A soft scrape of stone on stone broke the charged silence of the cave. From the deeper shadows near the far wall, a slender figure emerged, bowing low with practiced grace.
"My lord," the newcomer said, voice light and melodic, almost androgynous. "I am glad beyond words that you are awakened at last."
Primus turned his head, the movement slow and regal. Recognition flickered in his crimson eyes. "Lazarus."
The servant straightened. Lazarus was a striking creature—tall and willowy, with delicate features that blurred the line between masculine and feminine. Long silver hair fell in a braid over one shoulder, and wide violet eyes shone with fervent devotion. Clad in dark velvet that had somehow survived centuries without fraying, Lazarus looked more like a porcelain doll than a man.
Hazel stared openly, unable to hide her shock. She had expected a hulking guardian, not this ethereal being who seemed carved from moonlight itself.
Primus's gaze returned to her, softening for a fraction of a second before it hardened into command. "Lazarus has served me faithfully for longer than you can imagine," he said. "He has watched over you since the day you drew breath—guided you, protected you, waited for this moment."
Hazel's lips parted. "You… you've been watching me? My whole life?"
Lazarus inclined his head. "Only from a distance, my lady. I dared not interfere too greatly. Destiny required your own feet to bring you here tonight."
A chill unrelated to the cave's air ran down her spine. Someone—something—had shadowed her childhood, her teenage years, every quiet moment of her life, all for this.
Primus raised a hand. "Enough. The hour grows late, and the mortal world stirs." His voice carried the weight of absolute authority. "Lazarus, escort Hazel safely to her home. See that no harm comes to her on the way. She is under my protection now."
Lazarus bowed again, deeper this time. "As you command, my lord."
Primus turned fully to Hazel. The intensity in his gaze stole her breath once more. "Go with him, little rabbit. Rest. Tomorrow night, when the moon rises again, I will come for you."
"Come for me?" she echoed, heart pounding.
He allowed himself a small, dangerous smile. "There are things we must discuss. Things you deserve to know. And I…" He paused, as though the admission cost him something. "I find I am no longer content to wait centuries for the answers I seek."
With that, he lifted one pale hand and snapped his fingers. The sound cracked through the cave like distant thunder. A swirl of shadow and mist gathered around him, swallowing his form until only the glow of crimson eyes remained for a heartbeat—then even that vanished.
He was gone.
Hazel stood rooted to the spot, staring at the empty air where he had been.
Lazarus stepped forward, offering a slender arm with old-fashioned courtesy. "This way, my lady. The path is safer with me than alone."
Still dazed, Hazel took the offered arm. Lazarus felt cool beneath the velvet sleeve, but not cold like Primus. Together they left the cave, the silver moonlight guiding them back through the whispering woods.
The journey passed in silence. Hazel's mind spun with too many questions to voice a single one. By the time the familiar outline of her small cottage appeared among the trees, dawn was only a faint promise on the horizon.
Lazarus released her at the garden gate. "Sleep well, Hazel," he said softly. "My master is not a patient man, but for you… he will try to be."
Then he melted into the shadows as easily as Primus had, leaving her alone.
Inside her modest chambers, Hazel barred the door and sank onto her bed without bothering to change. The cut on her palm—already healed—tingled faintly, as though remembering his touch.
She stared at the ceiling, heart racing in a rhythm that refused to slow.
His lips. Gods, those lips—perfectly shaped, stained with her blood, curving into that half-smile that promised both ruin and reverence. How could any man—any creature—be so devastatingly beautiful? Sharp cheekbones, disheveled midnight hair, eyes that held entire galaxies of night…
Questions crowded her mind like moths around a flame.
Who was he, truly? What did he want from her beyond the breaking of a curse? Why did her soul feel as though it had known him long before tonight?
And why, despite the impossible danger of it all, did she already ache for tomorrow's moonrise?
Hazel pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the wild beat beneath. Somewhere out in the dark, an ancient palace was stirring to life after five hundred years of silence. Its lord was coming back to claim his throne—and, it seemed, to claim her.
Sleep finally took her just as the first birds began to sing, but even in dreams, crimson eyes watched her with patient, possessive hunger.