Xaiden
I should not have been shaken.
Not by her.
Yet the way she'd taken back half of Eryndale without spilling civilian blood… damn her. I didn't know whether to admire the strategy or despise the woman behind it.
Maybe both.
No. Mostly despise.
At least that's what I kept telling myself.
I shoved the thought away with the same force I used to slam the palace gates behind me. I needed air. Space. Noise. Anything that didn't sound like her voice telling my soldiers to stand down—calm, commanding, haunting.
Valencia Boutique was a mistake.
I realized that the moment I stepped in.
The perfume hit first, then the collective gasp.
Dozens of heads turned. Lace rustled, silk whispered, fans snapped open. Within seconds, every lady inside was practically melting onto the marble floor.
"Lord Xaiden…"
"Gods, look at him—"
"He's even more handsome in person—"
"Gosh, the jaw and those shoulders, what sculpted by the almighty himself- "
Someone nearly dropped a jeweled corset. Another dabbed dramatically at her forehead with a handkerchief, as if she might faint purely from the tragedy of my existence.
Normally, I would've smirked, enjoyed the attention, maybe even entertained the idea of distraction.
But not today.
Because every compliment slid off my armor and echoed back as her voice instead.
Serena.
Always, uninvited—Serena.
The same woman whose hands were soaked in my past-Serena.
The same woman whose family and home, I'd taken-Serena.
The same woman who'd taken half my kingdom in return-Serena.
And somehow, the thought of her standing outside the boutique, a single tear that dared to escape in my presence, kept twisting in my chest like guilt on a dagger, sharper than my Draventh.
I wasn't supposed to feel anything about her except rage.
I'd built entire walls no places out of it.
But the thought of her, playing with the kids when I wasn't there, talking to them, merging in with them..........
I hated that.
I hated her.
I hated that I might be wrong.
A cluster of ladies sidled closer, whispers fluttering like birds.
"Lord Xaiden, would you like assistance picking—"
"Or we could model the fabrics for you—"
"I have a private room—"
"Enough," I muttered, sharper than intended.
They froze, stunned.
Someone squeaked. Someone else sighed.
I forced a polite nod, because I wasn't cruel—just distracted. And I cursed the reason for it.
As I walked deeper into the boutique, my reflection caught in a tall mirror. Cool eyes. Straight posture. Unshaken—on the surface.
But behind the calm, Serena Hawton's face flickered again.
Her fury. Her loss.
Her power.
Her damned ability to get under my skin despite everything—despite the blood between us.
I clenched my jaw.
I did not fear her.
I did not admire her.
I did not—
My thoughts stuttered.
I loathed her…
didn't I?
The mirror offered no answers.
Only my own eyes, shadowed by a war that should have ended years ago but kept reopening every time she breathed.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the wrath and pride and history written in fire…
I felt it again.
That same, treacherous pull I refused to name.
"Lord Xaiden?" a timid voice asked behind me.
I didn't turn.
If I did, I knew I'd see someone else's face—someone adoring, sweet, harmless.
And all I'd want to look at
was hers.
I guess, I really should have taken a break
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