Chapter Title: Shadows in the Wine
Bryant's POV
The silence in the room was thick. I could still smell her perfume in the air, soft and haunting like she had only just walked out. But it had already been minutes… too many for my comfort.
Rosa.
She had fire in her eyes tonight. Fire that made me want to pull her in closer and yet, made me want to keep her away. From everything. Especially from the truth she seemed desperate to uncover.
I sat down heavily in my chair and poured myself another glass of wine. My thoughts kept circling back to her. The way she boldly sat on my lap. The way she used her body like a language, every movement was deliberate. Goddess, she was breathtaking.
But that wasn't what gnawed at me now.
It was the look in her eyes when I told her to stay away from the past. The way her smile had fallen, her lips parted like she had been slapped. She didn't understand why I said no… and I couldn't explain. Not now. Not yet.
And maybe not ever.
She's too soft for it.
Too kind.
Too hopeful.
Too damn innocent to carry the weight of the truth.
It would crush her.
I leaned back, running my fingers through my hair. My head pounded — not from wine, but from the pressure, the secrets, the growing mess I found myself tangled in. A part of me wanted to protect her because she was Luna. But the deeper, quieter part? That part wanted to shield her because she had started to mean more than she should.
And that… was dangerous.
Just as I picked up the next file on my desk, the knock came.
Firm. Familiar.
"Your Majesty," came the soft voice of the attendant, "Lady Matilda requests a moment."
I closed my eyes for a second. A long second. "Let her in."
The doors opened and in came Matilda, dressed in dark velvet with golden embroidery, her long hair trailing behind her like she had just stepped out of a portrait. Her gaze moved around the room, calculating, lingering too long on the leftover wine and the second glass Rosa had used.
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Your Majesty," she said sweetly, holding up a small, rounded bottle wrapped in silk. "I come bearing a gift."
I raised an eyebrow.
"It's a rare bottle," she continued, walking slowly toward me. "One of a kind. My father sent it from the West. He said it's aged over twenty years in oak barrels and is meant to be shared only with those… special to me."
She uncorked it before I could reply and poured it herself, the thick red liquid catching the light like blood. She handed it to me with both hands, her eyes watching me like a hawk.
I took it.
Watched it swirl.
Smelled it.
Then drank.
A slow gulp. Warm. Sharp. A little too sweet for my usual taste.
But not bad.
I set the glass down. "Thank him for the gift," I said, wiping the corner of my mouth with my thumb.
Matilda smiled again — this time fuller.
But there was something behind it. A glint in her eye. A twitch at the corner of her lips.
> And then it came —
A half-smile. Subtle. Calculated. Almost… satisfied.
She said nothing.
And neither did I.
But something in my gut tightened, as if the room had suddenly grown colder.
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