Chapter 12 – Masks Beneath the Pinwheels
The capital was alive.
Colors swirled through the air — red banners fluttered, merchants called across the street, and pinwheels spun endlessly in the afternoon sun. Each one caught the light and sent it dancing across Shen Yifan's face as she walked quietly beside the Crown Prince.
The streets brimmed with noise and laughter, but between them stretched a thread of stillness — thin, invisible, and charged.
She didn't trust him.
He didn't trust her.
Yet here they were — two masks gliding through a crowd of smiles.
---
"You walk like someone who wants to disappear," he said lightly, matching her pace.
"I walk like someone with purpose," she replied without looking at him.
He smiled. "And what purpose might that be, Second Miss Shen?"
"The kind that doesn't concern princes."
A low chuckle slipped from his throat. "Everything concerns princes. Especially mysteries with sharp eyes."
She turned her gaze briefly toward him, the faintest spark in her expression. "Then be careful, Your Highness. Curiosity kills more than cats."
He tilted his head, amusement glimmering. "And satisfaction brings them back, doesn't it?"
Her lips curved slightly — not a smile, but close. "You flirt too easily."
"I observe too well," he corrected smoothly. "Besides, charm is a tool like any other. Use it right, and it can open doors swords cannot."
She gave him a sideways glance. "Then tell me, Your Highness — what door are you trying to open with me?"
His gaze lingered a little too long. "The one you keep locked."
She looked ahead again, eyes hardening. "Some doors are sealed for a reason."
He nodded thoughtfully. "And some are meant to be broken."
---
They passed a stall brimming with red-and-gold pinwheels. The breeze stirred them into motion — soft whirls of light, spinning circles that seemed to echo fate itself.
He reached for one, twirling it between his fingers. "Do you like these?"
"They're pretty, but fragile," she said. "One wrong wind and they snap."
"Then let's hope this one's stronger," he murmured, handing it to her.
She accepted it carefully. Their fingers brushed — a brief, electric touch.
"You use words like traps," she said quietly.
"You use silence like a blade," he countered.
"And you," she added, "wear smiles like armor."
His eyes glinted. "We're not so different then."
"Perhaps," she said, "but only one of us intends to survive this game."
He smiled, a little too knowing. "Then may the best liar win."
She turned away, pinwheel spinning slowly in her hand, reflecting the sky.
> We're both pretending, she thought. But only one of us will get what we want.
Behind them, unseen, shadows stirred — faint, restless shapes moving with the breeze.
---
🌑 Tariq's POV
Far beyond the city walls, under the dim glow of a crescent moon, the air was thick — still and heavy, as if the night itself held its breath.
Tariq stood at the edge of a forgotten shrine, the wind tugging at his cloak. His eyes — once warm, now cold and shadowed — stared into the horizon where the city lights flickered faintly.
In his palm, a mark burned — black and alive, veins crawling from it like roots beneath his skin.
> So this is the world you ran to.
Another face, another name… but the same soul.
A voice curled through the dark — deep, oily, and amused.
> "You've crossed over, mortal. The pact is bound. There is no turning back."
Tariq's jaw clenched. "I never asked for mercy."
> "No," the voice hissed, "you asked for her."
He looked down at his marked hand, flexing it slowly. "I asked for a chance."
> "And I gave you one. But everything has a cost. You carry me now — my will, my hunger. Every step you take, I take with you."
Pain flared beneath his skin, the black veins pulsing, spreading toward his wrist. For a heartbeat, his reflection shimmered — one half human, one half shadow, eyes glowing faintly red.
He drew a breath through his teeth, forcing the corruption down. "So be it. If that's the price to find her."
The voice chuckled darkly.
> "You're a fool. She will not welcome you."
"I don't need her welcome," Tariq whispered. "Only her presence."
He turned his eyes toward the city — the faint outline of rooftops, the pulse of life. Somewhere beneath that sky, she breathed. Mira.
No. Not Mira now. Shen Yifan.
His lips curved in a bitter smile.
> "You thought you could leave me behind. That death could undo what we were."
"But I crossed worlds for you."
The mark flared again, answering his words — a dark promise whispered into his blood.
> "And if I cannot have you," he murmured, voice trembling between love and madness,
"then no one will."
The wind stirred, carrying whispers through the night. Shadows unfurled at his feet, coiling outward like smoke — hungry, watchful.
He turned from the shrine and began his descent toward the city. With each step, the ground beneath him darkened faintly, the mark pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
> "I've found you again, Mira," he said softly. "Let's see how long you can pretend you don't remember me."
The night swallowed his figure, leaving behind only silence — and the faint scent of burning ash.