Beauty and the Alpha Beast
Between the leather-bound spines and candlelight, the castle feels less like a fortress and more like a home.
Among the faint smell of parchment, we share stories, fragments of our past lives. He tells me of his childhood beneath the soaring towers of Virechant, of lessons learned from his father, the burdens of crown and duty.
I tell him of the cellar, of dark days spent in silence and shadows, of my father‘s sudden death when I was twelve, and how my mother died when I was born. I tell him about Mireth, and how the day my father died, she began ordering me around as though I was a peasant. Our words mingle like the soft crackle of a hearth fire, closing the cracks between us.
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