The night was heavy with silence.
Ariella sat by the window of her dormitory, her chin resting lightly on her hand as the moonlight painted her pale skin silver. The academy grounds below lay still, but her mind was anything but quiet.
The memory of Damien's last words echoed in her chest like a warning bell.
"An alliance with me always comes at a cost. Your trust."
Her lips curved in a bitter smile. Trust? The very poison that killed me once. And he dares to ask for it?
But Ariella was not foolish enough to dismiss him. Damien wasn't Ethan whose charms hid cruelty or Selena whose laughter concealed venom. Damien's danger lay in his clarity. He didn't pretend to be anything other than what he was: a thorn, sharp and unapologetic.
And sometimes, a thorn could be wielded as a blade.
The next morning, Ariella attended lectures in the Grand Hall. The vaulted ceilings echoed with the droning voice of Professor Harland as he lectured on political alliances between noble houses.
Her eyes skimmed the parchments before her, though her ears only half-listened. What caught her attention wasn't the lecture, but the way eyes followed her when she entered.
"Lady Stone looks radiant today."
"They say she's been… seen near Lord Nightshade."
"Impossible, why would she tarnish her name so?"
"Or maybe she's trying to reform him."
The whispers slithered across the room like serpents.
Selena, seated beside her, leaned in with a practiced frown. "Ariella, these rumors are becoming persistent. It pains me to hear them. Perhaps you should… distance yourself from Lord Nightshade?"
Ariella turned to her with a soft smile, eyes full of innocence. "You worry too much, Selena. I promise, I haven't forgotten where my loyalties lie."
Selena's relief was so convincing, anyone would believe it was genuine. She patted Ariella's hand, whispering, "I only want the best for you, always."
Lies wrapped in silk, Ariella thought, but her smile didn't falter.
Across the hall, Damien sat lazily at the back, his chair tilted slightly, his long fingers idly flipping a quill. He didn't look at her, but she felt his awareness like a shadow pressing at her back.
That evening, Ariella returned to the library. The towering shelves rose around her like watchful guardians, the scent of ink and parchment thick in the air.
She was searching for a volume on the noble succession wars when a voice spoke from the shadows.
"You're predictable."
Her hand stilled on the spine of a book. She turned slowly.
Damien stepped out, his uniform jacket undone, the candlelight catching on the sharp planes of his face. His eyes dark and unreadable rested on her like a weight.
"Do you make a habit of stalking ladies in libraries?" she asked lightly.
His lips twitched, almost a smile. "Only the interesting ones."
Ariella closed the book and turned to face him fully. "You seem to think I'm interesting. Yet, I can't help but wonder if you're simply bored."
Damien moved closer, his presence filling the quiet space. "You intrigue me, Lady Stone. And I don't get intrigued easily."
Her gaze didn't waver. "That's dangerous, Lord Nightshade. Curiosity can be fatal."
He stopped just a step away, close enough that the faint scent of cedar and ink clung to him. "Perhaps. But tell me, Ariella what drives you? You move like someone carrying a secret war in her chest. You smile at your friends, but your eyes… they're elsewhere."
For a heartbeat, her composure nearly cracked. He sees too much.
But Ariella tilted her head, lips curving in amusement. "Perhaps I'm simply more complicated than the docile girl you imagine me to be."
Damien chuckled softly, his voice low. "No. You're dangerous. The question is "is it dangerous to whom?"
Their gazes locked, and for a long moment, the library seemed to vanish around them.
Finally, Ariella stepped back, breaking the tension. "If you truly want an answer, Lord Nightshade, you'll have to earn it."
His smirk deepened, as if he'd expected nothing less. "Then I'll be watching."
The following days wove tension tighter around them.
During fencing practice, Ariella felt Damien's gaze from across the courtyard, lingering as she sparred with her partner. During lectures, his questions to the professors were sharp enough to cut, but his eyes flicked toward her as if measuring her reactions.
Students whispered more than ever.
"Lady Stone and Lord Nightshade… What a strange pairing."
"She's far too good for him."
"Or perhaps he's corrupting her."
Ethan, of course, noticed.
One afternoon, he cornered Ariella near the gardens, his golden hair catching the sunlight, his handsome face twisted in irritation.
"Ariella," he said sharply, "why are you allowing people to think you're associating with Damien Nightshade? You're tarnishing your name."
Her lips curled in faint amusement. How ironic. You worry about my name when in another life you painted it in blood.
She replied sweetly, "And since when has my name been your concern, Lord Lancaster?"
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Since your family's reputation reflects on those around you. I suggest you be more careful."
Ariella tilted her head, her eyes flashing. "Careful advice… from the man who has yet to earn my regard. I'll keep that in mind."
She swept past him, leaving Ethan momentarily stunned, his pride pricked.
From the shadows of the hedges, Damien watched, a faint smirk tugging at his lips
That night, Ariella received an unsigned note slipped beneath her dormitory door.
The thorns you seek to hold will cut you if you aren't careful.
She turned the parchment in her hand, her heart steady. The handwriting was elegant, sharp. Damien's, no doubt.
A warning. Or perhaps a test.
Ariella sat at her desk, dipped her quill into ink, and wrote her reply on the back of the same note.
Blades cut too but only if you don't know how to wield them.
She folded the note neatly and placed it on the sill of her window. By dawn, it was gone.
Two nights later, Ariella found herself drawn to the fountain in the courtyard. The moon's reflection shimmered across the rippling water, and the ivy-covered walls whispered in the breeze.
Damien was already there, waiting, his silhouette framed against the moonlight.
"You received my note," he said simply.
"I did."
"And your reply tells me you think you can wield me like a weapon."
Ariella stepped closer, her crimson cloak trailing behind her like spilled wine. "Perhaps I can. Or perhaps I already am."
For the first time, Damien's laughter rang out, low and genuine. "Careful, Ariella. You play with fire."
She met his gaze, her voice steady. "Then let it burn. I've already died once. What more can fire do to me?"
His expression shifted surprise flickering, then curiosity deepening into something sharper.
"Then you truly are dangerous," he murmured.
Their eyes held, the fountain bubbling softly between them, and in that moment, Ariella knew this fragile dance of thorns and blades had only just begun.
By the time she returned to her dormitory, Ariella's heart was steady, but her mind was ablaze.
Damien Nightshade was no pawn. He was a weapon. A wild card. A storm cloaked in shadows.
And she would either learn to wield him…
Or be cut by him.
Either way, the game had begun.