"Oren!" Kaelen's voice cracked through the cold morning air, sharp as steel.
"Yes, my lord," the old man appeared instantly, bowing low.
"Take her to the palace," Kaelen ordered, his jaw tight, eyes flicking toward Aurelia like fire licking at ice.
Aurelia's hands curled into fists at her sides. Her teeth clenched. He had called her a hallot. Not once, not half-heartedly—he had spat the word at her like it was truth.
She wasn't a fool. She wasn't his property to label.
Without a word, she followed Oren, each step a silent rebellion. Her heels clicked sharply on the stone path, the sound punctuating her fury.
The black hood swirled around her legs, catching the sunlight, but her eyes never wavered from the path ahead.
Not a glance for him. Not a single sign that she cared about his presence.
Kaelen's gaze burned into her back. The tension radiated off him, a dangerous wave she refused to meet.
His hand twitched, but he didn't reach for her—because she would have defied him. She wanted him to know that.
The horse waited, restless, steam puffing from its nostrils in the cold morning. Aurelia mounted with a precise, controlled motion, avoiding any hint of vulnerability. She gripped the reins, shoulders squared.
Kaelen moved beside her, anger coiled around him, but no words passed. The only sound was the rhythmic thud of hooves against the ground. Every beat mirrored the pounding of her heart—hot, furious, and unyielding.
She refused to look at him. She refused to acknowledge the frost that followed him even now. He had insulted her. He would not see her falter.
The wind whipped her hair across her face, stinging, but she didn't care. Every gust felt like liberation—like taking back her body, her choices, her pride. And behind her, Kaelen's frustration burned silently, dangerous and unrestrained, a shadow pressing close but unable to touch her resolve.
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Aurelia and the old man slipped silently through the shadows of the palace halls. The air smelled faintly of wax and stone, cool and heavy, like secrets waiting to be uncovered.
Before she could reach the safety of her room, the old man stopped her, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"Don't mind him," he said, glancing back as though the very walls had ears. "He couldn't stop talking about you all night."
Aurelia froze, a subtle ache rising in her chest.
"Although he found out you were Tenebrarum's…" the old man hesitated, "…he couldn't stop thinking."
Her fingers curled around the edges of her cloak, heart thudding painfully against her ribs. Love. That word.
"I haven't seen a lady close to him for a long time," he continued softly, voice almost reverent. "I actually feel… he loves you. A lot."
Aurelia's breath hitched. Her pulse stuttered, her chest constricting as the warmth of those words tried to seep in.
Anger still lingered like a sharp thorn, her indignation at being called a hallot, at being used and owned, refusing to yield.
But even amid her fury, a small, reluctant part of her—a fragment she barely acknowledged—felt its edges soften.
A tiny crack in the wall she had built around her heart.
She clenched her jaw, trying to smother the stirrings of something unfamiliar, something dangerous. Love.
And yet… a flicker of curiosity, of hope, refused to be extinguished.
Aurelia lowered herself into a careful, respectful bow before the old man, the gesture swift but sincere. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing on her, the risk of being discovered making her movements tense.
"Thank you," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Without waiting for a response, she straightened, adjusted her cloak, and slipped away. Her steps were light but hurried, gliding across the marble floors like a shadow. Every corner of the palace seemed to hold a potential witness, every corridor a trap.
She didn't dare glance back. The old man's words—about Kaelen thinking of her, about love—lingered in her mind, but there was no time to dwell. She needed to vanish before anyone realized she had snuck out.
She vanished into the hidden corridors, bowing one last time to the old man in her mind, a silent promise to herself that she would survive this—on her own terms.
Aurelia's steps were cautious, almost silent, as she made her way back through the winding corridors. The palace was impossibly vast, every shadow stretching long, every distant echo of footsteps making her pulse spike.
Finally, she reached her room. The familiar door seemed to breathe a quiet welcome as she slipped inside, closing it carefully behind her. The soft click of the latch was like a small sigh of relief, and she leaned against it for a moment, letting the solid wood support her trembling body.
Her heart raced, each beat loud in her chest as if it might betray her. She let out a shaky breath, the tension of the last hours easing slightly with the thought of being alone. Her hand brushed against the smooth fabric of her gown, grounding her to the present.
Aurelia sank onto the edge of her bed, knees drawn slightly to her chest, finally allowing herself a moment to breathe freely. The room was quiet, except for the faint rustle of the curtains as a light breeze drifted in through the open window.
Her chest rose and fell steadily now, her heart slowly finding space to expand without the constant thrum of fear. And yet, in the back of her mind, Kaelen's eyes—ocean-like, intense—lingered.
Hallot? Maybe…
Am I actually a hallot?
The word echoed in her mind, harsh and jagged, refusing to settle. She remembered Tenebrarum's voice, low and commanding, and the way it had twisted through her own words. "More… more…"
No, I'm not.
Aurelia shook her head violently, trying to dislodge the memory. For now, she was safe. The thought should have brought relief, but instead it stirred an unease deep in her chest.
Her eyes drifted to the desk. The book she had seen yesterday sat there, the ink faint but alive, like it had been waiting.
She moved toward it, her fingers twitching with anticipation. Opening it, she brushed her hand over the smooth paper, feeling the faint warmth of someone else's touch.
She needed distraction. Anything to shove the Hallot word, Kaelen's gaze, and Tenebrarum's control out of her mind.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she picked up a pen. Her hand hovered over the page, the blank surface calling to her like a quiet promise. She had to write. She had to pour her thoughts somewhere they could exist freely, without judgment, without fear.
She was sure someone had touched it.
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To be continued...