — something would shift.

Shift what? He tilted his head, a humourless smirk tugging at his lips.

That his soul would miraculously return to him?

How naïve. The thought amused him in a bitter, detached way, Jinu’s foolishness must be rubbing off on me....

...Letting go... He’d long since understood the paradox of those bound to Gwi-ma through a contract. To reclaim what they'd once given up willingly, all they had to do was the opposite of the very act that damned them in the first place.

It wasn't even hard to get the answer. All Mystery had to do was listen and ask.

Gwi-ma, as he quickly learned, answered any question openly so long as the asking came with reverence. A deity's arrogance, veiled as generosity. Like a king tossing scraps to the hungry, flaunting wisdom like gold to the poor.

That's where Mystery’s own demise had become his salvation. In losing his soul, he retained a twisted sense of curiosity that forced him to ask endlessly, for the simple desire to understand, so he will never be surprised ever again.

Answers came. One after another. Eventually, so did the plan.

He often wondered if Jinu had figured it out too, or if the poor fool was still stumbling blindly through the ruins of himself, hoping he might crash into salvation by accident.

In any case... Mystery stepped away from the door at last.

His mind was already working - reshaping what he saw. Rearranging the space where you once fit. Reconfiguring his the world to match what now was.

He ascended the stairs without a sound.

Letting go was supposed to return his soul to him. Make his freely given humanity channel to flow back in and drown Gwi-ma's flame inside him.

But clearly, it wasn’t that simple.

With a quiet sigh, he pushed open the door to his room, closing it behind him with a soft click. He crossed the floor with that same mindless grace and sank onto the edge of the bed — knees bending, body folding — before letting himself fall onto the mattress.

Should take a day or two to adjust. He let his limbs relax. Let his eyes close. And allowed his mind to begin its usual slow, reshaping of everything unfamiliar into patterns he would understand.

It was a familiar drill. After all, this wasn’t his first attempt at letting go.

════════════════════════════

▻ Jinu SAJA

🐦‍⬛ Jinu jolted upright, his whole body snapping into motion. He stared down at you, eyes wide and unblinking — bulging, even — as a confused croak escaped him. “Heeeh?!”

🐦‍⬛ Wait. Wait, wait, wait... Wait what? The thought slammed into him like a slap, his panicked expression slowly caving into bewilderment. What did you mean, break up?

🐦‍⬛ You had to be joking. Just a prank, right? Where was your phone — surely hidden somewhere, filming his reaction for one of those social clips where you’d laugh about how your partner would react. That was it. That had to be it. Right?

🐦‍⬛ But the joke never came. No grin. No punchline. Jinu couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why do you want leave him?

🐦‍⬛ Wasn’t he attentive? Didn’t he listen, care, go out of his way for you? You mentioned something you wanted — he had it delivered the next day. He made sure you knew how devoted he was. That you’d stay. Wasn’t that enough?

🐦‍⬛ Sure, your relationship started as a publicity stunt. Becoming his partner meant more humans would fixate on SAJA — whether out of longing, rage, envy, or obsession with your relationship. Any strong emotion towards the group helped trigger their honeymoon wave, snapping it into crimson, and making it easier for them to steal their souls.

🐦‍⬛ But over time, it stopped being about the mission. Jinu began to like spending time with you. You showed him the beauty of this era, the wonders of it, and reminded him, in all those moments, why he’d begun this suicidal mission at all.

🐦‍⬛ He wanted to feel something. Not through your or any other human wave, but by himself. When you two hung out, talked, touched - he felt closer to that goal than ever.

🐦‍⬛ And for that, he needed his soul. For that, he needed more influence. A breakup would bring attention, yes. The PR team would spin it as the heartbroken idol who’d do better for his fans. More eyes, more sympathy, more crimson colouring the surface.

🐦‍⬛ But none of that mattered. Not right now. Because this was about him. He was about to lose the only human who let him taste what he could have one day.

🐦‍⬛ The soul who made him believe he could feel something if only he didn’t give up. You were his constant reminder of what he could have if he continued to desperately reach out beyond what the demons thought impossible.

🐦‍⬛ Without you, Jinu would return to that gnawing hollowness with the fire inside him fueling his doubt. And with it, the sick, sinking suspicion that he’d wasted all this time chasing the illusion of what he may never have.

════════════════════════════

▻ Romance SAJA

🌹 What followed your words was the sharp crack of plastic shattering. The sound carried, then died. Thick silence settled between you - neither of you in a hurry to speak.

🌹 You stood your ground on the side of his room. Your hands trembled despite the rigid line of your spine. You had been steadier when you first forced the words out. Now that they hung between you, you felt heavier. Romance could easily sense the faint tremor of your honmoon wave, still casting the room in a saturated red. He had always liked that colour.

🌹 He could also feel his body urging him toward something ugly. The familiar lick of flame stirred low in his chest, promising indulgence to Romance. Not ye-ett~, he told himself, the words lilting in his mind as a smile formed with deliberate care.

🌹His gaze then dropped to his hand. The broken vial of newly purchased lip gloss lay on his palm, the liquid smeared across his skin in streaks of silver and deep lilac. For a moment, he simply stared.

🌹“Ah. What a waste,” he murmured. He blinked once. Twice. With a small flick of his wrist, he reached for two rose-scented tissues from a box on the vanity. With steady hands, he put the shards into one of the tissues, wrapped them, and dropped the bundle into the bin beneath the table. He used the other tissue to wipe his hand clean, as though this was the only inconvenience in the room.

🌹 He did not look at you; instead, he pressed his fingers together. The gloss left a tacky residue. His mouth pulled into a restrained pout before smoothing again. After discarding the tissue, he turned toward the adjoining bathroom and stood up.

🌹 “R-Romance?” Your voice halted him. It used to settle over him like silk. Now it felt abrasive. It scratched along his skin and left it itching. It reminded him too much of Gwi-ma’s influence over him. The association curdled in him.

🌹He hated it. Still, he angled his body just enough to regard you from the side. His expression remained composed, almost sweet. “Yes… ma chère?”

🌹 Your widened eyes did not disappoint. You had expected something else. Anger, perhaps. Desperation. A plea?

🌹 His smile stretched fractionally. He remembered what it felt like to be discarded. To be treated as refuse. The memory did not wound him, rather it now fuelled him. Something oily fed the fire he was holding back, threatening to burn through the glamour that kept his true shape concealed. It would not matter. You would be gone long before the flames of Gwi-ma reached you, half your soul already consumed under the pretence of sweetness.

🌹 He watched you worry your lower lip, your hands fidgeting at your sides. You were waiting for him to react. Interesting~

🌹 “Oh?” His head tilted, eyes widening with feigned curiosity. “Were you expecting me to beg sweets?” There was a thread of mockery beneath his softness. His tongue brushed the edge of his teeth. He disliked how plausible the accusation sounded, even in jest.

🌹 Among his brothers, he alone understood how to drape false feeling over action. Indulgence came easily to him. Passion, the raw intent -those were honest and simply beautiful.

🌹 Your hesitation was not. You wished to leave him. That, in itself, was neutral. Attachment required something to fasten onto, and he felt nothing that resembled a hook. What repulsed him was the lack of desire - the way you trembled around your own decision, as though hoping he might rescue you from it.

🌹 To beg? For someone who did not even know what she wanted? HA! Romance waited, watching as guilt flickered across your face, then hardened into determination.

🌹 “So what if I did?” you finally snapped, voice unsteady but rising. “You never tell me you care. You don’t listen when I suggest what we could do together. When I try to talk about my day, you turn it into something about you - or-or about clothes, or make-up, or shopping. Did you ever think I might have my own desires!”

🌹 You seized your hair in frustration. Your expression fractured; anger, hurt, want, all laid bare. The sight held him. He swallowed.

🌹 The red glow around you deepened. He stepped forward. Slow, and measured. A predator without the need to rush. For a split second, his eyes flashed molten gold before returning to their usual dark pink, so easily mistaken for brown.

🌹 You had to tilt your chin up to keep his gaze, and yet you did not flinch. He lifted the hand that still carried a faint stickiness and slid his fingers beneath your chin, cradling your jaw. You stilled immediately. He leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush your skin. Hunger coiled behind his lowered gaze, restrained but nonetheless there.

Idk if ya noticed but in some of my stories I'm mentioning how these guys cannot physically digest human food or anything other than water, which makes them feel like choking either way since they're quite literally pouring water into a fire.

So in other words they get visibly sick by it as their bodies can only consume living beings soul OR the meat which doesn't really tastes like anything and it's just for a clean up really.

So if these gremlins went to the cafe I can imagine that:

Mystery: This one? Good luck w dragging him from whatever he's obsessing over OR getting him up in general. Mate would just stare at MC before turning away without even saying "No."

So after MC somehow successful dragged this one out to get some vitam D and fresh air what would Mystery order? Depends.

Does MC know he's a demon? If yes, he won't order anything. What's the point ? If MC doesn't know, then using his still working brain Mystery will say his company put him on a vEry strict diet. No, he can't drink water, management said so. If MC is too pushy about it Mystery will easily ask out of curiosity why are they so pushy about him eating, yada yada.

Safe to say this one ain't forcing himself to do anything.

Jinu: He will go simply bcs publicity is a thing. Expect him to make himself look very good just in case hidden cameras are there, fans are taking pics or vids ya know the drill.

In terms of ordering, doesn't matter if MC knows or doesn't know that he's a demon. He will order something small and smth that Romance showed him was trending just to appear more attractive.

Believe that after going through the suffering the SAJA will make fun of him and Jinu will be forced to go on a hunt that day to wash away whatever feeling that food left in his mouth.

Romance: Oh he WILL go. It could be him suggesting this but if it was MC and Romance founds out the cafe ain't aesthetically pleasing this one will take MC to one that is as per his taste obviously.

He will order for MC only something that sounds or looks aesthetically nice so he could later share it on his socials - unless MC is fine eating theirs AND Romances food, Romance will insist he would be the one ordering.

Abby: This one is all for experiencing the new and exciting things, where he still hadn't learned that no. No human food will taste good or will be good in general since he's a demon.

Abby doesn't care. If MC were to take him to a cafe this one would order smth he hadn't tried yet or sounds/ looks the most interesting.

Safe to say MC will be forced to call one of the SAJA boyz as per Abby's request bcs the dufus feels sick for some reason.

Baby: Similar to Mystery, good luck dragging this one out. HW unlike Mystery, Baby has to feel like exploring. If MC catches him in the mood it would be easy, if not GL fam, you can do it.

Baby won’t eat or drink anything unless the café has lollipops or lets him order a bottle of strong hot sauce. How he manages either? WelP (in mY opinion lol) the hot sauce tastes like burning petroleum, clinging to the corners of his mouth like spice-soaked glue. But the searing heat doesn’t bother him much - if anything the fire in his body swallows the "heat" from the sauce like it's nothing. His stomach only feels weird afterward, a kind of oily unease.

The lollipops aren’t any better. They taste awful, like he's sucking on battery acid (depends on the flavour). But they ground him. He can scrape them with his teeth or crunch through the hard layer. Since they dissolve on his tongue and not in his gut, they don’t truly enter his body - just leave a foul aftertaste.

If the MC doesn’t yet know Baby is a demon and asks why he doesn't order anything, Baby will just shrug and say he’s not hungry or thirsty - he already ate.

. .