My life is a joke :)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 … coming soon

The Duel

Chapter 1: The bride's resolve

The morning's light filters through the lattice shutters of the lady's chambers like thin, silver blades, slicing across the pale stone floor in sharp, geometric patterns. Dust motes dance lazily in the beams, catching on the faint scent of beeswax polish and dried lavender that clings to every surface of the southern keep.

She stands motionless before the tall mirror framed in carved rosewood, its edges worn smooth by generations of women who once stood in the same spot, facing their inevitable futures.

Two maids, older women who dressed her since she was small, circle her with the quiet efficiency of long habit. Their fingers are deft as they pin strands of her hair into an elaborate crown of braids, weaving in tiny pearls that gleam like fallen stars and pale moonflowers whose petals release a faint, cool fragrance with every touch.

The jasmine oil they smoothed over her still lingers, warm and heady, meant to soothe racing nerves and steady trembling hands. It does neither. Beneath the silk under her robe and the layers yet to come, her pulse drums a steady, defiant rhythm against her ribs. She breathes slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth, the way her mother taught her during the long months of the wasting fever that took her, when every breath seemed a negotiation with fate.

She is twenty-one. Today she became a wife to a stranger.

The knowledge sits in her chest like stone smoothed by a river, heavy and unyielding, but no longer jagged enough to cut. Whispers have followed the betrothal for months now, slipping through corridors and kitchens, like drafts under doors. Servants speak in lowered voices when they believe the family cannot hear, but sound carries in old stone halls, especially when fear sharpens it.

In the kitchens last winter, while steam rose from copper pots and the clatter of knives provided cover, the Lady had paused just outside the doorway to listen.

"They say he is not entirely human" one girl hissed, her voice cracking on the final world as though naming the thing might summon it "Some say he's some sort of ugly monster that has horns like blackened iron and wings that blood the moon when he spreads them. They say that when he was a boy and the castle shook, it was him, angry"

Another voice, older drier, belonging to Cook Mara who had served three generations said.

"He rules the northern marches because no one else would take the throne after his father was burned, he has been king since he was fifteen, he is the last of his family. The old King went mad at the end, fire in his veins, they say he turned to ash. They say he executed three lords in a single night for treason, didn't even raise a blade. Just looked at them with those terrifying eyes and their hearts stopped. No blood on the floor, just silence"

A younger laundry maid, folding linens with quick, nervous jerks that made the cloth snap like small whips spoke next.

"My cousin's husband serves in his guard. He swears the old king never smiles. Never laughs. That some crimson mist follows him when he rides anywhere. That anything he touches withers. Flowers blacken at the edges. men fall clutching their throats, hope itself shrivel and dies. They call him the King of Ash and Mist for a reason"

The lady stood frozen in the shadowed alcove, hands pressed to the cold stone walls and listened to every word. She did not flinch, she did not cry. Instead, she filed each rumor away the way a general collects maps of enemy terrain, carefully, methodically, marking weak points and possible truths hidden among the exaggeration.

Fear is useful only when it sharpens the mind, she'd murmur, otherwise it is merely noise.

Her father had explained the alliance three seasons ago in his solar, sunlight slanting across the heavy oak table between them. His voice had been careful, measured, the way one speaks to a soldier before sending them to the front line.

"The northern kingdom bleeds from border skirmishes that never quite end. Their king needs legitimacy in the eyes of the southern courts, heirs to secure the line, southern grains to feed his mountain folk through another hard winter, southern steel to arm them against the eastern raiders who grow bolder every year. We need protection, real protection, not promises on parchment. He chose you, and this marriage buys peace for two lands. It is not a choice. It is a necessity"

She had met his gaze across the table, the same steady eyes she sees constantly in the mirror, reflected back at her now.

"I understand" she said simply.

He didn't ask if she wanted it, no one did. No one needed to. She is the older daughter. It is her duty, woven into her blood the same way the family crest is embroidered in every banner.

Now, the maids step back, brushing stray threads from the heavy ivory silk gown. The fabric is rich, almost liquid, embroidered along the bodice and trailing hem with silver thread that mimics dragon scales, delicate and overlapping, catching the light in subtle shifts of color from pearl to smoke. A translucent veil of moon spun silk is draped over her head and pinned with a emerald the size of a quail's egg, her mother's last gift before the wasting fever stole her breath and left only echoes in the hall. She touches the stone once, lightly, as though it might still hold some warmth from the women who wore it.

She meets her own eyes in the mirror. They were steady, framed by her lashes that had been dusted with charcoal. She does not look like a girl about to be sacrificed. She looks like someone who has already accepted the blade and chosen how to carry it.

The doors burst open without a knock. Her younger sister rushes in, skirts hiked, cheeks flushed from running up the tower stairs. At sixteen she still moves like a deer startled by its own shadow, graceful one moment, all elbows and panic the next.

"You're beautiful" she whispers, eyes wide as she takes in the gown, the veil, the quiet armor of composure. Then she immediately ruins the compliment by blurting "But you don't have to do this. We could hide you. There's the old hunting lodge in the western woods; no one goes there anymore. I could bring food; we could wait until winter when the passes close..."

She turns fully, places both hands on her little sisters shoulders, and feels the frantic tremor beneath the wool she is wearing. 

"No" she says.

"But the stories..."

"Are stories" she says, her voice is quiet steel, tempered but unyielding. "And even if every word is true, even if he is half monster like they claim, even if the mist really does kill on command, running would break the treaty. The eastern raiders would sense weakness and pour across the border. Thousands would die so that one girl could be free for a season, maybe two before they hunted us down. I will not carry that weight on my conscience. Not for the rest of my life"

Her sisters' eyes fill, bright and shining. A tear escapes and she holds her face and brushes it away with a thumb, gentle as a mother.

"Besides" she adds, softer now "I promised Mother I would keep our house strong as well. She made me swear it on her last good day, when she could still speak. I won't break that promise".

Her sister nods, swallowing hard against the sob building in her throat. Then she throws her arms around her waist and buries her face in the silk, muffling a small, broken sound. She held her tightly for a long moment, breathing in the familiar scent of chamomile soap, before gently easing her back.

"Be brave for me today" she murmurs "Smile at the feast. Dance with our family. Let everybody see that our house stands tall"

She sniffs, straightens her shoulders with visible effort, and manages a watery smile.

"I will"

The bell begins to toll, deep, resonant, rolling across the valley like distant thunder. The sound vibrates through the stone under her feet.

She walks the long corridor to the great hall, accompanied by her father and two brothers. Her father's hand rests lightly on her elbow, a steady anchor. Her brothers, tall, serious, already in mail beneath their ceremonial tunics, flank them like silent sentinels. The air grows thicker with every step, incense curling from bronze braziers, candles guttering in iron holders, the faint metallic tang of nervous sweat beneath the layers of perfume and oiled leather.

Hundreds of eyes follow her as she enters the hall, southern nobles in the bright velvets and embroidered doublets, northern emissaries in stark black and silver trimmed wolf fur, priests of the Old Flame holding braziers that trail thin threads of blue smoke scented with myrrh and cedar. Murmurs move and crash like waves against the shore.

At the far end of the hall, the groom waits beneath an arch twined with white roses and blackthorn, their thorns catching the torchlight in tiny silver gleams.

Her breath catches involuntary as she sees him. He is not old. He is not monstrous. He is young. He is twenty-one at best, she thinks, perhaps a season or two older than she, and for one stunned heartbeat, she forgets every rumor she has ever heard.

He is tall, lean, young, but already carrying the breadth of shoulders honed by training or battle or both. Hair the color of frost intertwined with silver starlight falls straight to his collarbone, unadorned save for an obsidian circlet that rests against it like a shadow. His face is sharp angled beauty, a nose that might have been carved from marble, a mouth that looks as though it has forgotten how to curve into anything softer than a line. His eyes are the most startling thing, deep crimson irises that made his black pupils look like banked coals about to flare if the wind shifts.

He does not smile. He does not move. He simply watches her approach with an intensity that makes the air feel thinner, as though he is measuring every breath she takes, every subtle shift in her posture.

She keeps walking.

As they near the altar, her father’s grip on her elbow tightens, just enough to slow their pace for a few heartbeats. He leans in, voice pitched so low only she can hear it over the tolling bells and rustle of silk.

“We had no choice, my girl,” he says, rough with the weight of truth. “The south bleeds, the east presses, and this alliance is the only shield we have left. But hear me now, I love you dearly. More than land, more than crowns, more than any treaty. Whatever waits for you beyond this arch, whatever he is, whatever this life becomes, you are never alone. We will be there. Always. If you need us, you call for us and we come. No distance, no border, no king will change that.”

She feels the words settle into her bones like warm iron, solid, unyielding. She turns her head just enough to meet his eyes. They are wet, but steady. The same eyes she sees in the mirror every day.

“I know,” she whispers back. “I love you too.”

He squeezes her elbow once, firm, final, then straightens. They resume walking.

The rest of the aisle seems endless. Each step echoes off the vaulted ceiling. She can feel the weight of every whispered rumor pressing against her ribs like a physical force, yet she lifts her chin higher and meets those crimson eyes without flinching. Let them see. Let them all see that she walks to this fate on her own volition.

When she reaches him, the high priest steps forward, robes whispering against stone, and begins the ancient words that will bind their territories through two lives.

She does not even yet know his name is Sylus Qin, King of Ash and Mist.

She only knows that the most beautiful man she has ever seen is about to become her husband and that the stories were wrong at least about two things. He was not old or an ugly monster at all.

Chapter 2: The road North

The ceremony is brief, austere, northern in its deliberate restraint. No laughter rings through the halls, no children throw flower petals giggling handfuls, no musicians play jaunty reels to lighten the solemnity. There is only the solemn exchange of vows and rings forged from the same vein of the star-metal that runs beneath both lands, cool, faintly luminous bands etched with interlocking dragon and vine motifs. When Sylus slides the band onto her finger, his touch is cool, deliberate, almost careful as though he fears the heat beneath his skin might sear her. His fingers linger for the briefest second longer than necessary then withdraw.

They speak their vows in unison. Her voice is clear, carrying easily through the hushed hall. His is low, rough from disuse, each word measured as though pulled from deep water. Afterward there is a feast she barely tastes. Sylus sits beside her at the high table, spine straight, expression unreadable. He eats little, picks at the venison glazed with mountain berries, sips once from a goblet of spiced tea, cinnamon and clove, while southern lords lean across the table to offer toasts and probing questions. He answers most with single words or nods, his gaze flicking to each speaker like a blade testing an edge.

When a broken baron from the Riverlands rises to toast the "dragon's taming" slurring words with too much merriment, Sylus's gaze settles on the man. The laughter dies in the baron's throat mid-syllable as he sits abruptly, face paling, and does not speak again. The hall grows quieter after that, conversations dropping to murmurs, silverware clinking more carefully.

When the moon rides high and silver over the battlements, Sylus rises without fanfare. He offers his arm, no flourish, no ceremony. She takes it. His sleeve is cool silk over muscle that feels like coiled wire, warm beneath the chill fabric. They leave the hall together, his honor guard falling behind them like shadows, black cloaks swallowing the torchlight. No cheering crowds line the path to the stables. No rice or petals are thrown. The southern court watches in hushed curiosity, the northern emissaries bow once, sharply, and turn away.

They ride out under stars sharp as knife points. His honor guard is composed of twenty, maybe more hidden in the shadows, they wear black cloaks whose faces she never quite sees beneath, they speak only to their mounts or to one another in low northern dialect. Sylus rides beside her on a tall black stallion whose breath steams in cooling air. He speaks to her only when necessary, voice pitched just for her ears.

The first night is spent in a sheltered hollow hours from her father's keep. Sylus's men pitch two tents, one large for her, one smaller for him as his request and light a single fire. He does not join the soldiers at the flames. Instead, he stands at the edge of the camp, back to the light, staring north as though already seeing the mountains that wait.

She watches and listens to them. Among the twenty or so riders, two stand out immediately, twins, identical in built and features, with dark hair cropped short and matching scars slashing across their left cheeks from some long-ago shared fight. Luke is the steadier one, his voice lower and measured, Kieran is quicker with a grin, his laugh easier to coax. Both move around Sylus with a familiarity that surprises her. There is no deference born of fear, only what looks like deep, unshakable trust. She notices how they never crowd him, yet they orbit to him naturally, seeking his words, his nods, his quiet presence.

She watches for one more moment, a young soldier stumbles while stacking firewood. Kieran catches him, but it is Sylus who steps forward, steadies the boy with a hand on his shoulder, and stays quietly.

"Easy. The night is long enough without broken bones"

The boy nods flushed but grateful. Luke and Kieran exchange a quick look something fond, almost proud, before returning to their tasks. Even without a smile from their king, the twins are relaxed, shoulders loose, voices easy.

She files it away. They are not afraid of him. They trust him.

She approaches him once the others have settled. The air is crisp, scented with pine and distant snow.

"You are not cold?" she asks.

He glances at her "I do not feel it the same way"

She nods, accepting the answer. She does not press. Instead, she sits on a fallen log near the fire, wraps her cloak tighter, and watches the flames. After a long silence, he moves, silent as mist and drapes his thick wolf-fur cloak over her shoulders. It is heavy, warm from his body, smelling faintly of cedar smoke and something sharper, like iron heated and cooled.

"Thank you" she murmurs.

He inclines his head once and returns to his vigil at the camp's site.

She sleeps fitfully that first night, the unfamiliar sounds of the road and the weight of change pressing against her ribs.  She hears him pacing outside hers until the first gray light, boots soft on pine needles, as though standing guard against something only he can sense. When she wakes before dawn, Sylus is already up, saddling horses, checking straps, speaking in low tones to his most trusted two, his captains, Luke and Kieran. He does not look tired. He never seems to. She watches from the tent as Sylus kneels to tighten a loose girth on Kieran's mount. The young soldier starts to protest/

"I can do it, my king" but Sylus silences him with a single raised hand, finishes the task, then stands and claps Kieran once on the shoulder. No words. Kieran straightens, eyes bright with something like gratitude, and murmurs.

"Thank you, sire"

She keeps watching them and sees His brother Luke approaches next with a report on the night watch. Sylus listens, then points north.

"Double the scouts at the ridge tomorrow. No risks"

Luke nods sharply "Understood. We'll keep her safe too" Sylus's gaze flicks briefly toward her tent, almost imperceptibly if you are not looking intently, before returning to Luke.

"All of us" he says quietly.

Luke's mouth quirks in a half-smile and Kieran overhearing, gives a quick thumbs-up from across the camp. The twins move as one, no complaints, no hesitation, full trust, full ease even in the quiet dawn.

The second day the land begins to change. Rolling southern hills give way to sharper ridges, pines darken from green to near black, the sky turns the color of old steel. Sylus rides beside her, never too close, never too far. He speaks only when necessary.

"Are you cold?"

"No"

"Tell me if you are"

She appreciates the economy of it, even if she likes conversation, she appreciates that there are no wasted words, no false solicitude.

She watches him with his men again as they stop midday to water horses. One soldier's mount throws a shoe, Sylus dismounts without hesitation, kneels in the snow, and examines the hoof himself while the man holds the reins. He speaks low to the soldier, words she cannot hear, then rises, fetches a spare shoe from his own saddlebag, and hammers it on with steady, practices strokes. The soldier watches him with open admiration. When it's done, Sylus claps him in the arm and says something short that makes the man laugh, a rare, surprised sound. Sylus does not smile, but the tension in his shoulders seems to ease for a moment.

When he looks toward her and meets her gaze, she realizes she has been staring. She looks away, cheeks warming despite the cold.

He is not what they said. Not entirely she thinks.

That night they camp beside a frozen stream. The guards build a larger fire. Sylus sits apart again, sharpening a dagger with slow, methodical strokes. She brings him a cup of spiced tea, cinnamon and clove, the same blend he drank at the feast. She holds it out without a word.

He pauses, blade still. Takes the cup. Their fingers brush, his cool, hers warm from the fire.

"You remembered" he says.

"I pay attention" she answers.

She sees the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, but something close enough. He drinks, then sets the cup beside him and resumes sharpening. She lingers nearby, not too close and watches the stars emerge. Across the fire, Luke and Kieran are sharing a quiet conversation. She catches a fragment, something about childhood pranks involving stolen apples and before she can stop herself, she leans forward.

"You two grew up together, obviously" she says, smiling. "Any stories I should know before I trust you to guard my back?"

Kieran grins instantly. "Oh, plenty. Luke once convinced our mother that the barn cat had learned to speak. He meowed outside her window for three nights straight until she nearly had the priest in to exorcise the place"

Luke rolls his eyes but there's fondness in it "And you, Kiera, fell into the millpond trying to catch a frog you swore was cursed. Had to fish you out with a rope"

She laughs, bright, surprised. "My brothers once tried to impress girls by juggling flaming torches at a festival. One set his sleeve on fire. I had to douse him with ale"

Kieran laughs outright. "Did it work? The impressing part?"

"Not even a little" she says "But the ale was excellent.

Luke grins "Reminds me of the time Kieran bet he could outdrink the entire garrison on solstice night. He did, then spent the next two days swearing he'd never touch mead again"

Sylus, right then, makes a quiet huff, gone as quickly as it came. She catches it. She glances at him; his head still bent over the dagger.

Kieran notices her looking. "He notices and listens more than he lets on" he says in a stage whisper "Always had. Don't let the silence fool you"

She smiles softly "I'm starting to see that"

Sylus does not acknowledge the conversation, but when she finishes speaking, they fall quiet and he lets out a single "Hm" thoughtful, almost approving, as though turning their words in his mind. After the night is settled and everyone left to their posts, she rises to return to her tent, Sylus stands and walks her to the flap, holding it open until she is inside.

The third day after that brings snow, light at first, then thicker, swirling in gusts that sting her cheeks. Sylus rides closer now, shielding her from the worst of the wind with his own body and cloak. When her mare begins to struggle in deeper drifts, he dismounts without a word, lifts her from the saddle, and sets her on his taller, steadier stallion. He mounts behind her, arms bracketing hers on the reins, and guides them forward.

She feels the heat of him through layers of wool and fur, fever warm, almost startling against the cold. His breath brushes her ear when he speaks.

"Lean back if you tire"

"I'm all right" she says, but she does lean, just a little. He tenses before easing. His chest is solid at her back, a quiet wall against the wind.

The ravine narrows ahead, walls of ice crusted rock rising from both sides. The snow muffles sound, turning the world soft and strange. Then, a low growl cuts through the hush, followed by another and another.

Wolves.

They emerge from the drifts like ghosts, lean, starved, eyes glowing yellow in the gray light. A pack of eight, led by a massive alpha with a notched ear. The horses sidestep, snorting, the men draw steel.

Sylus's voice cuts through the tension, calm, low, carrying without shouting or panic.

"Form up. Protect the center."

Luke and Kieran are already moving, sword out, positioning themselves on either side of their mount. The rest of the guard closes ranks. The alpha lunges first, straight to Sylus's stallion. Sylus meets it midair, one smooth motion as he dismounts, drawing his own blade and drives it down in a single, precise arc. The wolf yelps once and falls, blood streaming on snow. The pack hesitates, then attacks as one.

Sylus moves in a blur, landing between the wolvers and the line of his riders. He does not roar or shift, he simply fights, fast, controlled, lethal. One wolf leaps for Kieran, Sylus intercepts, catching it by the scruff and slamming it to the ground with bone cracking force. Another goes for Luke, Sylus spins, blade flashing, and opens its throat before it can close the distance. A third tries for her horse, Sylus steps in front, arm outstretched, and the beast crashes into him, only to be thrown aside with a twist of his body, landing broken in the snow. The twins fight beside him, Luke steady and methodical, Kieran quick and fierce, but Sylus is the shield. Every move he makes shields them as much as himself. When the alpha's mate charges again, Sylus meets her head on, driving his sword through her chest and pulling it free in one fluid motion. The remaining wolves break, vanishing into the white.

Silence falls, broken only by the horses heavy breathing and the soft platter of boots on snow.

Sylus straightens, wipes his blade clean on a fallen wolf's pelt and sheathes it. He turns first to Luke and Kieran, checks them with a quick glance, sees no wounds, nods one, then he looks at her.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, voice still calm.

She shakes her head, heart pounding. "No. Thank you"

He gives a single nod, then turns to the men. "Clear the path. We move, now"

Luke claps Kieran on the shoulder, Kieran exhales a shaky laugh "Never gets old watching him do that" Kieran mutters. Luke just grins.

She watches Sylus remount behind her, his arms steady again around her, as though the fight was nothing more than a minor interruption. She feels the faint tremor in his hands now, though adrenaline, perhaps, or something deeper. She does not comment, but she leans back a little more against him, and this time he does not tense.

Behind them, she hears Luke murmur to Kieran "Still the same. Always the first in the fight. The last out."

Kieran's quiet reply "Always"

On the third morning they crest the last ridge and the Ashen Kingdom spreads below them. Jagged black peaks clawing at a sky the color of bruised steel, valleys thick with dark pine and silver birch, a river like molten metal cutting through stone toward distant mist shrouded fjords. At its heart rises the citadel of Obsidian Reach, towers of volcanic glass that drink the light rather than reflect it, so the entire structure seems to swallow the sun and give back only faint, sullen gleams.

Sylus slows the horse. She feels him sigh against her hair, once, almost inaudible.

"Home" he says.

She turns her head just enough to see his profile, sharp, unreadable, but the tension in his jaw seems to have eased a fraction. She reaches out, rests her hand briefly over his where it holds the reins.

"Thank you" she whispers "For the journey. For everything...so far"

He doesn't answer in words, but his fingers tighten once, gentle, brief, around hers, before he urges the stallion forward.

They descend toward the citadel together, the wind at their backs, the road north no longer separating them.

Chapter 3&4 UPCOMING

Masterlist

You nod too fast, cheeks heating as you tug the blanket higher, squishing your thighs together, praying the movement looks causal.

“Are you sure? You’ve been… I dunno… weird tonight.”

“Weird?” you squeak. “What do you mean?”

Caleb turns fully toward you, and you stubbornly keep your gaze locked on the screen. Something shifts in the air under his attention, the room warming and suddenly shrinking two sizes too small. 

“Hey,” his voice is gentle. “Look at me.”

You swallow hard, finding your will, and turn your head. 

Caleb’s eyes are wide, but not with concern alone. They drift over the blanket wrapped around your body, then back to your face, soft but intent. 

“You don’t have to lie,” he murmurs. “I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not!” you defend quickly. “I could never be uncomfortable with you. I’m just… having one of those days…”

“Yeah?” His voice drops then, like he already knows. He shifts just an inch closer and it makes everything worse. “Y’know you don’t have to lie to me, pips.”

You close your eyes, exhaling. He’s not going to let it go.

“It’s just… that day during my cycle,” you mutter, fingers twisting in the blanket. “It… makes me all flustered and…” you trail off, never more embarrassed. 

“Can I help?”

Your eyes snap open. “W-What?”

“Can I help?” he repeats, already moving closer to crowd your space. Large arms brace on either side of your hips. His gaze goes hazy, hungry in a way you’ve never let yourself notice before. “Please?”

You choke on a gasp, the sound breaking into a needy whine. Your mind pulls in two opposite directions–your pussy throbbing helplessly at the offer while your heart twists at how much could change if you give in. 

The decision is made for you. Caleb sees the hesitation, but the desire in your eyes win. His lips crash onto yours.

You melt instantly. Of course you do. Your fingers tangle in his hair, dragging him close while you pant into his mouth like you’ve been craving this for far longer than just tonight. 

Your heart pounds in time with the pulse between your thighs, completely soaking you through the dainty fabric. 

No more words. Caleb's hands do the talking, rough and impatient as they yank your shorts down your legs. His gaze immediately darts to your panties and he groans low in his throat. 

“Oh my… fuck…” he breaths, already shoving his sweats down. “Why didn’t you let me help you earlier?” 

“I–I was embarrassed.” You admit, failing against the cushions. 

“You never have to be embarrassed, baby…” the pet name curls around you, warm and possessive. “Never for this.” 

He settles over you, sweats pushed low but boxers still on. His cock is painfully hard, straining against the fabric, but he doesn’t touch himself—just presses the thick length right against your soaked, cotton covered core. 

You gasp, the contact is electric, exactly what your pussy’s been begging for. Caleb dips down and captures your lips, the kiss turning messy almost instantly. You cling to each other, exhaling loud out of your noses to not separate. His hips drag, pulling sweet little whines from your throat.

Caleb’s lip part as a raw moan slips free, his lips still dragging wet kisses across yours. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded and completely fixated, like he can’t believe this is real. The hard line in his boxers grinds against the thin cotton covering your heat again. 

Best friends definitely weren’t supposed to be doing this. But the forbidden edge tastes so sweet, and the simple, devastating fact that it’s him, only makes it more addictive.

You lift your hips aggressively, chasing friction when the head of his cock brushes your swollen clit through the layers. Your panties are drenched now, letting him slide easily, every drag spending sparks up your spine. The wrongness of it, the rightness of him, is intoxicating.

Your sweet, protective best friend, reduced to nothing but a man desperate for any form of contact from you.

“Pips…” he groans, pressing harder. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

A wicked smirk curves your lips before you pull him back into a messy, open-mouthed kiss that's full of a hunger neither of you wishes to hide. Your teeth sink into his bottom lip, then your tongue soothes the sting. 

His large hands roam up from your hips to squeeze your breasts through the thin fabric of his t-shirt you’d stolen tonight. You–all bare legs, skimpy panties, and his shirt–has him twitching in his boxers. 

“Fuck…” he pants, pulling back from the kiss, but never stilling his shallow thrusts. Conflict suddenly flashes in his eyes. “We…we shouldn’t be—ah!—doing this.”

You manage a sweet, dangerously innocent voice, slowly rocking your hips—just once, over his throbbing need. “W-Why not, Caleb? You’re just helping me. We’re…mmph…not doing anything wrong.”

He groans at the obvious lie, bracing himself on his forearms to suspend his weight over you. His muscles are wound tight, straining against his restraint, which crumbles with his next sentence.

“I need to… see you,” he grunts. “See what I’m doing to you, pretty girl.”

Before you can think, his trembling hand hooks your panties aside. The choked sound he makes at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy, goes straight to your core, then he’s slamming his still-clothed cock right over your directly exposed wetness.

His hips lose rhythm, jerking wildly in a desperate, uncoordinated rut. His cock throbs violently in his boxers, chasing a release he can’t hold back. The friction is filthy, intoxicating, your whimpers mixing with his wrecked moans. 

“So beautiful…” he murmurs, eyes fluttering shut.  “God, you’re so beautiful, honey.”

The most captivating sounds spill from Caleb’s lungs, a mix of whimpers and guttural moans as a sudden warmth blooms and soaks the material of his boxers, seeping out onto your puffy core. He collapses forward, breathing ragged against your ear.

“Did you just–”

“Mhmm…” he hums, voice shaky but completely unashamed. “All in my boxers. I couldn’t help it.”

You huff a gentle laugh, still trembling with want, thighs slick and aching. “Wanna do it inside me now?” 

✮⋆˙— sylus

Your bare feet pad into your shared bedroom, steam spilling out behind you and curling along the ceiling like a lingering sigh. Droplets cling to your skin, sliding down the curve of your throat and between your breasts before disappearing beneath the collar of your robe. You tug the fabric tighter, shifting your hips as the restless heat returns low in your belly.

The bath had meant to ease the tension that haunted you all day, yet all it’s done is make you more aware of it.

To your surprise, Sylus sits propped up against the headboard in nothing but a pair of black pajama pants, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, a book open in his hand. He must have returned home while you were submerged. 

The second you step into the room, his gaze lifts slowly and pins you in place. The pupils in his eyes widen, something soft but hungry in his gaze. 

He knows exactly what today is. 

“Come here,” he says sweetly, patting the mattress beside him.

You oblige without hesitation, climbing onto the bed and crawling up the sheets before flopping onto your stomach with a muffled groan. The cool fabric against your flushed skin makes you shiver. 

“You didn’t enjoy your bath?” he hums, palm gliding over your robe-clad back in slow, soothing passes that only only makes the ache worse. 

“No, I did,” you mumble into the pillow. “I’m just…” your voice trails off, embarrassment tangling your tongue. The words feel too exposed, even to your husband. 

“I know.” His tone drops, husky and threaded with quiet amusement. “You’re so warm.”

The mattress dips as he shifts to settle behind you. Strong fingers slip to your front to find the tie of your robe and loosen it, peeling the damp silk from your shoulders. His lips follow the path of exposed skin, pressing hot, lingering kisses along your shoulder blades. 

“You even smell sweet today,” he murmurs against your skin.

Heat floods all over again, a slick gush seeping from your sweet hole and onto the mattress. A quiet whimper slips free as you lift your hips, brushing your ass back against the firmness straining beneath his pajama bottoms. 

“Sylus…” you breathe. 

“Yes, kitten?” his hands slide down to your hips, thumbs kneading the soft skin. “Use your words.” 

He rolls his hips forward in a slow grind, letting you feel the heavy weight of him exactly where you’re aching most.

“I need you…” you whimper, voice small. 

Sylus smirks, peppering kisses just beneath your ear. “And why do you need me?”

You're grateful your face is buried in the mattress because your cheeks burn instantly. His teasing is gentle, but relentless–he wants to hear it.  

“Because…” you swallow. “you know… ‘m ovulating.”

Sylus groans as he presses his cock deeper against you. Your robe is peeled down your arms, the silk whispering against your skin as it gives way before it’s tossed aside. Cool air kisses your heated skin, replaced quickly by the warmth of his body hovering over yours.

“Is that so, kitten?” his hands trails down your bare back, fingers tracing every dip of your spine. “Do you want me to take care of that for you?”

“Please.”

A kiss is pressed to your head before he lifts himself long enough to push his pajamas down. You feel him a second later, the gentle tap of his cock once against your ass, a bead of precum smearing onto your skin. The sensation makes you shudder, hips instinctively pressing back for more.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with admiration as his hands spread over your lower back, keeping you still. “You’re so wet for me.”

His cock drags slowly between your slick folds, the glide torturously slow. You can feel every vein, every pulse, your pussy clenching around nothing as he coats himself in your arousal. Praise falls from his lips in soft murmurs—good girl… so sweet… so ready for me—each word sending another wave of heat through you.

When he finally lines himself up and begins to push inside, it's agonizingly slow. Sylus wants you to feel every stretch until you’re gasping into the sheets, fingers curling into the favor. His hand rubs soothing circles into your hip while his forehead presses between your shoulder blades.

At first, it’s gentle. Deep, steady thrusts rock your body forward, the headboard tapping the wall in rhythm. But your soft, broken mewls and the way you push back against him, smearing your slick heat across his abdomen, wears down that compose.

Fingers dig into your hips, tightening until you’re certain the marks will linger. The pace quickens, each thrust landing harder than the last, the quiet room filling with the wet sounds of skin meeting skin and the desperate hitch of your cries. He has you exactly where he wants you. 

Well, almost. 

His arm snakes around your waist while his other hand splays possessively across the top of your spine. The weight of him forces your body into a deep, supplicating arch that maximizes the depth.

There.

He grunts a low, satisfied sound as your walls flutter around him in reply to the new angle. “You like that, sweetheart?”

A round of sharp, breathless inhales answers his question. “Y-yes–hicc–y-yes!”

His hips surge forward violently at the sweet sound, losing any remaining gentleness.

“I’m so deep like this, kitten,” he gasps, each word punctuated by the heavy slam of his cock driving into you again and again. “Could stuff you so full right now…”

A needy whine spills from you, drool dampening the pillow as pleasure muddles coherent thoughts. “C-Could you n-now?” The question tumbles out with a desperate sincerity between gasps.

Sylus leans forward, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “I could. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

A shudder runs down your spine as he pulls you upright against him, your back flushed to his chest. Your head falls onto his shoulder, baring your throat. He takes immediate advantage, slowing his frantic rhythm to deep, punishing thrusts that make your toes curl while his lips work at the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking dark love bites onto the supple skin. 

“You’re already so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with affection as he drags himself out to the tip before slamming back in, forcing a sob from your lips. “Imagine how beautiful you’d be swollen with me right—”

His hand slides from your waist to your stomach, palm spreading wide as his fingers splay possessively over the skin there.

“—here.”

Your eyes flutter shut as the image floods your mind—round and full of him. The thought alone makes your pussy clench, slickness leaking down his length in a fresh rush. 

“Oh, you’d let me, wouldn’t you, kitten?” His hand glides upward, fingers curling around your jaw, firm but tender as he tilts your face back towards his. He needs to see you, need to see the honesty in your eyes. “You’d let me fuck a baby into you?”

The words ignite something molten in your core, spewing a string of moans from your lips. Your gaze locks with his, and the seriousness in his expression steals what little breath you have left. 

His grip on your jaw tightens just enough to keep your focus as his thrusts pick up again. “Words. Use them.”

“Y-Yes,” you sputter.

“Yes what, sweetheart?”

“Yes I’d l-let you—hah!—fuck a b-baby into me, Sy!”

A strangled growl tears from his throat. Your answer unlocks something feral in him. His pace turns ruthless, ramming his cock into you with one intention.

“Gonna fuck you so full, sweetie,” he promises hoarsely. “I’ll make sure it—nngh—takes.”

He’s already throbbing inside you, completely captivated by the sheer thought of getting you pregnant. His lips crash against yours in a heated, desperate kiss, swallowing your moans as his movements grow sloppy with need. With a groan that rumbles through both of you, his tip slams against your soft cervix, releasing hot pulses of his seed. He doesn’t stop, rolling his hips in slow thrusts to ensure it took. 

When he finally stills, he rests his sweaty forehead against yours, a dazed smile tugging at his lips. 

“We have to ensure it takes, kitten,” in a smooth motion he flips you both, letting you sit atop him. “Show me how badly you want it.”  

✮⋆˙— zayne

You watch the clock tick past, the small hand resting on the hour, officially signaling that Zayne is off shift.

Unfortunately, he still won’t be home for at least another hour. Judging by his lack of reply to your texts, there’s probably mountains of paperwork, last-minute calls, and traffic standing between him and this house. You’ll be lucky if you see him before nightfall.

You groan, slumping against the edge of the bed, tilting your head back to stare at the ceiling. The one day you really need Zayne, and he’s nowhere in sight.

Your body aches with need, each pulse a reminder that ovulation has turned you feral. Heat blooms in your lower belly, soaking your panties, and you can't stop pressing your thighs together to try and relieve it. 

Your gaze flicks to the mirror. Your reflection stares back with flushed cheeks. You bite your lip and glance at the clock again. There is a solution. 

Zayne will probably be exhausted when he gets home. If you take care of yourself now, you can tend to him later. 

Fuck it. 

With zero ceremony, you kick off your shorts, the fabric of your soaked panties clinging to your pussy. Your cheeks burn an even deeper crimson as you push them down, peeling away the damp material and leaving your lower half exposed to the reflective glass. 

Desperation makes your movements sloppy. Your fingers dip inside your dripping cunt, index and middle finger instantly slick with your need. You twitch as they withdraw, then drag up to twirl them in gentle circles over your swollen clit, shivering at the surge of pleasure. 

A tiny moan escapes your lips, high and breathless. It's been a while since you’ve touched yourself solo—because you usually have Zayne. But tonight, he’s just an image in your head, and that thought alone is enough to make you squirm. 

You mimic his touch, spreading your folds and teasing your swollen bud just like he would. Stop. Start. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the delicious burning building in your core. 

“Z-Zaynie…” you whimper to the air, eyes flicking to your reflection, watching your pussy flutter around what would be his cock if he were here. Your thighs threaten to slam together, but you force them apart. 

You lose yourself in the sensation of your fingers' newfound rhythm. Pressure builds, threatening to boil over the edge. Your breath catches, lips parting in moans that are muffled but urgent. 

And then—

Your eyes snap open and they aren’t just seeing you in the mirror. Zayne is in the doorway, tie loosened from work. His expression is unreadable, but dangerously hungry. His arms are crossed, like he’s trying to seem annoyed—but you know that look. He’s definitely turned on and fully amused by your shame. 

“Shit—mmgh—Zayne—!” you squeak, yanking your hand back and slamming your thighs together as if that could hide the evidence of your crime. 

He steps in slowly, never breaking eye contact as he sets his glasses on the nightstand. 

“It’s not—” you start, then stop, as you realize it is. “I’m sorry, I just… ugh.” You bury your face in your hands, cheeks burning hotter than ever. 

“There’s no need to be ashamed,” he says evenly, taking a single step in the room. “Continue.”

You glance at him, confused. “But Zayne—“

“Did I misspeak?” His voice is unnervingly calm. 

“N-No,” you stammer. “B-But I don’t understand. I only did it because you weren’t here, and now that you are—”

“That doesn’t change anything.” He interrupts, voice low and commanding. “You were doing it when I wasn’t here. You couldn’t wait. So go ahead. Finish without my help, just like you intended all along.”

A shiver runs through you. His words are cold, but utterly thrilling. You stare at him, searching for a crack in his expression that isn’t there. 

Swallowing your embarrassment, you part your thighs again and place your hand back between your legs. The time you look at him—not at the mirror—as your fingers slide inside yourself. Your slick folds glisten under the bedroom light, fully displayed for him, yet he doesn’t even look. Zayne moves around the room, loosening his cuffs, rolling his shoulders, and going about his normal post-shift like you’re not bare and dripping a few feet away. 

The normalcy of it makes your stomach twist. He’s doing it on purpose, and every second he doesn’t look is a silent command to keep going. 

So, you continue. The pressure builds, unbearable now, and you bite your cheek to hold back a moan. “Zayne…” you pant, eyes fluttering shut as you buck helplessly into your own hand.

Before you can register it, he’s crouched beside you. His presence is sudden, the faint scent of soap and hospital antiseptic clinging to his skin. When his voice comes, it’s soft, but firm. “Are you going to come?”

You nod, breath hitching, unable to answer. His hand darts out, cradling your jaw, thumb pressing into your cheek as he tilts your face towards the mirror.

“Watch.”

You whimper, locking onto your reflection in the glass. Your fingers move of their own accord, gliding across your puffy clit as you push yourself over the edge. Your body trembles and tips sideways, instinctively leaning against him as the waves roll through you. 

But he isn’t done with you. 

You can’t even fully recover, because suddenly he’s pushing off his pants, his cock springing free before he’s settling in right behind you. One hand tugs greedily at your shirt, dragging the fabric up and off so your tits spring free, nipples tightening instantly in the cool air at the heat of his stare in the mirror. 

“C’mon,” he orders quietly, fingers digging into your hips as he guides you back. “Ride me.” 

You flush as you move to hover over him, still sensitive from your release. The reddened tip of his cock nudges against your entrance, smearing the sticky precum as you line him up with shaky hands. 

“You get so needy when you’re ovulating,” he murmurs, amusement threading through the lust as he fixates where you will be joined. His hips raise once to poke your entrance in impatience. 

“H-How do you–”

He chuckles under his breath, nipping your shoulder. One hand slides up your side to pinch your perked nipple, then swipe the bud of his thumb over it to soothe the sting. “You think I don't know my sweet girl?” 

You whine and shake your head before you sink slowly onto his length, a lewd moan spilling free as the stretch makes your thighs tremble all over again.

But the pace is too slow for Zayne. His fingers flex, then grip your hips and pull you down until you're seated flush against him, his swollen tip nudging your cervix.

“Is it better than your fingers, love?” he asks, lips brushing the curve of your spine as his hand smooths up your back, pressing lazy kisses against the overheated skin. 

“Mmm, y-yes. F-Fuck, yes,” you whimper, rolling your hips while your eyes stay glued to the mirror. Your breasts bounce with every motion, your juices slicking his pelvis. The obscene intimacy of watching yourself take him making your stomach flutter. 

A breathy, almost strained groan slips from him. Zayne’s grip tightens, just shy of rough, as his thumbs dig into the soft flesh of your lower back.

“That’s it… look at you,” he mutters, voice dipping darker, a little mocking. His cock twitches inside you as he leans in, lips grazing your ear. “I love how you feel like this. When your body’s begging for me.”

You clench at the words and ride him harder, chasing the friction. The mirror shows everything—your flushed face, his hungry eyes, the way he watches you fall apart for him.

“Next time,” he groans, lifting his hips to meet your thrusts, never once breaking eye contact with your reflection. “You’ll wait for me.” His hand slides up to your throat, not squeezing, just holding. “Or at least send me a picture. Understood?”

Your pussy throbs in time with your heart, moans punching out from each snap of your hips colliding. “Y-Yes! I understand—!” 

“Good. Now come for me again.” 

✮⋆˙— xavier

Your eyelids flutter to the barely-there presses of his lips. 

It starts on your cheek, then trails to your jaw. You keep your eyes closed as he buries his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent before peppering a few more kisses along the sensitive line beneath your ear. His breath is warm and uneven as he savors you before you fully wake. 

Your body reacts subconsciously, shifting closer to him and giving a tiny shiver at the affection so early in the morning. If you had to guess, the sun hasn’t even risen. The world feels dim and soft, wrapped in the stillness.

You’re aware you lie on your side. Of the weight of the comforter. Of the steady thrum of his heartbeat against your back. 

You’re also aware of his stiffness pressing against you—but it floats through your mind like a distant thought, something you register without fully grasping. 

“Good morning, angel.” Xavier’s voice is a hoarse rasp near your ear, signaling that he too just woke. His hips subtly shift, pressing him more firmly against you before he exhales. “You can go back to sleep, lovely.” 

You hum in reply, still drifting. His hand glides down the curve of your waist, slow and absentminded at first, like he’s memorizing the shape of your curves. The touch keeps you suspended in the blissful space between dreaming and reality—where every sensation feels warmer, heavier, and sweeter. 

You almost sink back under. Until his kisses don't stop. 

They linger longer now, and his fingers toy with the hem of your waistband as if testing whether you’ll stir. You inhale softly, something incoherent slipping from your lips when his warm hand slips beneath the fabric, his palm settling on your abdomen. His thumb traces patterns that send quiet sparks up your spine, each pass making your thighs tighten just a fraction more. 

You should wake. You should turn and face him, acknowledge the warmth that you are suddenly very aware is pooling in your panties—and fast. But you're so comfortable, so pliant against him, letting his touch wander while your thoughts drift like mist. 

“Do you know what today is?” Xavier murmurs, breaking through the haze.

Your blink your eyes open slowly, the dim room slowly taking shape in blurred outlines. You search your memory, but nothing important surfaces. Only the steady rhythm of his breathing and the way his hand stills, waiting. 

But your body seems to know before your mind does. There's a heightened sensitivity humming under your skin, every brush of his fingers sending a ripple through you that feels unfairly intense for how half-asleep you still are. 

Oh.

“It’s a good thing,” he continues softly, his words threaded with a gentle hunger. He finds the hem of your panties, gently rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re extra sweet today… softer. Smell so good…”

Heat creeps into your cheeks even in your drowsiness, and your legs part slightly without conscious thought. The small movement draws a low breath from him, a quiet surrender to how much he wants you. His forehead rests against your shoulder as his hand dips beneath your panties. 

He finds you wet and murmurs out grateful praises into your skin, kissing you again and again like he can't help himself. His fingers instantly begin a gentle dance against your clit, making you arch back into him with a soft, sleepy moan. 

“I saw the calendar… that cute little app,” he pinches your bud softly, soothing the action with slow passes of his fingertip. “So you’re super sensitive for me. Especially in the morning.” 

You whimper, clutching your pillow as you let breathless sounds slip free, your body melting into the pleasure despite how foggy your mind still feels. Even though his touch only abandons you for a second, a needy whine escapes your throat. He pushes your pants and panties down just enough, the material pooling at your ankles. 

“Just stay where you are, star,” he says softly as the warmth of his body leaves yours. 

Xavier trails a path of wet kiss along the back of your thighs, unhurried and worshipful. You shudder but stay curled like he asked, fingers tightening in the sheets. When he reaches your pussy, finding it dripping and open, he lets his warm breath ghost over you first, making your hips twitch.

He inhales deeply, his hips shifting mindlessly against the mattress at your sweet scent. He doesn’t wait another second before his mouth finds you.

You grasp a handful of blonde hair, whining as his tongue licks a stripe from your entrance upwards, then settles to circle your clit. He continues to lap at your heat, devouring how syrupy you are today, sucking you into his mouth and burying his face deep between your thighs like he never wants to come up for air. 

“Feels s-so good, Xavi…” you moan, trembling. 

Your orgasm is already hovering. He groans against you, one hand gripping your ass, kneading the skin encouragingly. Each swipe of his tongue is a silent plea.

Come for me. Let me taste you. Let me make you feel good. 

You break seconds after, squirming against the sheets as pleasure takes over you in warm waves. Pants leave your lips as he doesn't let up, his mouth relentlessly working you through the euphoric waves, and long after they pass. His face is sticky with your cum, dripping down his chin, making him look as if he’s the one who just finished. 

“B-Babe–” you cry out, trying weakly to push his head back. “Honey… ‘s too much…”

He presses one last lingering kiss to your puffy pussy before finally lifting his head. His cheeks are flushed, blue eyes dark and thoroughly satisfied. “Sorry,” he breathes, brushing his thumb along your thigh. “I couldn’t help myself.”

His hands are gentle as they turn you from your side onto your back. Your gaze drifts downward, catching the darkened patch of precum blooming against the front of his tented sweatpants. The sight sends a fresh pulse of heat through your still-sensitive body. 

He follows your gaze before palming himself through the fabric. 

“Think you can handle a bit more for me?”

✮⋆˙— rafayel

The car ride was silent. 

You knew you’d pushed Rafayel’s buttons a little too far at his gala tonight. But honestly… could he even blame you? 

He’d shown up dressed like sin in one of his sharpest suits, hair styled to perfection, eyes gleaming the entire duration of the exhibit. And all of it—all of it—on the exact day you were ovulating. 

Of course you were going to touch him.

Of course you were going to kiss him. 

Of course you were going to corner him beside a marble sculpture and slide your hand a little too low.

“Raaffff,” you drawl into the thick quiet of the car, leaning over the console with a pout that’s half apology, half provocation. “C’mon. Please don’t be mad. I said I’m sorry!”

Rafayel’s brows turn downwards, but there's a sparkle behind the annoyance. “Sorry for kissing my neck while I was speaking to that artist,” he replies coolly, “or sorry for grabbing my dick before I had to greet the commissioner?”

You smirk, entirely unrepentant. “Both. And you liked it! You were hard when I touched you.”

He scoffs, but the sound melts into a quiet laugh under his breath. He isn’t mad, he never really is, and when you poke his side to confirm, he squirms just enough to betray himself. The twitch at the corner of his lips is your victory flag.

You think you’ve won.

That is, until you get home. 

The moment the door clicks shut behind you, he moves. There's no warning. One second you’re toeing off your heels, the next his arms are around you, sweeping you up bridal-style. A startled laugh leaves you as he carries you down the hall, his hold possessive and unhurried. 

His lips find yours before you reach the bed, and they are soft but insistent, pulling quiet gasps from your chest. The heat that’s been simmering in your belly all day flares hotter, burning brighter. 

You land against the mattress with a muted thud, sheets cool beneath your back. “Undress,” he tells you, already slipping open the button of his shirt with graceful fingers. 

You obey immediately, giggling as you shimmy out of your dress, fabric clinging to your hips before you kick it away. Anticipation hums under your skin like static. 

Rafayel, meanwhile, is still mostly dressed. His shirt hangs open just enough to reveal his toned skin, a teasing glimpse of chest that makes your fingers itch for a touch. You reach for him instinctively, only for his hand to close around your wrist mid-air and guide it back to the mattress, pinning you there.  

“Raf–”

“Do you really think I’m going to let you have your way after tonight?” His voice is playful, smug, and dripping with amusement. The smirk he gives you is pure trouble. “You’re so cute.” 

You squirm, a fresh gush of warmth gathering between your thighs. “But… I said ‘m sorry.”

“Oh, I know you did, cutie,” he hums, leaning down to brush a single kiss against your cheek. Then your jaw. The column of your throat. Each one is soft and savoring.

“So then…” you mumble, tilting your neck to give him more space. “Why are you still dressed?”

His lips curve against your skin as he trails lower, the  gentle presses of his lips turning wetter, slower. Goosebumps rise across your body when his hands find your thighs, and ease them open for him. 

He pauses, eyes settling on the soaked material clinging to you. His thumb presses against it, just once. You squeak, and arch into his hand, sensitivity dialed painfully high today. He chuckles, rubbing your pussy through the panties in lazy strokes, up and down, just enough to make you ache. 

“I’m going to take care of you,” he coos, but his eyes are dark. “But you teased me all night… so I’m getting my revenge.”

You gasp when his thumb circles firm over your swollen clit through the fabric. The friction is electric and not enough all at once. 

“Raf… please, this isn’t fair,” you whine.

“Not fair?” he juts his lip in a mock pout. “I didn’t think it was very fair when you were handsy in public.”

Before you can argue, he hooks a finger under your panties and slides them aside, revealing your dripping cunt. He huffs in amusement, admiring the slick evidence of your arousal like its art he curated himself. (He did)

His finger drags through your folds, collecting the sticky mess. He spreads you open, glides over your clit, circles your entrance, but never lingers enough to satisfy. 

Your thighs twitch. Your hips lift. Your fingers clutch the comforter.

It’s torture. Sweet, earned, torture. 

And just as a complaint forms on your lips, his fingertip settles over your clit and begins slow, gentle circles. Pleasure sparks outward, instantly bowing your back and spewing moans from your lips. Every sensation feels amplified. 

“R-Raf… Raf, fuck—baby,” you cry, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, winding tighter and tighter. 

Rafayel laughs softly, continuing to play with your pussy, admiring how much more wetness gathers at his touch. “You close, cutie? Gonna come?” 

You nod in rapid succession. “Y-Yes…yeah ‘m gonna—“

His fingers stop. 

The sudden absence makes you gasp, blinking your eyes open “W-Why did you stop?”

He lifts his gaze to yours, expression all polished mischief and arrogance. His thumb is still resting maddeningly close to where you’re throbbing. “Did you really think I was going to let you come?” 

Your frustrated whine only makes his smile widen. He leans down, brushing his lips against yours in a slow, taunting kiss. 

“After the way you behaved tonight?” he murmurs against your mouth. “You’re going to beg for it.”

His fingers return before you can even form a reply, and they're faster this time. The slick sounds of how wet you are fills the room. What started as gentle coaxing turns into purposeful rubbing that makes you fist the sheets and sob out. When your legs try to close, he simply prises them back open. 

“You want it so bad, don’t you?” he whispers. “All worked up and needy… yet you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” His thumb presses just right, drawing a broken sound from your throat. 

“I do… f-fuck I really do…” you whimper, hips chasing him without shame. The pressure builds once again, and just as the waves begin to crest, he stops. 

The absence is devastating. His words following are cruel. 

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, brushing his slick finger against your thigh. His cock strains against his pants, a visible twitch he pointedly ignores as he keeps his attention on you. “You’re soaking our sheets.” 

You lie there in the heat of it, trying to gather yourself. When your heartbeat finally slows enough to think, he starts over. Fingers dragging through your warmth, starting slow, then faster. Each time he brings you near the edge, letting desperate cries and whimpers that you’re close spill from your lips, he stops again.

By the fourth time, tears sting the corners of your eyes. Your thighs shake uncontrollably, pleas dissolving into half-formed syllables that barely resemble words.  

“R-Raf… p-plea–suh–ahh–” his fingers slide into your gummy walls. 

“Think you’ve been good enough?”

“Y-Yea–mmgh–yes–!” 

He exhales through his nose, finally satisfied. His fingers curl to your sweet spot, and this this they don’t pull away. 

“Fine,” he mumbles. “You can come.” 

You sighed as you heard your name being called by your handmaiden, Tara. Silently, you sat up just as she entered your bedchamber with a familiar look of frustration etched across her youthful feature.

“Are you still lounging, Miss?” There was a hint of exasperation in her tone, even though she herself should be used to your languidness by now. After all, Tara had been assigned as your handmaiden and companion since you two were just mere children. In all honesty, you viewed Tara as more like a close friend—perhaps, even as sisters—than a servant. She had been by your side for so long, your only companion growing up, and you and she have shared so many secrets throughout the years, it went beyond a relationship between master and servant.

“I’m up, I’m up,” you said, your own vexation heard loud and clear.

“If it were up to me, I would not care if you waste the day away in bed, Miss,” Tara said, tsking, as she rummaged through your wardrobe for fresh clothes, “But Madam has been questioning your whereabouts all morning. I can only fib for so long before she gets wise.”

“Yes, yes,” you said unenthusiastically. You looked at Tara, curiosity brimming in your eyes. “Wait, Grandma has returned from her trip already?”

“She has,” Tara answered, smiling as she pulled out a delicate pink hanfu. “She is running some errands in town for a bit, but she said she will be back this afternoon.”

You frowned. “She’s just got back and she is already busy running around town?”

“She said something about needing some last-minute ingredients,” Tara mumbled offhandedly. “Now, now, Miss, hurry up. I have your morning tea prepared in the garden.”

“Yes, yes,” you answered back half-heartedly as Tara helped you changed.

It was a lovely early summer morning, the weather still in between slowly transitioning from the brisk spring air to that warm summer breeze. You had been idly describing bits and pieces of the dreams you had been having lately to Tara, though the scattered fragments left both of you confused by the meaning or overall picture.

“So, what happened next, my lady?”

You looked to your handmaiden as she set a tray of mid-morning snacks on the round stone table in the garden. You stared into your teacup; the warm floral scent of lotus wafted in the air. You tried to recall more of the dream you were telling her, but it was all just mismatched puzzle pieces. You sighed helplessly.

“I woke up.”

“And you say there is always the same man in your dream?”

You nodded. “I believe so,” you said, “He was… tall, has long white hair… really piercing red eyes… and… and…”

“And?”

“He was so…”

“So what?”

“Ethereal.”

Tara laughed. “Miss, you are blushing.”

“Ah—am I?” You covered your face in embarrassment. You sulked. “I am not. The sun is just a little warmer today.”

“Uh huh,” Tara answered with a disbelieving smile.

Before you could respond, you heard light chirpings in the air. You smiled as you saw two little identical gray sparrows landing on the table. They hopped around, observing the array of snacks with gluttonous interest.

“Oh, shoo—”

You quickly stopped Tara. “Wait. Don’t. It’s alright,” you said, smiling. “They can have a little snack.”

Tara looked puzzled as you broke off small pieces of the osmanthus cake and scattered it on the table. The two birds happily pecked at the crumbs. You laughed.

“I was wondering when you two would show up today,” you teased, reaching out to lightly stroke the top of one bird’s head. It chirped happily.

Tara looked at you curiously. “Miss, have you been feeding these birds lately?”

You nodded. “They have started showing up… I think three weeks ago? Almost always around this time,” you explained. You held out two fingers and the second bird flew up to perch. You gingerly caressed its head with one finger, smiling as the bird seemed to enjoy your gentle ministration. “They don’t appear to be scared of me, or maybe the cakes I have to offer is too enticing to ignore.”

You laughed when the two birds seemed to chirp loudly in indignation at your implied accusation.

“Alright, alright,” you said, smiling, “You two are not little gluttons. Oh—”

You looked up in surprise when the two sparrows took off, flying away from the garden. You smiled resignedly. “I think they’re peeved at me now.”

Tara hummed thoughtfully as she cleaned up the leftover crumbs. “Speaking of sudden arrival… Did you hear that someone has moved into the manor on the lake?”

You looked at Tara with interest. The manor in question, for as long as you could remember, had always been vacant, but peculiarly even without anyone living there for decades, it remained in a pristine state, as if it was resistant to the corrosion of time. Located on the outskirt of town, surrounded by a lake filled with lotus, you rarely ever saw anyone venturing near it. You wondered who the new master of the manor could be.

“Do you know who it could be, Tara?”

“Hmm,” she pondered as she sat down next to you. “I believe Madam Josephine said the young master’s name is Shin.”

“Shin?”

She nodded. “I believe the manor has been in his family’s ownership for generations.”

You picked up your teacup and swirled it around thoughtfully before you took a sip, the warmth and soothing fragrance calmed your nerves. You eyed Tara suspiciously. “Grandma is not planning something, is she?”

“About that…”

You slammed the half-empty cup down on the table and droplets of tea splattered on the surface. “No, I am not going to be part of another matchmaking scheme of hers!”

You stood up and Tara looked panicked. “Oh, Miss, wait—”

“What do you mean ‘Miss’?” you looked at her, tone changing. You feigned confusion, the sudden behavior change making Tara squirmed uncomfortably in place. You continued speaking with a suggestive undertone in your voice, “Miss Tara, are you perhaps, confused? Maybe you should… go inside… and rest.”

Tara frowned at you helplessly. “Miss, I cannot masquerade as you again! Last time, Madam nearly had me beaten!”

“Grandma would never,” you said, scolding her. “Don’t get caught this time then.”

“Wait, wait, Miss!”

Tara followed helplessly after you as you raced for the garden wall. You climbed a plum tree and then over to the stone wall that fenced the property. You sat atop and looked down at your anxious maid with sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Tara,” you said sincerely, “It’s not that I want to put you into this position…”

“Then why are you?!” she demanded, losing her polite demeanor momentarily.

You smiled. “I know Grandma is trying to find me a good husband, but…” You grimaced as you recalled all of the men who had shown up to your home in the last year alone. “I want to be like those two sparrows… and fly away from this place.”

“Miss…”

“I won’t let Grandma beat you,” you promised, adding, “I’ll be back this evening. I promise. Just stay in my room for a few hours.”

“Miss—"

As you started to jump off the wall, you noticed belatedly another figure standing beneath. At this point, you were already falling, and in a panicked voice, you cried out to the person below:

“W-watch out!”

Your eyes squeezed shut, bracing yourself for the inevitable hard ground.

It never came.

Instead, you found yourself landing into a pair of strong arms. You looked up cautiously, gasping when you saw ruby red eyes. You blinked once and looked again.

They were brown.

For a moment, you were confused before you realized what had happened. A blush crept across your cheeks, and your nervous stammer only heightened your embarrassment by the current situation. “I-I’m so sorry! I did not mean to land on you like that—”

You winced when you heard your grandmother yelling your name in frustration as she and a group of house servants raced out the gate to you and this sudden visitor.

The man chuckled and you looked up sheepishly.

“I… can you… let me down?”

He raised a brow at you.

“Please?”

He shook his head in amusement, his chuckles barely restrained. He spoke cordially; his voice deeper than you expected. “Well, since you asked so nicely, my lady.”

As you were lowered to your feet, your grandmother’s approaching footsteps forced you to redirect your attention from the man himself to the current awkward situation. She quickly scolded you before turning to the stranger, bowing and apologizing profusely, “I am so sorry, Master Shin! I had no idea my troublesome granddaughter would do that.”

You blinked.

Master Shin?

You looked at the man in question. Long, dark hair that went down to his waist. He dressed in an all-black hanfu, his appearance and demeanor exuding the grace of nobility.

“Come, come,” Josephine ushered you both into the manor, and as you followed in after Shin, you yelped when your grandmother swatted your bottom. As you rubbed your sore buttocks, she whispered to you harshly, “Do not mess this one up, darling.”

You grumbled in the back of your mind, but outwardly, you gave your grandmother an obedient smile.

As your grandmother and Shin chatted, you sat between them at the low square table, serving tea. You poured a cup and politely offered it to Shin. He smiled as he took it from you, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of you. The complete attention from this stranger made you squirm, but a barely subtle warning cough from your grandmother had you straightening your posture again.

“I am still unfamiliar with the town,” Shin said suddenly, his eyes still hovering on you, “Would the young Miss be so kind as to be my guide and escort and help me familiarize with the place?”

You wanted to protest, but one sharp glare from Josephine had you smiling stiffly and agreeing reluctantly. “I would be… pleased to accompany you, Master Shin,” you said through half-gritted teeth and a forced smile. You noticed out of the corner of your eye your grandmother trying to maintain her composure with even breathing. She gave you another glare and you instinctively straightened your posture once more.

“Splendid. Let’s schedule for the day after tomorrow,” Shin said, apparently not noticing the silent exchange between you and your grandmother. “There are still some businesses I have to take care of around the manor.”

You nodded in understanding. The time passed as Shin and your grandmother made small talks. You took this time to observe him, your head tilting a little in curiosity, feeling a peculiar familiarity about him. Although the hair and eye colors were different, everything else about him seemed to almost remind you of—

“Do I have something on my face, Miss?”

You startled, broken out of your daze. You flustered in embarrassment, realizing you had been staring at him for far longer than you had intended. You heard your grandmother coughing again and clearing her throat. She gave you another barely discreet warning look.

“I apologize, Master Shin—”

“No need for formalities,” he interrupted, smirking, “Shin would be fine.”

“I—I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper—”

Your words were cut short as Shin smiled at you. “I think if we are to be wedded, we should familiarize ourselves better, wouldn’t you agree, Madam Josephine?”

Your grandmother immediately perked at his inquiry. To your chagrin, she immediately sided with Shin.

The hours passed with various small talks, though you remained mostly silent, opting out of the conversations almost entirely. It didn’t really seem like Shin or your grandmother even noticed your lack of contribution, their talks continuing merrily despite your glum mood.

When Shin left later in the afternoon, your grandmother pulled you aside. With her arm looped through yours, you walked together through the garden making idle talks.

“Young Master Shin is a good man,” your grandmother commented.

“What do you know about him?” you inquired, unpleased, “We have only just met today. He seems… odd.”

“Darling, do not resist this match,” your grandmother continued, “I will not be around forever to take care of you. I wish to see you married off to a good man. I will not be able to rest easy until I know you will be taken care of.”

You felt an uncomfortable knot in the pit of your stomach. You reached up with your free hand to pat your grandmother’s. You forced a smile on your face. “What are you talking about, Grandma? You are going to live to be a hundred. You’ll probably even live longer than me—”

“Hush,” she chided you, “Do not say such ill words.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, feeling a tightness in your chest. Quietly, you leaned your head lightly against hers, and in that moment, she stroked your hair in comfort, an act reminiscent to many other moments during your childhood under her care.

“I’m sorry, Grandma.”

“Hush,” she said again, “Everything will be alright, darling. Grandma will take care of you.”

You hummed softly, your shoulders relaxing, and the walk continued in peaceful silence.

On the outskirt of town, a large manor stretched far and wide. Its large stone walls fenced the property, keeping trespassers out. Inside the walls, magnolia trees surrounded the property, and only recently did they started transitioning from their pink blossoms to green leaves. In the center of the courtyard, a large pond was situated, and a lone magnolia tree bearing red flowers, stood grander than the others, overlooking the body of water filled with koi fish of various colors and unique patterns. Around the courtyard were different buildings and housing—all vacant.

The manor had long been abandoned with no master in sight and no servants to serve. Decades after decades, the manor stood in silence, appearing just as new as the day it was erected. Not a crack in the buildings, nor corrosion in the stone pathways, the manor remained pristine, as if it was in its own realm.

Today, however, a new master had come to stake claim on this forgotten manor, seizing back what was always his.

“Master Sylus!”

Sylus looked up from viewing the koi pond, seeing two little sparrows descending, engulfed for a brief moment in a black mist. When the mist dissipated, two identical men dressed in all black were knelt on the ground, bowing respectfully to their master.

“Luke, Kieran,” Sylus spoke up, acknowledging the two men, “And where have you two been?”

“We were just returning from the young Miss’ manor,” Kieran answered, standing up alongside his twin.

“Funny,” Sylus quipped, unamused, “I was just there myself and did not see you two anywhere on the property.”

Luke and Kieran froze. Luke cleared his throat and stuttered, “Well, you see—”

Sylus sighed. “I have asked you two to monitor her, and instead, you have been indulging in little cakes these past few weeks.”

“It’s not our fault the young Miss likes to feed us,” Luke protested.

“I mean, I suppose we could visit her when it’s not teatime…”

“Quiet—”

“Never mind,” Sylus interrupted. “In any case, our introduction was made today.”

Luke and Kieran looked at Sylus curiously.

“So soon?” Kieran questioned.

“Not soon enough,” Sylus responded, “I will not let her slip away this time.”

(When this is all over…

Your heart pounded in your chest as you took in the wasteland before you. Your body felt weighed down by the heavy armor you wore and in your hand was a hefty sword, stained with the fresh blood of so many men. All around you was the dying groans and warring cries of soldiers on both sides.

Crimson blood flowed like a river to your feet, the stench of death hung heavy in the air. If there was a Hell on earth, you were sure this was it. You breathed in sharply and then cried out, “Raise the shields!”

Soldiers echoed your cry and in quick successions, iron shields were raised to block the oncoming volley of arrows from the opposite side. You held out under the protective barrier, gritting your teeth as you listened to the successive barrages of arrows hitting metal.

“Move forward!” you ordered, and immediately your comrades followed the command and barreled down the enemies with the shields, crushing them under the weight of heavy boots. As soldiers fell from exhaustion and enemy attacks, you moved forward, your hands gripping your sword and slashing down enemies one after another with quick reflexes.

You panted, feeling your muscles burned and ached, but rest was the furthest thing from your mind in this moment. Your eyes focused on the citadel you needed to seize for your kingdom. You raced forward and struck down many more oncoming enemy soldiers.

“Raise the shields!” You cried once more, and as one by one, soldiers obeyed your command, you leapt atop and ran nimbly across the shields, deflecting the oncoming arrows with your blade. As you closed in on the wall, soldiers beneath you propelled you upward with their shields and you leapt over the wall, determined eyes zeroed in on the opposing commander, his shocked expression reflected in your eyes.

Immediately, you ruthlessly brought your sword down, the sharp blade meeting flesh and a sharp cry ripped from the man’s throat. You inhaled quickly and pulled your sword back out, dodging his retaliation before his own weapon could slice your side. You quickly countered the oncoming attacks, the din of metal against metal reverberated in the air. With each step back, you found yourself stumbling, falling down the wall to the sea of raging soldiers beneath.

“Catch her!” Soldiers below you cried out and you felt your fall broken by your loyal men catching you. You were lifted and you bounced back to your feet, your determination unwavering.

When it is all over… When there is peace again in our kingdom… We will be together again… In this life… We will be together…

The promise you had made to him rang in your mind. His look of resignation was still etched in your memory, as was his voice, so firm and unyielding:

Commander… I will follow you straight to Hell.

You rushed forward, yelling until your throat was raw. Adrenaline masked your exhaustion as you struck down men after men, the number of lives you had taken rapidly climbing higher. Closer and closer, you could feel victory within your reach. You would bring honor to your men, to your emperor, your kingdom—your family. The future you yearned for, the peace you wished for the children you would have, the life with him—everything you had ever desired would be yours after this day. Almost… Almost—

You staggered, choking.

“Commander!”

“She’s been struck!”

“Commander, watch out!”

You looked at the arrow that pierced through your deteriorated armor and into your chest, and before you could even register what had happened, you felt a deep, sharp pain, feeling a sword plunging straight through your stomach. You gagged and then choked out some blood. Your scream resounded in the barren land as the sword was pulled out without mercy.

As you fell, you heard your name screamed out. You lay on the ground, bleeding out and panting, your vision growing weaker. Through your blurred vision, you could see the enemy sword about to be swung down again. You closed your eyes, and waited.

You heard another scream, and then a dull thud and the clatter of a sword hitting the ground.

You slowly opened your eyes, your heart pounding as you saw a head laying opposite of you, the man’s eyes still wide open in horror. It was an enemy soldier. It was… your attacker.

“Stay with me. You will be alright.”

You felt your body lifted, pressed closer to another’s. You looked up and you whimpered, scared. You didn’t think you had ever felt fear before in your life. You were always so reckless, so headstrong, so bold, but now… you felt fear. Felt remorse. Felt… ashamed.

“Sylus…”

He stared back, his breathing heavy. “You will be alright,” he repeated, almost sounding more like he was speaking to himself.

You shakily reached up and touched his cheek. “I’m… I’m sorry…”

He looked shocked. “What?”

“My… promise…”

He shook his head. “This time it will come true… This time—”

Your breathing was ragged and you felt trickles of tears flowed down your marred cheeks. “…I… you…”

“Stay with me, stay with me—” he said vehemently.

“I’m… I’m… sor…”

As your eyes closed, your breathing slowing and consciousness fading away, you heard a deafening inhuman roar and the terrified screams of men on both sides.

Long after the battle ended, silence followed the annihilation.

Within the wasteland, the wind whistled, and one lone man sobbed as he cradled his fallen lover—his screaming curse ignored by the heavens.)

You woke up screaming, your face covered in cold sweats. You felt your body shaking, your heart pounding against your chest. Fresh hot tears ran down your face as your mind was still reeling from what you had just dreamt. This was the most lucid dream you have had yet, and for once, you wished you could forget this vision.

Shaking and gasping, you could hear that damning whistle of the wind piercing through a silenced battleground. Eyes closed, you heaved, trembling almost as if you could feel that sole surviving soldier’s arms around you.

You had not expected Shin to arrive at the house so early in the morning. After the dream—nightmare?—you had, you could barely fall back to sleep. Or rather, you were afraid to fall back to sleep, too scared that you could revisit that same dream all over again. Even now you could still hear the deafening groans and cries of dying men.

You could even… see him.

Sylus? You repeated the name experimentally in your mind. It seemed so foreign, and yet, very familiar, as if you had said his name so many times before in your life. How peculiar.

“Miss, Miss, please wake up! Master Shin has arrived and is awaiting you.”

“I don’t care,” you mumbled back sleepily, still caught somewhere between dream and reality. Your mind continued to wander back to that soldier. That man who cradled you in his arms, his face etched with utter despair and… anger.

Barely conscious, you were dragged out of bed by Tara, who fussed and chided you nonstop as you continued to sleep. You allowed her full control over your morning grooming, her personal compliant doll to dress and style as she saw fit.

“Honestly, Miss, will you continue to laze like this after becoming Master Shin’s wife?” Tara sighed as she brushed your hair.

Eyes still closed, you mumbled sleepily, mildly irritated, “Who said I was marrying him…”

“Madam Josephine,” Tara answered, not missing a beat. She rolled her eyes and intentionally brushed your hair harder, stirring you awake when she yanked out strands of your long hair.

“Ow!” You looked behind you, glaring. “Whose side are you on?”

“The one that feeds and houses me,” she continued with a smug smile.

“Hmph, some friend.”

“I am merely concerned about your future, Miss,” she said, brushing your hair more gently again. “Miss…”

“What is it?”

“Will…”

You looked behind you expectantly, sensing Tara’s hesitancy. “Go on,” you urged with a gentler smile.

“Will you allow me to continue serving you after you become the young master’s wife?”

You were shocked by Tara’s words, taking a few seconds longer to process them. Slowly, you smiled, your hands gripping hers. “Is that even a concern?”

She smiled. “You best hurry along, Miss. The young master is waiting.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then let him wait—”

Your grandmother’s voice rang from across the manor, and you winced at the sound of your name. You looked up just in time to catch Tara stifling her snickers. “Yes, yes, Madam Josephine,” you half-muttered as you stood up, straightening your clothes. You didn’t get far from your room when you heard Tara’s cheerful voice behind you:

“Miss, have fun with your future groom!” Tara teased with a wave, and you turned around, shooting her the dirtiest look you could mustered.

It was nearing midmorning when you and Shin walked through town together. You showed him the local businesses and eyed the many stands and stalls that lined the streets. The current situation had you feeling a little unnerved, unused to being alone in a man’s presence for this long. You could feel your throat drying, sure that your voice was trembling and cracking as you spoke. It didn’t help that you kept catching him staring at you with such keen interest, and instead of looking away in embarrassment at being caught, he smirked.

This bastard…

You wondered if all men were as shameless as him. To freely gaze upon a maiden, and in public no less.

“What’s going on over there?”

“Huh?” You looked in the direction Shin was gesturing and noticed a large crowd had formed. You perked up. “Oh, there is a performance happening. Let’s go watch.”

You and he walked over, joining the excited crowd. Shin stood a head taller than everyone, easily seeing the performance from his vantage point while you yourself was struggling to glimpse in between shoulders of the people in front of you. You gasped suddenly when you felt a hand on your arm, grabbing and pulling you to the side. You looked up in annoyance, freezing when you realized it was Shin. He motioned back to the play with a tilt of his head, and you realized he had found you a spot to comfortably watch. You smiled sheepishly, but nodded in gratitude.

The performers were acting out a story: Long ago, the mortal realm was ravaged by a monster—a dragon, to be precise. He ruled without remorse, demanding fair maidens to be his brides. Villages in the surrounding areas offered their most beautiful maidens in order to appease this beast. Once spirited away to be brides to the Dragon King, the young maidens were never heard from again.

One day, a young warrior decried the atrocities, unwilling to see the maiden he loved betrothed to a monster. He traversed alone up the mountains to where the Dragon King lived and with his wit and bravery, he plunged his sword into the dragon’s chest, carving out the heart to bring back to his village as proof of his heroics.

The crowd watched with rapt attention, gasping as they watched the hero slay the dragon and witnessing the beast succumbing to death. Loud cheers erupted and applauses sounded as the hero was praised by the onlookers.

You yourself cheered with glee, clapping and laughing in joy at witnessing such a moving and heroic act. Expecting the haughty young master to be impressed with the play, you wanted to catch Shin in a moment of defenselessness, so you stole a glance. You paused mid-clap, startled to see his expression blank, almost icy even. He wasn’t moved by the storyline of the hero wanting to save his lover. He didn’t seem impressed by the hero’s act of bravery. There was no emotion on his face, and yet, you wondered if you were misreading him, but you were almost certain, you could discern a gleam of complete contempt in his eyes.

You barely knew Shin, but in the hours that you had spent listening to him conversed with your grandmother so politely and jovially, and the entire morning spent making idle talks, you had only seen this carefree and affable side of him. This sudden demeanor change was unexpected. You wondered what could be going on in his head—wondered why this mere performance could evoke such a feeling of disdain from the young man in your company.

From the corner of your eye, you could see staff members from the acting troupe walking around holding out a woven basket to receive money for their performance. Coins jingled as people deposited their money into the basket, praises for the play heard all around. Children were already laughing and reenacting the scene of the hero slaying the dragon.

As you were reaching for your own coin purse, Shin immediately grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from the crowd. You gasped from the feeling of his large hand wrapped so tightly around your wrist. “Do not waste your money on such lies, Miss,” he said calmly, but the edge in his voice was palpable. He dragged you away, not looking back, and you struggled with his quick pace. You stumbled along, your eyes staring at his tensed, broad back. His grip tightened even further.

“Sh-Shin! You’re hurting me!”

He stopped suddenly and you nearly collided into his back. Slowly, he turned around, offering you an apologetic look.

“My apologies, Miss,” he said, letting go immediately.

You rubbed your sore wrist, unsure if you should question his sudden demeanor change. He appeared distracted, his body still tensed, almost as if he was trying to stay in control of his emotions. You wondered why he was so provoked by such a harmless play, but you decided it didn’t seem appropriate to question someone you barely knew with such curiosity.

In that moment, you caught sight of a vendor selling confections on the side of the road. Delectable little treats lined his quaint stall as he tried to entice passersby.

“Let’s… let’s eat some mung bean cakes,” you said instead, hoping to return to the earlier light atmosphere you had shared with Shin that morning before the play.

“Mung bean cakes?” He looked down at you, his head tilting in confusion. It seemed this worked, you thought with relief, sensing his mood was already more relaxed than it was seconds ago.

You smiled and nodded. You dragged him over to the vendor and ordered several. You paid and thanked the seller as you receive your paper bag of sweets.

As you walked down the busy street with Shin, you reached into the bag and pulled out one little round cake that was formed in an intricate mold. Some had delicate filigrees impressed atop as a pattern while others formed a fully blossomed flower.

You handed one to Shin, smiling. “Look. This one is so pretty. It looks like a flower.”

He took the offered confection. He held the little cake in his hand, confused. You frowned.

“If you don’t want it, then I’ll eat it—” As you attempted to swipe back the cake, Shin easily held it above you out of your reach. You cursed his astounding height. A futile attempt, but you still tried to jump and grab it back.

“I never said I didn’t want it,” he argued, poking you in the forehead.

“Ah—what was that for?!” You placed a hand over your forehead, glaring at him.

“How dare this greedy young miss tried to take back what she had given away,” he said teasingly. He leaned his face in closer to yours, his smirk returning, his voice carrying heavy shades of mischievousness. “Once you give someone something, there are no takebacks.”

You huffed, and he laughed, taking a bite. “Delicious,” he said, his deep voice making your heart quickened and your belly flipped and flopped. You could almost feel your cheeks warming up at the sound of his laughter. He held the half-eaten confection toward you. “You should try some, Miss.”

“This isn’t proper,” you scolded him, reaching into the paper bag for a new cake as he finished the one he held. You continued, “There are many more in the bag. We do not need to share—”

You gasped when his large hand wrapped around your wrist again, and with one firm tug, you were pulled to him. Before you could react, Shin took a bite from the mung bean cake you held in your hand. Your face really did burn up this time as you looked at him, shocked. Meanwhile, Shin responded with a playful grin, licking his lips. “Just as I had thought. This tastes even more delicious from your hand, Miss.”

“Young Master!”

“Shin,” he corrected you, “I want you to use my name, Miss.”

You gritted your teeth, glaring at his face still so close to yours. You could almost sense the scandalized eyes on you both and it just made your face burned hotter. “Shin,” you said slowly, annoyed, “This isn’t proper behavior for a young man and woman to display in public.”

“Why not?” he challenged you with a smirk, “We are to be wedded, are we not?”

Not! you held the word back, almost certain that the moment you spat that in his irritating face, your dear grandmother would appear out of thin air to make you grovel for her mercy before she sent you to meet your maker.

“Nothing has been determined,” you said as evenly as you could.

“Yet,” he said, adding haughtily, “Miss, I always get what I want.”

You gasped as he held your chin, pulling you closer to his face. His voice grew softer, more alluring, “And what I want is you.”

You weren’t sure why, but you instinctively squeezed your eyes shut, nervous and scared. A moment passed, and nothing happened. You slowly opened your eyes, your cheeks now red with mortification, as Shin laughed and reached into your paper bag to retrieve another mung bean cake. He took a bite, smirking in amusement at the rather pathetic sight of you.

“Y-You…!” You unconsciously raised your fist at him. Politeness be damned, you thought in that moment, not caring if Grandma Josephine did appear from around the corner to hurl a sandal at your head. You were going to give this man a piece of your mind!

“Ah—Shin!”

You fumbled, not expecting him to suddenly grab your face in his large hand. Shin held your face, squeezing tightly. He laughed. “It is like two little baos,” he teased, gesturing to your round cheeks.

You gripped at his arm, whining, “Shin, it hurts! Stop it!”

He gave you another squeeze before letting go, amused by the glare you directed at him. He dragged you into his arms, his cheek nuzzling against yours. “You are so cute,” he murmured, his breathy voice making you shiver. “I feel like I just want to eat you up.”

You felt your stomach doing flips again, his tone while still playful had heavy seductive undertones. You inhaled sharply. “Don’t tease me like that,” you said, pulling away, embarrassed by his behavior and mortified that passerby kept whispering and eyeing the two of you in disapproval.

He looked amused, not caring about others’ reactions like you were. His eyes only saw you. “Why not?”

You blushed and looked away, feigning annoyance. “It is indecent.”

“Improper… impolite… indecent…” he said almost mockingly with a laugh, “My, my, Miss, you are much more of a prude than I would have expected.”

You glared again. “Or rather than me being a prude, you are too much of a scoundrel.”

“Is that so?”

You started to walk away with a huff. “I have never met a young master as ill-bred such as you, Shin.”

You paused, startled when he easily caught up to you. He stood before you, his smile unwavering. He leaned down and reached for your free hand. He held it to his lips and with a tilt of his head, he whispered, “Then I am honored to be seen as unique in your eyes, my bride.”

You could feel your cheeks turning pink. You tried to act indifferent, scoffing, “Delusional.”

He laughed, and you wondered why it warmed your heart so much to hear such carefree joy from him.

(Win the Emperor’s favor and you will know of riches beyond your wildest dreams.

At merely eighteen, those were the final words your mother had said to you before you departed for the Palace alongside many other maidens within the country who wished to be chosen as the Emperor’s concubines. Within your town, you were regaled as the fairest. Men sweettalked, unashamedly placing you within the same plane as celestial maidens and fairies. Women eyed you with envy, their compliments like acid, but you always smiled back, matching poisonous wits with even the greenest of them all.

You would have no problem surviving within the dark, manipulative royal court, and you would certainly have no issue stealing the Emperor’s heart.

Or so you thought.

The Emperor did not deign choosing concubines as worthy of his fleeting, precious time. Lined up outside the Royal Palace in the courtyard, young maidens from all regions stood tall, dressed in the finest of silk and groomed their absolute best, as they waited with bated breath as eunuchs walked down the line, surveying the young women, looking for ones to fit their unknown list of criteria.

You stood near the end, and you had seen many women—all graceful beauties—passed with a look of disdain. You held your breath, feeling doubts settling in, your confidence shaken for the first time in your young life. When the eunuchs stopped in front of you, their eyes traveling up and down in observation, you felt your heart stilling, waiting.

It could have been merely a few seconds, but to you, it felt like time had stopped. When one of the eunuchs nodded in approval, noting your name on the scroll he carried, you let out the breath you held. You bowed in respect.

“It will be my honor to serve my Emperor,” you said, keeping your voice steeled and steady, though inside you could feel your heart pounding.

Time passed since you were chosen. You received your own quarter in a forgotten area of the palace ground. For an inexperienced concubine, it was a comfortable living quarter with plenty of foliage to keep your mood uplifted as you waited for the Emperor to call upon you.

There were many maidens chosen that day to be part of his harem. It wasn’t unusual that he did not call you your first night.

Or the next.

Or even the following.

You had enough servants to tend to you. You were dressed exclusively in finery and served delicious food prepared by the royal cook. You told yourself that this was a good life. You knew no hardship and you were expected little. Your days were filled with idle entertainment as you waited.

You played the guzheng, or rather, you played one song on the guzheng, over and over again. A melody had come to you in your dreams. It was melancholic, bearing the heavy weight of loss, yearning, and desperation. You could never finish the song, having always woken up before you heard the ending, but you still played day after day, night after night. In a forgotten corner of the palace, beneath a magnolia tree outside the sleeping quarter, a guzheng could be heard, the song playing calling out, a plea to be seen and heard.

You waited.

Some days you would pick up a brush, your graceful inked strokes always creating the same image, or to be precise, the same person. You didn’t know why, but your chest tightened with pain as you stared at the man on paper. You didn’t know him. He was merely someone from your dreams, but oh how you yearned to stay in the land of unconsciousness, where this silvery-white haired man embraced you like a lover, showered you with kisses, and lavished you with sweet murmurs of affections.

Next to his portrait, you carefully wrote out the characters, My beloved.

You stared at the delicate characters, chest throbbing, your breathing coming out in short gasps. Droplets of tears fell on the paper. You could hear his voice, so rich and passionate. Your name always sounded so heavenly when he said it, always spoken with such revere and devotion.

You yearned for him. For a man who didn’t exist.

You crumbled the paper, like you always did. The Emperor could come at any moment. It would be indecent and punishable to find another man’s portrait in your room. You crumbled the paper even further, and threw it into the hearth, watching with pain as it burned and turned to ashes.

You waited.

You had your maids bring you books, anything to fill your endless time. Your eyes skimmed over the characters one word at a time, reading of handsome heroes who saved fair maidens from demon kings or of star-crossed lovers who only have one night together before they were to be separated by the heavens, completely at the mercy and manipulation of the cruel hands of fate.

As you lounged beneath the magnolia tree, your mind wandered. You always pictured the man from your dreams. It was never intentional, and the first time it had happened, you had felt embarrassed by your foolish behavior. When it happened again, you allowed yourself this little indulgence. You let him filled your fantasies as you read your books, let him become the dashing hero who would whisk you away from this isolating life of monotony.

Sylus.

The name had first come to you in a recent dream, and from that moment on, you let it consumed you. You tested the syllables on your tongue, felt your heart skipped and your cheeks pinked as you heard his name spoken by your voice. You felt happy.

And then you remembered. The Emperor could seek you out at any moment. Any day now. It would be indecent and punishable to have a concubine call out the name of another man.

So, you closed your books, and you buried his name deep in your heart.

And you waited.

You waited.

And you waited.

And you waited.

It would be a year since you arrived at the Palace before you stole a glimpse of the Emperor on a morning walk. Your maids had always made sure you were presentable. Dressed in the finest silk and hair brushed and styled with beautiful ornate decorations and flowers, you were like the celestial maidens and fairies men from your town would often say.

You bowed respectfully, your head remaining lowered as the Emperor paused in front of you in question.

Your heartbeat skipped. You had powdered your face, painted your cheeks rosy and your lips scarlet. You were so sure your beauty would ensnare the Emperor now that he had laid his eyes on you.

He acknowledged your presence, a courteous nod and a polite expression.

And he moved on.

In the distant, you heard the callous giggles of the other concubines who had witnessed your shameful encounter. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you steeled yourself as you straightened your posture. You maintained your grace, your expression unreadable, and you continued your walk with your faithful maids trailing behind.

You heard their comforting words, listened to their reassurances, but they mattered little to you.

Perhaps you had always known, always suspected, but this humbling experience forced you to face reality: you were just one pretty flower among a meadow of others.

You returned to your quarter, to your secluded little haven within the palace ground.

Your days returned to lazing under the magnolia tree. You would play your guzheng, always chasing after the ending that would never come. You would paint the same portrait again and again, and you would burn it again and again. You read books after books, fantasizing the same man who would spirit you away, to free you from the confines of this lonesome palace life, but you would always cry when you reached the last page.

Sometimes the lovers would be together, and you envied them, wishing for this fantastical romance you could only dream of. Other times, the lovers were separated, and you empathized, feeling a hollowness inside you, wishing for the tender touch of someone who didn’t exist.

You dried your tears, and chided yourself once. You were still the Emperor’s concubine. He could still call for you whenever he desired. It wouldn’t do to have a pitiful maiden longing for another man.

So, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

You watched the seasons passed, stealing your youth first, and then before you knew it, your beauty.

One day, many, many hollow seasons later, the Palace fell into mourning. The Emperor had passed in his sleep. He was seventy-four.

You sat under your magnolia tree and you cried. You didn’t cry for the Emperor. You mourned him as was expected, as was the custom, but you grieved for your lost life. You had witnessed over half a century of the magnolia tree blossoming, always hopeful, always loyal. You had waited, as patiently as you could, and now that he was gone, now that you were grayed and wrinkled, you realized everything was for naught.

You never learned of the riches your mother had so long ago described. You never even learned the touch of a man—of a lover. You did everything you had thought was right, practiced patience and grace rivaling monks, and you were rewarded with nothing.

A life unlived, you stayed in your corner long after the Emperor had passed and his successor had risen. You would always have a place within the Palace, but few would even remember you.

The seasons passed. You watched the magnolia tree blossomed in spring, the delicate pink flowers promising youth and innocence. When summer arrived, the green leaves offered shelter from the hot sun. Autumn ushered in a feeling of nostalgia and melancholy, and winter stripped the tree bare.

You watched this cycle happened year after year until your mind was no longer quick. You were forgetting things more often now. You made many mistakes. Sometimes, you couldn’t even discern reality from the dreams you longed for.

One late night, the moon was bright and full, looming high in the dark sky.

You opened your eyes when you felt an extra weight on your bed.

A young man sat near you, his long hair as silvery-white as the moon in the sky cascaded down his back. He looked so regal and elegant, more ethereal than the Emperor ever was, and more divine than any of the royalty that had visited the Palace over the years. The young man cupped your cheek, his smooth, youthful skin a stark contrast to your wrinkled, leathery flesh.

“I am sorry, my beloved,” he whispered, his deep voice so familiar. As they should be, you thought, having heard it in your dreams every night for the last decades.

“You are late,” you said. You didn’t even know if you were dreaming at this point, or perhaps your mind was wandering again. You had loved this man from your fantasy for all of your life. You had painted his portraits so many times, memorized his features by heart. His very being, his entire essence, was engraved into your soul.

This was him.

“Sylus.” You hadn’t said his name in decades. Your voice no longer carried that youthful lilt. You were too old now. It seemed so shameful to even speak his name. You cried.

He wiped your tears away, his apologies filled the silence, but it did not ease your heartache.

“Stay with me,” you pleaded, voice weak and gravelly, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” he said, brushing the gray strands out of your face. “It will be over soon.”

You believed him. He held your hand in his, the soft, sweet murmurs you had always longed to hear lulled you back to sleep.

You knew when you closed your eyes tonight, they would never open again in the morning, but you were no longer scared. You let go of the regrets that weighed you down. Nothing else seemed to matter in this moment.

Only him.

As you closed your eyes again, your breathing steadying, the warmth of life slipping away, you heard a cry from a beast. It was low and sorrowful, carrying a heavy weight of remorse and despair and anger.

Just as you had lived, even in death, no one remembered the elderly virgin concubine. After that night, the kingdom fell to ruins. The ground shook with an unearthly force and houses tumbled, crushing and claiming thousands of lives. Lanterns had fallen, flames erupting, setting the once peaceful capital ablaze and lighting the night sky in a crimson glow. Entire family lines were wiped out, new brides were widowed, children orphaned, and parents grieving for surviving as they cradled their dead child—young and old.

No one left unscathed. Fate could not discern from hungry beggars or the gluttonous wealthy upper echelons. The capital burned, lives ruined and taken freely, the screaming cries unheard by the heavens.

The ones who had managed to survive spoke of seeing a white serpent-like creature moving in the night sky, its scales glimmering in the moonlight before it disappeared within the clouds. Many believed it was a dragon, but rather than bringing fortune to the mortal realm, they wondered if their empire had incurred his wrath.)

You sat in bed, your knees pulled to your chest as you heaved and sobbed. You felt like your heart was ripping, unable to stop shaking as the fragments of your dreams lingered, forming this heartbreaking image of loss.

It was the same man from your previous dream. It was the same look of despair.

“…Sylus, Sylus…” you sobbed his name over and over again, wondering why the dreams all ended the same way: you forsaking him.

“…I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

In the middle of the night, in the dark silence of your room, you continued crying out his name, every utter tearing you apart inside.

In the following days, extravagant gifts were sent to your manor. Luxurious jade, aged liquor, finely crafted porcelain potteries, and the finest fabrics in all of the lands were brought in one by one to awed delight.

“It seems Master Shin is smitten with you, Miss,” Tara teased as she held out the beautiful crimson fabric with golden embroidery of cranes and magnolia flowers. She sighed blissfully as she felt the beautiful silk. “None of the previous suitors had ever sent gifts as fine as these.”

You tried to appear indifferent, but even you couldn’t help but felt flattered by such attention. “Well, now, perhaps I could entertain the thought of being the young master’s wife if this is how I will be treated.”

“Oh?” Tara eyed you with suspicion. “You are suddenly compliant. Are you feeling unwell, Miss?”

“How rude,” you quipped. “Grandmother had just… asked me to consider this match, so I am.”

Truth be told, you haven’t been able to shake Shin’s expressions from the other day out of your mind. He was attentive one moment, listening intently to your explanations as you guided him through town. After watching the play, he seemed to have shut down completely, his expression cold and full of contempt. You had thought it was a sweet storyline—feeling admiration for the hero’s bravery—but Shin seemed irked by it all.

You had managed to turn his foul mood around. Just as quickly as he had changed, he had returned to his earlier soft demeanor, and it was puzzling how you had witnessed the two sides of the same man in such a short amount of time.

Shin was such an enigma. The man left you with more questions than answers, and you wondered what his intentions could be. He seemed particularly keen of you, his eyes seeing only you, his attention devoted to you. Just you.

You knew nothing of him, and he of you, but the way he behaved would have one thinking he had fallen in love with you so many lifetimes ago.

You blushed, and chided yourself. Enough silly thoughts, you silently reprimanded yourself again.

“Oh, Miss, we have guests!”

You looked up in surprise when Tara called out to you from the courtyard. Curious, you walked outside, surprised to see two young identical men dressed in black, waiting with even more gifts. You greeted them politely.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young Miss. My name is Kieran,” the man greeted you with a bow and then gestured to his companion, who responded in the same way, “And this is my twin brother, Luke. Our master has asked us to make sure his gifts have arrived safely to you.”

“Master?” you questioned with confusion.

“Master Sy—Master Shin,” Luke clarified. He quickly added, “As you will be our master’s wife, we are to serve you as well, Miss.”

“Please use us as needed,” Kieran added.

You smiled uncomfortably. “Thank you, but that will not be necessary.”

Luke and Kieran exchanged looks, appearing startled and confused. Luke smiled at you, his expression coming across as roguish. “Miss, the Master insists. We are under orders to serve and protect you.”

“Protect me? From what?”

“Just in general,” Kieran explained vaguely. “Master Shin values your safety. You do not even have to consider us bodyguards.”

“Whatever you need, we will serve you, Miss.”

“But—”

“Oh, Miss, quit acting so modest,” Tara cut in with a grin, “You need to get used to this kind of treatment since you will be Master Shin’s wife!”

You glared at Tara.

“Weren’t you the one who said earlier how you could get used to the Master’s attention and care?”

Luke and Kieran seemed to exchange another look, grinning in amusement, while you flustered and stammered, “N-not in those particular words…”

“Besides, it would be nice to have you boss someone other than me around,” Tara added with a feigned pitiful look.

“Hush,” you scolded her with a light glare. You sighed, and turned back to Luke and Kieran, conceding, “Very well. Send your master my thanks. These are lovely gifts.”

“And, Miss…” Kieran approached you with a small lacquered wooden black box that had magnolia flowers painted in gold on the exterior. You eyed the box with curiosity, watching as Luke approached and helped his brother open the top. Nestled on a plush brilliantly red cushion was a round gold pendant with an outer border made of jade. The characters for ‘beloved’ was carved in the center, and when you picked it up, you realized on the back was an engraving of an ascending dragon with wisps of cloud beneath him.

“How… exquisite,” you gasped, mesmerized. You were almost afraid of holding it, for fear that you could damage this beautifully crafted piece of jewelry. There was a peculiar familiarity as you caressed the pendant, your expression thoughtful as you admired the beauty in your hand. It was almost akin to a feeling of déjà vu, as if you had seen this pendant somewhere before.

“Miss, that will look lovely on you,” Tara said with admiration, unknowingly breaking you out of your spell. You smiled back.

“There is more jewelry in these boxes,” Luke explained, gesturing to the array of unopened gifts in the courtyard, much to both yours and Tara’s shock. “But it is the Master’s wish that this particular one reaches you personally.”

“Do not feel pressured to wear it, Miss,” Kieran added, “The Master simply wants you to hold onto this.”

“I…” You looked down at the pendant in your hand, your finger tracing the characters thoughtfully. You smiled serenely. “Please let Master Shin know… I will cherish this gift from him with all of my heart.”

(Deep in the mountains, away from the lively towns, there was a quaint village. Once able to boast of a small but respectable, population, its now lone occupant was a little girl, no more than seven. Silently, a deadly plague had snuck in, taking down one villager at a time. It had started with a cough. Very innocuous, very deceiving. Within a few days, a fever would break out. Burning flesh and violent chills would take over, and by this point, it was too late. The one physician in town had already worked himself to death trying to save everyone.

There was no medicine. There was no cure. The only relief from this unknown illness was death’s cold embrace. One by one, men, women, and children succumbed to this plague until there was only one person left waiting.

“Sylus, I’m cold,” you told him, shivering. You looked at the man in front of you, face feverish.

He placed a cooling hand over your forehead, his lips hardened into a straight line. He retrieved a wooden cup and knelt next to your bedside. “Little one, drink some water.”

He helped guide the cup to your mouth, and as you drank, water dribbled down your chin. You started coughing, choking on the liquid. He immediately patted your back gently before helping you lay back down in bed, the cover pulled up to your chin.

“Sylus… am I going to die?”

He inhaled sharply, and paused, unable to answer your question.

“I’m not scared…” you told him. “Mama and Papa are waiting for me, right?”

He was silent, unable to fathom the brave smile on your face.

“Mama… and Papa… sent you to find me, right?” you asked him with a trickle of hope in your young voice, “So I wouldn’t be alone…”

He lowered his head, a soft chuckle escaped, but there was no joy in his laughter. He nodded once, and whispered softly, “Yes, little one, I am here so you would not be scared and lonely…”

You started coughing again before you looked back at this man next to you. “Will you tell me a story?”

He smiled helplessly. “I don’t know any stories.”

“Not one?”

He shook his head. “What if I am bad at telling stories?”

“I won’t mind… I think you would be good at telling stories…”

“You have such confidence in me, little one.”

“Please?”

He relented, unable to deny you this simple request. Not when he knew you did not have long left in this world.

“There once was a dragon,” Sylus began hesitantly, “He fell in love with a beautiful mortal maiden.”

You smiled, and that seemed to have given Sylus the confidence to continue.

“They were deeply in love… until one day the woman stopped loving him.”

You frowned, your voice soft with worry. “Why?”

Sylus smiled sadly, and brushed his hand over your hair in slow strokes. “Because she had forgotten about him,” he said, “It wasn’t her fault, but it happened anyway. And then one day, she was gone from this world, and the dragon grieved deeply.”

Tears started falling down your eyes. Sylus immediately brushed them away with his thumb, shushing you gently.

“He would find her again when she is reborn, but it would never be like before.”

“Sylus…” Your breathing started to get shallower, your body weakening with each passing second. “…Sy…lus…”

He held your hand in his, his caresses tender. As he spoke, his deep voice held a tinge of nostalgia, a glimmer of a memory seemed to reflect in his eyes, “Sometimes he would find her too late…”

You closed your eyes, your breathing gradually slowing, your hand in his growing limp. Sylus watched, seeing you take your final breath. Resigned, his own scarlet eyes closed, his heart dropping, and he continued, hushed, to the silent room:

“…and sometimes he would be too early.”)

“Miss? Are you alright?”

Your head snapped up when you heard Shin’s voice calling for you. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, realizing you had fallen behind him as you two were walking through town together again.

Shin walked back to where you stood. He looked at you with concern before responding, “It’s quite alright. Is there something on your mind? You seemed distracted since we departed earlier.”

You shook your head.

“Liar,” he said, pinching your cheek.

“Ah—don’t!” You whined, swatting at his hand, annoyed.

He smiled, amused by the glare you directed at him.

“You are such a… a…”

“A…?” he prodded you with another insufferable smile.

You opened your mouth to speak, but then you saw Grandma Josephine’s glare in your head, hearing also her firm scolding echoing. You clamped your mouth shut, swallowing the particular words you wanted to call him.

“What’s this? The young miss is silent again.” He lightly tilted your chin up, making you meet his gaze. His thumb barely brushed against your lips, his eyes lingering where he had caressed before he looked up. “Speak. Why are you so despondent today?”

You pulled back. “It’s nothing,” you said, “I’ve just been… having some bad dreams.”

“Care to talk about it?” Shin walked over closer to you, but he did not touch you this time. “It might help to relieve your burden.”

“I don’t know…”

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“Not one bit,” you answered, not missing a beat. He laughed.

“Fair,” Shin conceded. “What can I do to make the young miss more trusting of me?”

You crossed your arms, seemingly in deep contemplation as you pondered his inquiry. His eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement as he watched you.

“Maybe I could entice her to like me more if…” His eyes wandered to a nearby vendor on the street. “Perhaps some warm roasted chestnuts… there’s also some roasted yams…”

You smelled the roasted treats from the seller, your interest piqued, but you shook your head firmly. You tried to ignore the slight grumbling in your belly.

“Maybe some steamed dumplings?”

You frowned. “Am I a glutton to you or something?”

He grabbed your hand, already leading you away to a nearby tea house. “It is almost lunchtime,” he quipped, “A good meal should put you into a better mood.”

“Ah—” You stumbled along, barely able to keep up with his easy long strides as you protested, “but what about—oh!—your calligraphy brushes you wanted to find?”

He paused and you fell into his embrace, blushing crimson as you looked up, meeting his fond smile.

“I lied,” he said, leaning down, his face closer to yours, “I just wanted an excuse to be with you today, Miss.”

You frowned, face still red.

“As red as a tomato,” he teased.

“As vexing as a fly,” you bit back.

“A fly, am I?” he questioned, amused. His eyes drifted lower, and you gasped when his finger trailed along your neck, gently hooking under the chain you wore. He raised the necklace, his eyes resting on the jade pendant. He smirked as he tilted his head, his eyes focused in on your rapidly reddening cheeks. “This vexing fly’s gift looks lovely on you.”

You couldn’t seem to stop blushing now. The effect he was having on you was unlike any other man you had met in the past. He seemed to be the only one capable of making you flustered.

“I—that is…”

“Have you accepted my engagement then?”

You sulked at him. “Grandma has a say in this. Not me.”

“I suppose,” he answered noncommittally, “However, I will not force you into marriage, Miss, and also… I seem to recall specifying to Luke and Kieran to make it clear that you are not required to wear this necklace if you do not desire.”

You looked embarrassed.

“I ask again,” he said patiently, letting the necklace fall. He tipped your chin up with one finger, his face close to yours.

“Have you accepted my engagement then?”

You thought of your grandmother once more, remembering your previous conversation with her. You didn’t realize your face had dropped as you remembered the worried creases on the elderly woman’s face. You quietly answered him, “…Yes…”

You had expected Shin to look pleased, but there seemed to be a flicker of dissatisfaction in his eyes. You looked at him questionably.

“I said yes…”

“I heard,” he answered. He cradled your cheek with one hand, but it was only for a brief moment before he pulled his hand back to his side, and you felt oddly saddened by the sudden loss of warmth. He just nodded once and turned away, resuming the walk through town. “Come then… Those calligraphy brushes…”

You looked at his back confused, recalling his earlier words that this was just a ploy he had come up with to invite you to town. His mood seemed to have changed again, but rather than anger or disdain like before during your first visit to town, he seemed dejected.

Shin turned around, looking at you pointedly as you remained in your spot. You fumbled, embarrassed that you had gotten distracted by your own thoughts. You quickly walked forward to his side. As you continued through town, the once amicable, joking atmosphere disappeared, being replaced by an uncomfortable silence.

You guided Shin to a vendor specializing in the art of calligraphy. An array of brushes from cheaply-made to the most prestigious lined his shop, along with ink bottles and papers readily available for sell. You stood quietly near the entrance, watching as Shin conversed with the seller. As expected, Shin sought only the highest quality of tools and materials. You watched as he tested out a brush, his profile startling you briefly as you noted a sudden familiarity that you hadn’t paid heed to before.

You fingered the pendant around your neck, your mind drifting back to earlier.

I said yes…

He had looked sad when you had said it. You looked down at the pendant, and caressed the characters with your thumb.

Beloved.

You had agreed to marry Shin for your grandmother’s sake. To most, it was astounding you even had a voice in the matter, but Josephine, as scheming as she was when it came to her granddaughter’s future marriage, was also empathetic. To be shackled to a man who would only beat and berate you was a fate she did not want to inflict on her one and only granddaughter.

So, she had allowed you the freedom to reject any suitor you found unfit.

With Shin, however, Josephine seemed keen, patiently but also strongly encouraging you to ponder more deeply before you rejected him. So, you had.

He was charismatic, able to charm your grandmother during that first meeting. The way he had conversed with her was lax but also respectful, his quick wit a refreshing change from past suitors whose arrogance or passiveness made the conversations felt like torture.

He was attentive, you recalled. When he was alone with you, you were the only being in his eyes, almost as if you were the only person in his world. You had never been treated with such regard. Other suitors viewed you as more of a decoration, something to have as an accessory to show off to other affluent men, hoping to fill their hearts with envy.

You exhaled slowly.

I said yes…

“Miss?”

You looked up, surprised to see Shin staring down at you confused.

“I had called you four times,” he said, brows furrowing, “Are you alright?”

I should be asking you the same thing, you thought. You forced a smile and nodded. “Sorry, I was… remembering something.”

“I am finished here,” he said, “Let us leave.”

You departed the shop with Shin, and that earlier stifling silence returned, but this time it was only brief. You tried speaking with him again, making small talk.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” you asked, though again, you couldn’t help but silently quipped to yourself about how he had mentioned he was lying earlier about needing new calligraphy brushes—only to then lie about… not lying? You mentally groaned, confused by Shin’s behavior.

“I did,” he answered, seemingly unaware of your internal struggle.

You swallowed, bracing yourself before you blurted out, “Did I offend you somehow?”

You both stopped in the middle of the street. He turned and looked down at you, puzzled.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you, but there was no retreating now. You continued in spite of the growing warmth in your cheeks. “I… I thought you would be happy if I had said yes, but… Shin, I don’t understand you.”

“I am happy,” he answered calmly, “I am very, very, very happy.”

You hesitantly looked up, meeting his gaze. Your voice was barely audible as you spoke, “You are not acting like it…”

“Because I had wondered if maybe you would be unhappy with me?”

You stilled. You felt like you needed to look away, but your eyes remained locked on his, peering deeply into those earnest orbs, seeing yourself reflected back, face shocked and confused. “Shin…”

Before you could even speak further, there was an eruption of applauses nearby. You both turned in the direction of the explosive noises, hearing cheers and praises resounding in the square.

Shin tsked, annoyed.

It was the same performers from your previous visit to town, and just as before, they were finishing that very same play from that day. The same old story about a tyrannical oppressive dragon stealing away young girls to be his bride, only to die in the end, slain by the heroic man who wanted to save his lover from her fate.

It was a timeless tale among the villagers. A fiendish dragon slayed by a hero. The hero worshipped for his valiancy, and in the end, peace was restored to the land.

How tiring.

Shin’s eyes followed a group of children who mimicked the performers, reenacting the climatic scene of the sword plunging into the dragon’s chest, its beating heart carved out as proof of the killing.

“Where I am from,” Shin murmured quietly to you, his tone neutral, “dragons are revered.”

You both continued to walk through town. There were many shops and vendors hawking their wares, but you both continued to pass on by, unswayed by the attractive items displayed. You observed Shin’s demeanor, noting he wasn’t as impish as before, but he also didn’t seem to be in a foul mood either. It was almost as if he was apathetic, a bit condescending even toward this town.

You frowned.

“Where is that?” you asked as you both passed by a vendor selling wall scrolls depicting dragons as ominous demons. You were used to such imagery, but that didn’t mean you held the same belief as your fellow townspeople. Shin’s words had piqued your interest.

“A land far from this place,” he answered vaguely, making your frown deepened, more annoyed this time. Shin huffed in amusement at your vexed expression. He continued, unperturbed, “You would love it, Miss.”

There was a curved bridge looming over a tranquil river that separated the town with the nearby forest. You and Shin paused at the center, the two of you leaning over the railing and staring at the water below. Occasionally a fish would bob its head up in an attempt to catch passing insects.

“The flowers are always in bloom,” Shin continued, clarifying, “My hometown.”

“Surely you jest,” you responded, doubtful, “How can flowers always bloom? Do you not have autumn or winter?”

He smiled, shaking his head. His expression and words were cryptic. “They always bloom,” he insisted, adding softly, “Especially for their queen.”

Your face softened. You smiled at his wistful expression. “How poetic,” you murmured, “Does this kingdom of yours revere their queen deeply?”

It wasn’t long, but there was a noticeable pause before Shin spoke again. “She has been gone for a long time,” he answered, his smile looking bitter. “The kingdom mourns her absence, as does its king.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Shin shook his head, interrupting you, “You didn’t know.”

He looked down at the river below, both of your reflection rippled in the water as a family of ducks swam through down the center between you both. He huffed in amusement when a lone duckling straggled.

“The queen will return,” he said, hushed, “Her king will bring her home.”

You were confused now, not understanding Shin’s words anymore. You wondered if the two of you were even having the same conversation anymore. Although there were people bustling and passing by behind you both, heading to and from town, it didn’t do anything to ease the persistent stifling silence that returned once again.

“Tanghulu,” you said suddenly, surprising Shin. When he looked down at you, confused, you quickly clarified, pointing down the road to near the entrance into town. “There’s a vendor who sells tanghulu over there. They’re quite good. You’ll enjoy them.”

“Doubtful,” he responded with a soft snort. His lips quirked in amusement. “I don’t particularly care for sweets.”

“You’ll like this one,” you insisted, beaming brightly at him. “If you have a little something sweet, your mood will be uplifted.”

“Is that so?” he laughed. “Then I must follow the young miss’ words of wisdom, shouldn’t I?”

He let you guide him, your small hand barely wrapped around his much larger one, but it was only for a few steps from the bridge before he paused, making you stopped as well. Confused, you were about to look behind you when he tugged gently, easily pulling you back up against him. Your back rested against his chest. Shin leaned down, his warm breath tickling your ear as he whispered:

“Maybe there is some truth in your words, Miss, because this sweet young miss does lift my mood tremendously.”

You blushed, reaching down to touch his arm as you stammered, “Shi-Shin…! I had meant…”

He laughed and kissed your cheek. “I know what you had meant,” he interrupted with a roguish grin, “but I think I would find you more delectable than these confections.”

“Always teasing me…” you murmured, sulking.

He laughed again, delighted. “Do I displease you?”

You remained silent.

“If you do not answer me,” he continued, his tone light and flirtatious, “I might accidentally believe you have grown fond of me.”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. You moped.

He turned you to face him, peering down at the sweet pout in front of him.

“Sincerity is hard to come by,” he murmured, letting his hand gently cradled your chin. His thumb glided over your bottom lip, the faint tingle lingered, extending to your cheeks. Unwittingly, the softest of gasps managed to slip through, your heart beating faster.

“You must know, Miss, I adore you,” he said, “There is no love purer than mine.”

“How can you love someone you’ve only just met?”

His head tilted a little in amusement at your inquiry. His eyes drifted down to the pendant around your neck.

“Only just met,” he repeated your words thoughtfully, “It seems like it’s been several lifetimes.”

Baffled, you didn’t even get a chance to respond when Shin continued almost immediately: “Tanghulu.”

“Tanghulu,” you repeated after he had let you go and started to walk back to town. You stared after him, watching his figure grow smaller the further he walked away from you. You peered down at the necklace you wore. You touched it, tracing the characters, a habit that had formed when you least expected.

Several… lifetimes…?

Weeks passed and it seemed every other day you were accompanying Shin either on walks or through town for errands, though you wondered if these supposed ‘errands’ were just little ploys he used as an excuse to see you. You had questioned what he did for a living to maintain the luxurious lifestyle he seemed to have, but all you received were cryptic words and vague smiles.

As it were, you also learned that Shin was fond of gifting you presents for no apparent reason. It had started out small with a flower here and a poem there, but in time, it was common to receive jewelry and other luxuries from your betrothed. You suspected that if you asked him for the world, he would give you the universe instead.

You couldn’t help but felt flattered by such attention, but more than that, you also couldn’t help but noticed how Shin often looked at you with such devotion, his attention completely yours. You found yourself growing curious of him, perhaps even fond of his presence, as he seemed to see you as a person rather than an accessory to be had.

Without realizing it, you had begun to look forward to the days when you would see him. You hid your growing fondness for him behind a mask, allowing the familiar banters to cloak your feelings.

It had started as another normal stroll through town, passing the same merchants hawking their wares as before, but on this day, you couldn’t help but picked up an unusual energy in the air. It made you uneasy, though you could not pinpoint the exact reasoning or cause. Instead, you found yourself gravitating to Shin’s side, his presence calming your nerves.

“That’s strange,” you said softly, eyeing the woman who had just glared at you. “She’s normally very sweet to me. Maybe she’s having a bad day—Shin?”

You were surprised when you noticed his glare. He seemed to be scrutinizing something. He pulled you by the waist closer to him, murmuring softly, “Stay close to me.”

“Is something the matter?” you looked at him worriedly.

He inhaled sharply, seemingly hesitating about how he should answer you. At the sound of your voice again, he sighed. “It is nothing,” he said finally, though you couldn’t help but felt that he was withholding certain details. “I just had an uneasy feeling.”

“Uneasy?” you wondered aloud, looking at his profile. Like you, he seemed troubled, but almost as quickly that instance of anxiety disappeared, his features returning to normal.

“Come,” he said calmly, his hand held out for yours, waiting. “We still have to pick up a few items for your trip in three days, correct?”

The inquiry startled you. You wondered if this was his attempt to distract you from the seemingly ominous aura looming over the town, but rather than addressing his deflection, you looked at his hand, unsure at first, before you took it willingly. You smiled and chatted with him again, the moment calm and peaceful just as before, though Shin’s earlier words remained lingering in your mind.

A distant relative was to be wedded within a week. Alongside your grandmother and faithful handmaiden, Tara, you had departed town early in the morning to start the lengthy four-day trip via a horse-drawn carriage.

It was supposed to be a normal trip—like many others you had taken in the past—passing through dense forests and unfamiliar towns, but some hiccups along the way interfered with the plan to make it to the closest town before nightfall, and now it was completely dark outside, the only lights were from the two lanterns on either side of the coachman.

Strange how this first day seemed counterproductive—as if you had been lost in a labyrinth making no progress on your trip.

The steady ride through the late night, and the rhythmic trotting of the horses had long lulled you to sleep, but it didn’t take much to stir you out of your light slumber. Disoriented, you yawned, your head raised from resting on Tara’s shoulder earlier. She, too, also perked up as did your grandmother on the opposite side.

The three of you heard unusual sounds from outside the carriage, and a feeling of dread reflected on all of your faces.

The carriage had suddenly stopped, and you heard the horses acting restless and uneased. The driver could be heard trying to calm the animals, but then you heard many other unfamiliar voices outside. Josephine had already peeked outside, her face paling.

“Whatever you do, do not come out,” Josephine ordered you before she exited the carriage. You started to protest, but Tara pulled you back in.

“Miss, we have to stay quiet!”

“But Grandma—”

Your eyes widened when you heard a scream, the voice you recognized instantly. “Grandma!”

You pushed Tara aside and rushed out of the carriage, covering your mouth in terror as you saw your grandmother laying on the ground bleeding out from her neck. You rushed to her, but was grabbed from behind by a man. Before you could react, you heard Tara screaming, seeing men dragging her out of the carriage.

“T-Tara!”

“Miss, Miss, help me!”

You struggled against your attackers.

“Feisty, pretty little thing, isn’t she?” one man sneered, grabbing your face. You spat at him and was immediately slapped across the face, the sting immediate.

“Mi—”

You screamed out Tara’s name, watching in horror as blood seeped through her clothes. She clutched her side, her eyes glazing over. “Miss… I… I don’t want to… die…”

You started screaming again, feeling a large hand covered your mouth. You immediately bit down, bracing yourself for the inevitable retaliation, but it never came.

Two little gray sparrows flew past your attacker, distracting him. As the birds turned around and began to descend, a black mist enveloped them, taking shape. When the mist cleared, the birds were gone and in their places were two identical men.

“Luke…? Kieran…”

Within a flash, Luke and Kieran silently dispatched all of the surrounding bandits, their movements faster than your eyes could follow. Your heart stilled as you heard another voice from behind, the growl unlike any beast you had ever heard.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Before you could look to the owner of the voice, Kieran intervened, prying you from your attacker. He turned you and pressed you to his chest. “Just close your eyes, Miss,” he said softly, “It will be over soon.”

Your breathing ragged, your heart pounding, you felt a chill ran down your spine as a blood-curdling scream was ripped from the man’s throat. You squeezed your eyes shut, hot tears streaking down your cheeks as you trembled in Kieran’s arms, a desperate prayer repeating over and over again in your mind.

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please—!

(A vicelike pain gripped your heavily rounded middle and you screamed into the folded cloth shoved in your mouth.

“Quiet, quiet, child,” you could hear a woman whispering to you frantically.

Sweats dripped alongside your face, and you sobbed, the hot tears rushing down your cheeks as you held onto the rope made of thick cloth suspended from the ceiling. You pulled harder when the pain returned tenfold.

“On the next pain, push, child,” the woman urged, “It will be over soon.”

Your heart pounded. You could feel something dropping lower in your pelvis. You screamed again and bore down.

“Almost, almost,” the woman whispered frantically.

You didn’t know for how long you were pushing, but eventually you felt relief, felt a heavy weight exiting your body. The cloth was taken out of your mouth, and you stared at the woman with more sweats running down your reddened face. You panted, your heart pounding.

“…The… baby?”

“It’s for the best,” the woman said solemnly, and you watched as she carried a wrapped bundle away. You had never heard a cry.

You let go of your hold on the rope and collapsed on the bed, exhausted and lightheaded. You felt so sore, too weak to even sit upright.

“…For… The best…” you repeated, shutting your eyes in pain. You could barely stay conscious.

That was right. It was for the best. You were never supposed to have fallen pregnant with this child, this unwanted babe.

You didn’t want this baby.

Neither did your master. Nor his wife.

“Child, let’s get you cleaned up—child? Dear god…!”

There were frantic voices. What were they saying? The voices slipped in and out of your consciousness, your breathing growing more ragged.

“She won’t stop bleeding! Call for a physician!”

“Just let her die then. It’s for the best.”

“Mistress, Mistress, please, she’s just a young girl!”

“She’s a harlot. This is her punishment for seducing my husband.”

“She was raped!”

There was a piercing slap, the sound echoed in the room, and mere seconds later, a shaky sob followed.

“She is just a servant girl. No one will miss her.”

“Mistress…”

You felt relief. Just let go. It would be over soon. You were safe now…

“Know your place, or do you wish to follow her in death as well?”

“…Yes, Mistress…”

A flash of lightning startled the two women.

“Now dispose of this wretched whore—”

Bloodcurdling screams traveled across the manor, sending chills down the two women’s spines. They looked at one another in shock, unsure and fearful.

“An intruder!” a man cried out.

“The master has been killed!” the words of another made the women paused, horrified.

Thunder rumbled in the sky, shaking the ground. Another flash of lightning made the women flinched. When they looked up, a man in black stood at the door, expressionless. He was covered in blood, but they quickly realized it wasn’t his.

“Who—who are you?!”

The man looked at the young girl bled out on the bed. His crimson eyes narrowed.

A gust of wind wiped out the lamps, extinguishing all of the flames in the manor. The ground continued to rumble, and when lightning struck again, the women screamed in terror, the shadow of a draconic beast was the last thing they witnessed before everything turned dark, their cries drowned out by thunders and a wrathful roar.)

You awoke, gasping and crying.

Another… dream?

“Easy, easy now,” you heard Shin’s voice and you realized he was sitting next to you.

You stared at him in shock, your mind clouded as you slowly took in your surroundings. You gradually realized you were in an unfamiliar room… in an unfamiliar bed… with… this man seated by your bedside. You looked at him again, eyebrows furrowing in complete confusion as you attempted to recall your last memory, but your mind was still clouded by the recent dream you just had.

The dream—

Your hands flew to your middle, feeling flatness. You started to calm down.

“Miss, are you alright?” Shin looked at you questionably, confused by your behavior just now.

You struggled to find your voice, hearing an unfamiliar hoarseness as you attempted to speak. “Why… Why are you here… Shin?”

“This is my home,” he explained, “You have been unconscious for four days, Miss.”

“F-four days?”

He nodded. “Merchants had found you in the forest and they had brought you to town,” he continued patiently, “I was in town when I saw you being carried to a physician, so I intervened and had you brought here instead.”

You took in his words, mulling over his explanation, but in your weakened, distorted state, you didn’t know whether to believe him or not. You looked at Shin again, meeting his patient gaze. “You… have been watching over me?”

“I have checked in on you from time to time,” he clarified, adding, “I was beginning to worry you would never wake.”

“Never… wake?” Your eyes widened as pieces of that night started to come back to you. “Grandma! And… and… Tara…”

You froze at Shin’s solemn expression. He apologized softly, “I am sorry, Miss. You were all attacked by bandits. You are the only survivor.”

You sat there in shock, your mind going over his words again. You suddenly laughed, the sound bearing more resemblance to crying. “That is a lie,” you said, “Shin, why are you lying to me? I… This is a joke. This is… This is…”

He stared back at you, his expression unwavering.

“…not true.”

“I am sorry, Miss,” he repeated. He handed you a handkerchief, but you swatted it out of his hand in anger. He remained unaffected by your hostile action. Instead, he spoke calmly, “I know this is a lot to take in. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Your chest tightened and your head lowered as tears fell one by one onto the comforter. You were barely registering his words as pieces of that horrific night started to come back to you with disturbing clarity. You wondered if you had taken one single different action, would the course of that night had changed? Would Grandma be here right now scolding you for still lounging as lunchtime rolled around? Would Tara sneak you an extra tangerine and share secrets with you after dark?

“When can I go home?” you asked suddenly, not looking at him.

“This will be your home,” he answered. “It is best you stay here instead.”

“What?” You looked up shocked, not expecting his words. You shook your head. “N-No… I have to go home. Grandma’s manor will need to be taken care of… I have… my belongings… and… Grandma’s… and—”

“I will send for your things,” he said patiently, “But it is best you do not return to that place.”

You glared at him, angry by his callous words. “Who do you think you are telling me I can’t go back to my home? I am leaving now—”

Shin immediately pressed you back into bed, gently but still firm. He stared down at you, his expression hard but not heated. His voice was even, but there was an icy edge to it. “It is best you listen to me, Miss. I am merely looking out for your wellbeing.”

You glared up and shoved his arm away. “I didn’t ask you to!”

“Hn.” He looked at you unaffected, and then said calmly as he walked to the door, “Miss, I will have a servant bring you a meal.”

“I am not hungry!” You couldn’t stop yourself from lashing out at him. You felt so many tumultuous emotions raging inside you. Shin didn’t do anything to you, but right now in this moment, he was the only person available for you to direct your anger. Your anger at the bandits who murdered your family, your anger at the heavens for forsaking you, your anger… at yourself. For your incompetence… For… surviving.

“You have not eaten for four days,” Shin said calmly from the doorway, unaffected by your outburst. “It will be a light meal. Easy on your stomach. Try to eat a little.”

“Shin…” You felt angry… at yourself. He was still so calm, so patient with you, and you were behaving like a petulant child. Fresh tears fell, and in your heart, you knew Shin did not blame you for your hostile actions and words. Your whole world was stolen from you in one night, and now you were alone. You behaved in a way only to be expected.

“I will also send a servant girl to assist you,” he continued, “Her name is Simone. I will have her prepare you a bath and some fresh clothes as well.”

“Shin—”

He paused and looked at you patiently.

“Can I… bathe alone?”

He looked at you confused.

“It’s just… I have only ever been used to having Tara assist me…”

“I understand,” he said, nodding, “Simone will still be yours. Use her as needed.”

As the door closed, you lay back down in bed staring up at the ceiling in quiet contemplation. After a brief moment of reflection over that night and your conversation with Shin, you allowed yourself to cry and grieve freely.

For as long as you could remember, Tara was your only friend and companion since childhood. She didn’t deserve what had happened to her. She didn’t deserve to have her life taken like that.

I’m sorry… you thought, remembering all of the instances where your mischievousness had gotten her into trouble. You remembered all of the times you made her follow along to your shenanigans and foolishness. You mourned for the life she would have lived.

I’m sorry…

Simone was a nice girl, albeit, very chatty. You had mostly tuned her out, your thoughts still lingering on your slain family and the state of your home.

“Master Shin had explained what had happened, Miss,” Simone said, leading you to a bathhouse. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

You followed behind her down the veranda, your eyes scanning the surroundings of the property. It was the first time you were able to lay sight on the interior of the mysterious manor, but your curiosity and excitement were long gone. You were only interested in finding a way to escape so you could return home.

“Miss, we are here.”

Your head snapped up, and you smiled politely at Simone. “Thank you,” you responded, “I can bathe myself. Do not trouble yourself further.”

“It will be no trouble to me, Miss,” Simone said, smiling, “Please do not hesitate to seek my assistance.”

You simply nodded and entered the bathhouse. There was a large wooden tub filled with warm water, the steam coming from it created such a humid atmosphere. You breathed in slowly and waited for the sound of Simone’s footsteps leaving.

When you were sure you were alone, you opened the door a crack, peeking out to glance around for signs of people. It was daylight, but the manor was quieter than you were used to from your own home. Perhaps it was because the manor was only recently occupied, there hadn’t been many people staffed other than the few you had met.

You exhaled again, calming your anxious heart. This worked out well for you then, you noted, as you left the bathhouse, feeling a little bolder now that you were certain there wouldn’t be many people around the place. You quietly retraced your steps from earlier, ducking and hiding in unoccupied rooms when you heard voices.

Eventually, you found yourself in a vast courtyard where there was a large magnolia tree looming over an equally impressive koi pond. You didn’t have time to admire the beautiful landscaping. Your only thought was on the large door that led to the outside world.

Before you could make a dash for the door, you heard voices, and you quickly backed up against the wall, hiding in the shadow. You saw Luke and Kieran walking across the courtyard conversing quietly. Their voices were low, but you heard a few words here and there:

“…tree…”

“…wine… almost ready…”

You didn’t pay heed to their conversation any further, waiting instead with bated breath as they disappeared into one of the buildings. You glanced around again, making sure there was not another person nearby before you made a run for it, your heart pounding with every footstep until you made it to the door. You panted softly, your hand holding onto the heavy iron door handle as you took one last glance at Shin’s manor.

You quietly apologized to him, feeling a brief moment of guilt for dismissing his generous hospitality. You made a decision to apologize again more formally once you had settled things at your home. For now, you quietly slipped out and made the trek back to your own manor.

As you made your way down the familiar road, passing through town, you couldn’t help but sensed eyes on you. You subtly glanced around, noticing townspeople were looking at you before turning away. You could hear hushed whispers all around.

That girl is still alive?

Why is she still here?

Don’t go near her. She’ll only bring misfortune to you.

Your steps slowed briefly, your brows furrowing in confusion. Were they talking about you? None of what you had heard made sense.

“Ah-!”

You cried out when someone bumped into you.

“Oh, I’m sorry—oh, it’s you. Watch it, wench.”

You stared in shock at the man who passed by, confused by the rude attitude. There were more mutterings here and there.

She should have been the one who died, not Josephine.

Your breath hitched. Grandmother…

Thunder rumbled in the distance. You looked up, seeing dark clouds passing by. You flinched when you felt the first droplet of rain. Getting to your feet, you winced at the sharp pain from your scraped palms and the dull throbs in her knees.

More droplets fell from the gray sky.

You quickened your pace, hurrying back to your home. You tried to tune out the callous words, tried to ignore the disdainful glares. Why was there so much animosity? You knew these people. These people knew you, so why did it seem like they now hated you so much? It was like something had changed in the last couple days while you were unconscious.

Rain poured down and you tried to shield yourself the best you could as you ran faster.

“H-hey! What are you doing?! Put those back!” You yelled out as you approached the entrance of your manor. You gasped as you watched unfamiliar men hauled out items from your home. Furniture, pottery, clothing, everything was being taken away before your very eyes.

“Hm? Oh, Josephine’s granddaughter, I presume?” A man appearing in his fifties approached you. He held up a scroll. “We are here to collect Josephine’s debts.”

“D-debts? What debts?” You took the scroll from the man, your eyes rapidly going over each word. “When did she… Why didn’t she… tell me…”

“Listen, girl,” The man started, taking the scroll back from you, “I’m truly sorry for your loss. We are just following orders.”

“But… this is my home,” you protested feebly. “The—the other servants—”

“They’ve all left. There are other homes willing to employ them.”

“N-No, you can’t take those! Put them back!”

You tried to push your way into the manor, but the man blocked you, his demeanor worsening.

“Girl, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” he warned, but you stubbornly continued to fight back. Annoyed, he shoved you, showing no remorse when you landed in a puddle. He turned away, mumbling, “Tsk, that’s what I get for trying to be nice to a cretin like her…”

Grandmother was… She was trying to…

All of those men that came to the house. All of those prospective matches, Josephine had laid her hope on securing her granddaughter’s future. She had wanted to make sure her granddaughter would be taken care of, cared for when the old woman would pass and everything would be gone.

“But… This is… my home… Mine… Mine… Grandmother’s…”

You sat up, sobbing as you furiously wiped the mud off your face. Everything you knew—or thought you knew—came to a grinding halt. The people you loved—Grandma, Tara—were all slain in cold blood before your very eyes, and now, you had no one left in the world and no place to call home.

The world was cruel indeed.

The rain stopped, or so you thought. You opened your eyes and stared at the pair of men’s shoes before you, your eyes slowly lifting to meet the owner’s gaze.

Shin?

He stood there, holding an umbrella over you, shielding you from the cold rain. His other hand was held out to you, his expression sympathetic. He didn’t appear angry at you for running away. He had every right to be upset with you, after all, to be offended by your lack of respect for his gracious hospitality. He had sacrificed so much of his time and resources for you, and you had left without a word and now he had found you alone in the rain, muddied and disheveled. No longer a refined maiden of class, you looked like a pitiful homeless peasant, a sore sight to be seen.

You almost wanted to laugh in defeat at the cruel joke only you could understand. You didn’t look like a pitiful homeless peasant. You were one. Your home was taken, your wealth gone, your title meaningless. You wished Shin would avert his eyes, to turn away, like everyone else had.

The whole world was against you, and yet, he wasn’t.

“Let’s go home,” he said, voice low enough for your ears only.

“I don’t have a home,” you answered back, looking behind you at the closed door.

“My home,” he clarified with great patience.

You looked down, unsure. You wondered if you were embarrassed by your pitiful situation, or perhaps if you were in vain trying to hold onto the last shred of your pride, but you spoke feebly, “I… I’m not a charity case.”

“Good,” he replied evenly, “I am not offering charity either.”

He knelt down to your eye level. He used his sleeve to wipe your face clean as he spoke, his words careful and measured, “I am here to take my bride home with me.”

You stared into his eyes, confused. “I do not have a dowry to give you anymore.”

“I do not desire a dowry.”

“I… have no honor to my name.”

“I am not seeking honor.”

You teared up again. “I… will only be a burden.”

Shin shook his head, his smile gentle. “I do not view you as such.”

You looked around, seeing scornful eyes from passerby, all glaring at you, looking at you with utter contempt and disdain. Such hatred. Did these people always hate you? Did Grandma shield you from this cruelty, raised you in blissful ignorance so that you knew no pain or heartache?

You felt fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. You heard the similar hushed whispers as before.

Josephine was a fool. Look where it has gotten her.

She should have sold that girl to a whore house the first chance she got.

Is it any surprise? She was the reason her parents died.

That girl will only bring misfortune to our town.

She should have been the one killed.

Your breath hitched. Shin appeared to grasp the handle of the umbrella tighter, his breathing sounding stiff and forced.

“Let me take you away from this place,” he murmured, “My bride.”

Nothing left in this world, no one holding you back, you took his offered hand without another thought, gasping as he dragged you to your feet and straight into his arms. You stuttered, embarrassed, “My clothes are dirty—”

“I do not care,” he answered, his grip tightening around you. “Stay close to me.”

He led you into the waiting horse-drawn carriage, shielding you from the scornful stares. You closed your eyes once the carriage began to move. You didn’t even resist when Shin wrapped his arm around you, pulling you back into his embrace.

He feels familiar, you thought, the heat of his body warming you through your wet clothes. You unconsciously leaned closer, a heavy fatigue washing over you as you allowed yourself to lower your guard around him.

As you doze off, you thought you heard a pleased hum from him.

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[ Prelude ★ BOTDK Masterlist ★ AO3 ★ Part 2 ]