Aurelia forced the bitter mixture down, her hand trembling violently as it reached out and brushed Kaelen's.
It wasn't a conscious gesture — more like a desperate, fading instinct to hold onto something familiar.
Her fingers were cold—too cold.
They brushed his hand as she swallowed the bitter mixture, her touch barely a whisper.
And then… her violet eyes fluttered.
Once, twice —then it closed.
"Aurelia!" Kaelen's voice cracked, raw and terrified in a way he had never sounded before. He shook her gently, his breath quickening as her head fell to the side, her body limp in his arms.
The healer stepped quickly between them, hands raised.
"My prince—please," she said softly. "This is the mixture's nature. It forces the body into rest so the antidote can work. She must sleep, or the poison will spread faster."
Kaelen's chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths, his eyes locked on Aurelia's unmoving face. Her skin, once warm with life, now held a frightening softness. It was too pale.
"She looks… she looks worse," he whispered, voice breaking despite him.
"She will recover," the healer assured, though even she kept glancing nervously at Aurelia. "But only if she rests. The herbs must slow her blood so the poison cannot race through it."
Kaelen never cared for noble ladies—he always saw them as shallow, loud, and desperately chasing status.
He kept his distance, kept his heart out of reach, and never once felt moved by their tears or smiles.
But Aurelia was different.
He couldn't actually tell what he loved about her; she was far below the kind of woman he ever imagined himself caring for.
No matter how he tried to push the feeling aside, it kept returning—quiet, persistent, impossible to ignore. Every time he looked at her, something in him shifted, something he had never felt for anyone else.
Aurelia was nothing like the others.
And that was exactly why she had slipped past every wall he built.
Tenebrarum stepped through the broken doorway, his mask concealing every expression, yet the sheer presence of the crowned prince made the air heavy.
His eyes, fell on Aurelia, sleeping in Kaelen's arms, pale and trembling from the poison.
The healer's body immediately went rigid. She dropped to her knees, forehead touching the floor in deep respect. "Lord Tenebrarum," she whispered, her voice shaking.
Kaelen jerked, startled, finally realizing who had entered. "You… you—" he began, but Tenebrarum's gaze, cold and unwavering even behind the mask, silenced him.
"She belongs to me," Tenebrarum said, voice low and dangerous, echoing with command. "Do you understand? She is mine."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "She's not an object for you to claim. And she's alive because I acted while you were busy with Camil—"
"Enough." Tenebrarum's voice cut like a blade, sharp and final. He didn't need to touch Kaelen; the weight of his authority pressed down like iron. "You forget yourself. She will not leave my sight, nor will you touch her without my permission."
Kaelen's chest rose and fell fast, defiant, but even he could feel the gravity of Tenebrarum's presence. "I won't let her die because of your so-called rules! I'll protect her, even from you!"
The healer remained on the floor, trembling, whispering, "My lord… she sleeps… the poison has been slowed… please, let her rest."
Tenebrarum's masked face didn't shift, but the aura around him sharpened, colder, commanding full obedience.
Then—dang!
A sudden, almost invisible force slammed the healer against the wall, the impact reverberating through her body. Pain shot up her spine, leaving her gasping and nearly collapsing.
How dare she speak so freely to Lord Tenebrarum? Did she not think before acting?
Tears stung her eyes as she struggled to push herself upright, her body shaking violently. Bowing low, trembling, she crawled toward the doorway, barely able to keep her balance, her respect—and fear—etched into every motion.
Tenebrarum's eyes, sharp and unyielding behind the mask, followed her retreat, his presence still dominating the room.
Kaelen's gaze snapped to the masked prince, his hands still holding Aurelia protectively. "She's asleep! She's already weak from poison! If you touch her—"
"You will regret it," Tenebrarum interrupted, voice cutting through the room like steel. "She is mine. Now this is the time you step aside. Give her to me!"
Kaelen, certain of what his brother Tenebrarum might do, hesitated only a moment before slowly letting go of Aurelia. He placed her gently back onto the bed, his hands lingering as if reluctant to leave her side.
Just before turning to leave, his voice dropped, sharp with both frustration and a hint of pain. "Why are you afraid that she'll love me more than you?" he asked, eyes glinting with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "You've always gotten whatever you want, but I don't think you'll have her. She's mine."
Aurelia's eyelids fluttered in sleep, her violet eyes closed, her body too exhausted from the poison and the herbs' effects to sense anything around her.
She breathed shallowly, completely unaware of the storm raging just a few feet from her.
Tenebrarum stepped forward, his presence like a shadow swallowing the room. Masked and imposing, he bent slightly over Aurelia, studying her pale, sleeping form. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling in a delicate rhythm, utterly oblivious to the confrontation between the two men.
His gloved hand twitched, not from anger but from the surge of something he had never expected—a strange protectiveness.
Tenebrarum leaned over her, the flickering lamplight casting shadows across his masked face.
His gloved fingers reached slowly, almost reverently, toward her hair. White as freshly fallen snow, it spilled across the pillow, and each strand seemed to tremble beneath his touch. He let his hand glide through it, brushing it back gently, lingering on the softness he knew he should not cherish.
His gaze, dark and unyielding behind the mask, studied her sleeping face. Her eyes closed, chest rising and falling with fragile rhythm, lips parted slightly—unaware, innocent. And yet, even in her unconscious state, she commanded him utterly.
Why can't I just kill you?
The thought struck his mind like a sharpened blade.
Why does this folly twist my heart so much?
Each beat, each silent breath she drew, ignited a tempest within him he had never felt, a madness he could neither restrain nor name.
He pressed a finger lightly against her temple, then slid it along her hair, following the curve of her neck.
His chest tightened. Every instinct screamed to possess, to protect, to destroy—all at once.
For a long moment, he simply lingered there, brushing her hair, tasting the quiet that was hers alone, knowing he could neither turn away nor surrender.
Was he loving her?
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To be continued...