Shattered night

Elara had only meant to deliver the laundry.

The house was quiet at that hour. The kind of quiet that pressed into the walls and lingered in the air. It was close to midnight, and the long hallways were lit by soft golden lamps fixed high along the walls. The light was dim, leaving more shadow than glow, and her own footsteps seemed too loud as she walked barefoot across the marble floor.

She carried the folded linen in her arms, the fabric smelling faintly of soap and lavender. Her nightdress hung loosely on her frame. It was simple cotton, soft from many washes, and it brushed gently against her ankles as she moved. She had not planned to be awake this late, but the task had been left unfinished, and she wanted to do it before morning came.

Elara turned the corner, heading toward the guest rooms where Damien sometimes left his jackets or shirts for her to collect. Her heart always beat faster in that part of the house, though she never understood why. Perhaps it was because the air there always seemed colder, or perhaps it was because she knew his private quarters were not far from that wing.

She kept her head down, walking quickly, whispering to herself that she would leave the bundle and hurry back to her own room.

Then she heard it.

A sound. Faint but sharp enough to freeze her steps. It came from Damien’s bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar. At first she thought she had imagined it, but then she heard it again. A low laugh. A woman’s laugh.

Elara’s breath caught in her throat.

She should have turned back. She knew that. But her feet did not move away. Slowly, quietly, she leaned closer to the door, her arms pressing the linen against her chest. Through the small gap, she could see into the room.

What she saw made her heart twist.

Damien was not alone.

A woman was there. Ariana Stark. Her hair was long and fiery, spilling down her back like liquid flame. She sat on Damien’s bed, bare skin gleaming in the low light, a sheet pulled loosely around her but not enough to hide what Elara had never seen before. Her body was proud, confident, unashamed.

Elara’s eyes trembled on the sight. Her hands clutched the linen tighter.

Damien stood at the edge of the bed, his broad frame looming over Ariana. He had removed his shirt, his shoulders bare, his face set in that same unreadable mask he always wore. Yet there was something in his eyes as he looked at Ariana. Something that made Elara’s stomach sink.

“You should not be here,” he said. His voice was steady, but low.

Ariana tilted her head, smiling like she knew every corner of him. “I was here long before her, Damien. Do not forget that.”

Elara’s heart pounded. She did not understand who Ariana meant, but the word cut like it was meant for her.

Damien did not move. For a long moment, the room was heavy with silence. Then Ariana rose, letting the sheet fall, revealing all of her without shame. She stepped closer to him, placing her hand on his chest.

“You can keep pretending,” Ariana whispered. “But you still want me. You always have.”

Elara’s throat burned. She should have turned away, but her body would not listen. She stood frozen, her pulse racing, her cheeks hot. Something heavy filled her chest, something she had no name for, but it was sharp and painful.

Damien caught Ariana’s hand before it slid further down his chest. His grip was firm. His jaw worked like he was fighting with words he did not want to say.

“This is not the time,” he muttered.

Ariana laughed softly. “There will never be a right time with you. Always rules. Always walls. I am tired of it.”

Her other hand slid to his shoulder, pulling herself closer. For a moment, it seemed he might push her away. But he did not. He let her stay there, so close, her lips almost brushing his.

Elara’s chest ached at the sight.

She felt small. Smaller than she had ever felt before.

She wanted to turn away, to run back to her room, to bury her face in her pillow and forget, but her feet stayed rooted. She could not stop looking.

Inside the room, Ariana rose on her toes and kissed Damien. It was not gentle. It was bold, demanding.

Damien did not move for a moment. Then slowly, as though dragged by something he could not resist, he kissed her back.

Elara’s breath broke in her throat.

The bundle of laundry slipped from her arms and tumbled to the floor. The soft sound of fabric hitting marble filled the hallway.

Her eyes widened.

Inside the room, Damien’s head turned sharply. His gaze cut to the door, sharp and sudden.

Elara stumbled backward, her hand pressed against her mouth, her heart slamming so hard she thought it would tear out of her chest. She bent quickly, grabbed the fallen linen with shaking hands, and fled down the hallway as fast as her legs would carry her.

Her nightdress caught against her knees as she ran. Her hair fell loose over her face. She did not stop until she reached the safety of her small room.

Slamming the door shut, she pressed her back against it, her chest heaving. The laundry tumbled from her arms again, forgotten on the floor.

She pressed both hands against her mouth to keep from crying out loud. Tears filled her eyes, hot and fast, blurring her sight. She slid down against the door, curling into herself on the cold wooden floor.

Her whole body shook.

She had never felt pain like this.

Not the kind of pain that left bruises, but the kind that broke something inside.

She thought of Damien’s eyes when Ariana kissed him. She thought of his lips on hers. She thought of how still he had stood, and how he had given in.

Her tears spilled faster.

Elara pulled her knees to her chest, rocking slightly, trying to quiet the storm inside her. But the image would not leave her. Ariana’s body, Ariana’s laugh, Ariana’s kiss. Damien’s silence.

The words Ariana had spoken rang in her ears. I was here long before her.

Her stomach twisted. Her heart felt heavy, and she could not understand why it hurt so much.

She was nothing to him. She knew that. She was just a maid, a girl who had been given work and food and shelter. Yet somehow, she had let herself believe he saw her. That maybe, in those moments when his eyes stayed too long, or when his voice softened, she mattered.

But what she had seen that night shattered all of that.

Damien belonged to another world. A world full of women like Ariana, bold and beautiful and unafraid. A world where Elara could never stand.

She buried her face in her knees and let the sobs shake through her, muffled against her thin nightdress.

A low sound knock landed on her door.