A Date?

The walk to the garden was the longest walk of my entire life.

And I once walked to a 7-Eleven at 3 a.m. in socks because I ran out of instant ramen.

Every step felt like I was being paraded in front of the whole kingdom with a neon sign that said “THIS IDIOT WAS HELD BY THE MURDER KING.”

My heart was doing the Macarena.

My palms were rainforests.

My brain kept chanting:

Abort abort abort abort.

“Open the ground and swallow me,” I muttered under my breath.

(It’s not that bad, Elena.) Bree’s voice, all soft and dreamy.

“Are you his wolf or mine?” I hissed through clenched teeth.

She went suspiciously quiet.

Then we stepped through the archway.

And I forgot how to breathe.

The garden was stupid beautiful.

Roses the size of my head.

Tiny glowing lights floating like drunk fireflies.

A table in the middle set for two, covered in more food than I’d ever seen in one place that wasn’t a buffet.

Pastries.

Little sandwiches cut into cute shapes.

Chocolate-dipped everything.

A three-tier cake that looked like it was judging me for my life choices.

The embarrassment evaporated.

Because embarrassment can’t be eaten, but cake can.

I turned to Kael, eyes wide.

“Did you… do this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck (nervous king energy again).

“I wasn’t sure what you liked. So I had them bring… everything.”

Everything.

I stared at the table.

Then at him.

Then back at the table.

And for the first time since I got isekai’d into this nightmare,

I laughed.

Real, loud, ugly-snort laughter.

Walk with the King, highly recommend.

He smiled like I’d just handed him the world.

I reached the table and forced myself to sit like a normal human, not a raccoon at a dumpster.

Hands in lap.

Back straight.

Don’t grab everything at once, Ariana. Act like you’ve seen food before.

Kael sat opposite me, perfectly still, watching with those soft violet eyes.

I took one tiny sandwich.

Bit it in half.

Chewed politely.

Inside my head:

OH MY GOD THIS IS THE BEST THING I’VE EVER EATEN IN MY LIFE.

I swallowed, folded my hands, smiled like a polite little doll.

He hadn’t touched a thing.

“So,” he said, voice gentle, “tell me about you. Not the psychiatrist. You.”

My spine turned to ice.

Me?

The girl who once ranked instant ramen brands at 3 a.m.?

The girl who cried when her favorite snack got discontinued?

I picked up a macaron, examined it like it held the secrets of the universe.

“I… like reading,” I lied through my teeth.

(I read food blogs and Reddit threads, same thing.)

He tilted his head. “And your dreams?”

Dreams.

I wanted to go home.

I wanted to stop lying every second.

I wanted to know why looking at him made my chest hurt.

I put the macaron down untouched.

“I guess… I just wanted a simple life,” I said, voice small. “Good food. People who make me laugh. Nothing big.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he leaned forward, thumb brushing the tip of my nose.

“You have frosting,” he murmured.

His touch was feather-light.

The bond flared anyway, warm, electric, straight through my ribs.

I forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t move his hand.

I didn’t tell him to.

We left the table and wandered deeper into the garden, past the fountain that sounded like it was gossiping.

He stopped by a rosebush so red it looked fake.

I was busy pretending I wasn’t hyper-aware of every inch between us when he reached up and snapped a single bloom.

No hesitation.

He turned to me.

Held it out.

I took it like an idiot, fingers brushing his.

Then, instead of letting go, he stepped closer.

Close enough that I could smell lavender and warm skin and something that made my knees forget their job.

He lifted the rose.

Tucked it behind my ear, slow, careful, like I might break.

His fingertips grazed my cheek.

Stayed there.

I looked up.

Violet on violet.

The garden went dead quiet. Even the fountain shut up.

His eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second.

Mine did the same.

My heart wasn’t pounding anymore.

It was trying to start a riot.

He leaned in.

Just a fraction.

Just enough that I felt his breath on my lips.

I stopped breathing completely.

We were so close I could count the silver flecks in his irises.

One more inch and—

I would do something I'd regret.

Or enjoy.

Or both.

His thumb brushed my cheekbone, soft, reverent.

I swayed forward without meaning to.

The gap between us shrank to nothing but air and terror and want.

One more inch.

Just one.

Then—

“Your Majesty!”

We sprang apart like someone had dumped ice water on us.

A guard, red-faced, wishing for death. “Urgent council summons, Your Majesty—”

Kael’s growl could’ve peeled paint.

The guy shrank.

I just stood there, lips tingling, heart jackhammering, brain completely offline.

He turned back to me, apology all over his face, fingers brushing mine one last time like he couldn’t help it.

“Tomorrow night. Dinner. Please.”

I nodded.

Words? Gone. Vocabulary? Deleted.

He smiled (small, wrecked, beautiful) and then he was gone, striding off with the guard tripping over his own feet behind him.

I stayed rooted to the spot, rose still in my hair, staring at nothing.

My brain finally rebooted.

WHAT JUST HAPPENED.

Did I almost kiss the guy who almost murdered me??

Did I agree to a DATE with the MURDER KING??

Am I actually insane??

Bree was purring like a broken engine.

(Mate! Date! Tomorrow!)

Roundy? Still MIA. Rude.

I pressed both hands to my face and made a noise that was half scream, half laugh, all panic.

I was so screwed.

I turned to leave, still touching my lips like they’d been branded.

I didn’t see the shadows under the roses stretch just a little longer.

Or the way they watched me stumble away.

Patient.

Waiting.

Counting.

V.L.D

Her throat is smooth again.

Like nothing ever happened.

She walks in anyway.

Hair pinned up, heartbeat thrumming with that infuriating, foolish hope.

She thinks she’s safe.

She thinks she’s fixing him.

Fool.

I watched it all.

From the first awkward question to the garden bench,

from the brush of knuckles to the almost-kiss that lit the bond like wildfire.

I tasted the way his shoulders loosened.

The way her pulse spiked when his thumb grazed her cheek.

The way they leaned in, breath mingling, one heartbeat away from ruin.

I felt the bond sing (warm, golden, alive),

and I wanted to rip it out with my teeth.

Twenty years I made it loud.

Twenty years of screams in the dark, of knives between thoughts, of poison fed drop by drop until his mind was my perfect cage.

Now she unravels it with soft questions, clumsy kindness, and a mind he can read like an open book.

I hate her.

I hate the way she makes him breathe easier.

I hate the way she makes him hope.

I hate the way the bond sings when she’s near.

Let her think she’s winning.

Let her believe five more sessions will save him.

Then I remind them both what I built.

Then the quiet won’t be in his head anymore.

It’ll be in hers.

Enjoy your almost-kiss, little intruder.

Enjoy your date tomorrow night.

You’ll never forget it.

Because before I fully take over,

I’m going to say hello.

A proper greeting.

From me to you.

Five more sessions.

After that, every heartbeat you steal from the dark

will be paid back in blood.

And I always collect.

V.L.D.