The Male lead's POV
The world has always been quiet to me.
Too quiet.
Voices ring, words spill, tears fall. I see their mouths move, their bodies writhe, their eyes shine with emotions they think are important.
To me, they are insects.
When I was six, my tutor beat another boy for failing his lessons. The boy cried, begged. His sobs echoed.
I wondered why. Pain ends. Death ends. Noise is unnecessary.
When I was eight, my father was poisoned. They told me to weep. I did not. His corpse looked the same as when he lived—motionless, silent.
When I was thirteen, they placed the crown on my head. My hands were still small then. My eyes already red.
The generals whispered, "He is too young."
The ministers whispered, "We will rule in his place."
I had them executed. One by one. Their blood filled the snow outside the palace gates.
They stopped whispering after that.
The silence was better.
---
I grew to hate sound. Begging. Screaming. Pleading. All useless noise.
The first time a minister fell to his knees and wept for mercy, I slit his throat. His words ended. His silence pleased me.
So I made it a habit.
Noise is weakness. Silence is truth.
The world makes noise. I cut it out.
---
When they told me I must marry, I thought of silence.
"An alliance," they said. "A princess of Barmouth. She is twenty."
Older than me. Strange.
Why should I need her?
Why not kill her and silence the treaty?
---
She arrived in silks. She bowed. She called me husband.
Her eyes were wide with fear. She looked at me as others do—like I am not human.
Correct.
I thought then—If she makes too much noise, I will kill her too.
---
The first weeks, I ignored her. Better that way.
But then…
She touched me.
Her arms wrapped around me. A hug.
I froze, waiting for the noise to come. Screams, tears, something.
It did not.
Her warmth pressed against me. It meant nothing. Flesh touching flesh.
Her lips brushed my cheek. A kiss.
Wet. Pointless.
I considered killing her then. Her blood would silence her forever.
But her eyes…
They did not beg.
They did not plead.
They only… lingered.
So I let her live.
---
She returned.
Again and again. Hugging. Kissing. Sleeping curled against me as though I were not stone.
When she wept quietly into my shoulder, her tears hot against my skin, I wondered—why weep on stone?
Still, I did not move.
Her noise was softer than the others. Less irritating.
Perhaps that is why I did not kill her.
---
The baths.
Her body pressed to mine in the water. Her voice whispered gentle things.
I closed my eyes. The rippling water was louder than her voice.
Strange.
But I did not leave.
---
The night she gave herself to me—
Her hands shook. Her breath broke. Her eyes burned with something alien.
Mine did not.
I touched her as I would wield a blade. Motion. Pressure. Precision.
She gasped. She cried out. She smiled.
I remained stone.
But when she whispered, "I love you," afterward—
I did not silence her.
---
And then… the smile.
It was nothing. A twitch of lips. Honestly I don't even know Why I did that, Do i Like her ? No way
But her eyes flooded with tears of joy.
As though I had offered her the world.
Strange.
That moment has lingered with me since.
---
Now, I find myself watching her.
Not because she is beautiful. Not because she is kind.
Because she is persistent.
Because she does not fear me.
Because she does not beg.
Because she does not break.
Strange. Very strange.
---
I do not love her. Love is noise. Weakness. Illusion.
But—
I will not let her go.
I will not allow another to touch her.
She is mine.
If this is what they call "falling," then I have fallen. FOR HER
But my fall is into darkness, not light.
And I will drag her down with me.
---
End of Chapter 21