*Nicoli*Nicoli's fingers hovered over the cold brass doorknob, the metal biting against his skin like winter morning frost, sharp enough to ache. His breath misted in the cooler corridor air, each exhale a visible ghost that hung for a heartbeat before dissolving. The tightness in his chest felt like iron bands wrapped around his ribs, constricting with every shallow breath, everything unsaid weighing heavier than armor.The hallway behind him had long since emptied, the last servant scuttling away the moment they'd spotted their approach—mice fleeing a hawk's shadow. Their hurried footsteps still echoed faintly in his memory, a percussion of guilt and avoidance. It should have been a relief to escape their sideways glances, their carefully neutral expressions that spoke volumes. But the lingering pressure beneath his sternum remained, a physical manifestation of everything crumbling around him.The sight of Hidi flashed behind his closed eyelids—still standing at the threshold where
*Nicoli*“Ana, wait! Don’t–”Her name barely made it past his lips. It hung there, unfinished, breathless—like the last wisp of smoke from a snuffed candle as the silver and glass doors whispered shut behind them—a ghost's sigh sealing his fate.Nicoli stood motionless, his arm still stretched toward empty space where she'd been heartbeats before. Mykhol's dark silhouette had materialized like smoke given form, sweeping Ana away with predatory grace—swift, seamless, unapologetic. Like a storm that appears without warning to reap devastation in one fell swoop. They vanished through the gilded archway into the pristine halls beyond, swallowed by marble and shadow.His fingers curled back to his palm slowly, useless now. She was gone.And he hadn't been given the chance to stop her. Every instinct screamed at him to give chase, to find her, comfort her. Ana— But the crushing realization hit him like ice water: he had no idea where they were going, let alone how to navigate this palace la
*Naska*The fire hissed and spat in the hearth, a log shifting with a violent crack that sent sparks spiraling into the air like dying stars. For one blazing moment, the chamber blazed with amber light—illuminating everything in stark, merciless detail before plunging back into shadow. The brief flare caught Ana's silver hair like liquid mercury, her pale skin luminous as pearl, her fangs buried deep in Mykhol's throat.Then darkness swallowed them again, leaving only the hungry crackle of flames and Naska's world crumbling to ash."My… lord?" The words scraped from her throat like broken glass, barely more than a whisper. She couldn't breathe—couldn't think—couldn't look away from the sight that was tearing her apart from the inside out.The scent of smoke should have been comforting, should have reminded her of winter evenings and warmth. Instead, it seemed to coil around her lungs like a noose, choking her with its bitter thickness. But worse—so much worse—was the metallic sweetnes
*MYKHOL* If Mykhol could move any faster, he would have. Every step that carried them away from the Great Hall—away from the suffocating blue eyes, from the endless noise and speculation—felt like stealing something forbidden and delicious. Each stride was a victory, his leather boots striking the marble with deliberate precision. The storm of whispers and the prince's frantic voice were already fading behind them, swallowed by the echoing stillness of the palace's white stone halls that stretched before them like a sanctuary.Gods, finally we can be alone.His grip on Ana’s waist was firm, possessive, his fingertips pressing through the silk of her gown to feel the warmth of her body beneath. , her weight settling against his side like a secret he'd finally claimed. Dazed and pale, with her silver lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks—the sight of her so vulnerable, so easily led—sent a pulse of dark satisfaction coursing through his veins. He forced his smile to remain sof
*ANA*“Their Engaged?”The words splinter in my throat like a fishbone, sharp and unforgiving. I freeze, my breath catching like a thread pulled too tight, the air suddenly thick as honey in my lungs. My lips part, trembling at the edges, but nothing comes out except the faintest whisper of exhale. The crystal goblet in my hand grows slick with perspiration from my palm, the etched pattern pressing ridges into my damp skin.My mind is still somewhere behind me, stuck on the shape of Bratha's last word as if it's something as preposterous as claiming the sun runs cold and the desert snows. No, my mind automatically refuses, a visceral rejection that makes my stomach clench. I know the words. What they mean. But put together, strung like pearls on an impossible thread— that can’t–it can’t be…Bratha, meanwhile, is perfectly calm, nodding with a deliberate slowness that makes the moment worse. Her cornflower braids shift heavy with each gesture, the intricate silver threading catching th
*Ana*"I'm sorry?" The words slip out smaller than I intend, soft and brittle, like a glass ornament held too tightly. The goblet in my hand feels suddenly heavy, as though the weight of the wine has doubled. The stem, slick from condensation, threatens to slide from my fingers. I shift my grip, but the warmth of the wine against my palm is uncomfortable, cloying, as if the heat comes not from the liquid but from my unsteady pulse."You mean... my father?" I ask, the words careful and measured, each syllable shaped with forced innocence. The question tastes strange on my tongue, metallic with uncertainty. Surely that's what she means. Who else would she mean?But Bratha doesn’t answer—at least, not with words.She bursts into laughter.The sound erupts from deep in her chest like thunder cracking across a summer sky—raw, too loud, violent in its intensity. It shakes the very air between us, sending vibrations through my bones. She doubles over slightly, one manicured hand pressed agai