Ch 12 * A Normal Talk*

Todays song is I like bad girls like you by Tobii

ENJOY

  Alex's POV

I've been standing behind this door like some coward, hiding from her.

What the hell is wrong with me? This is my castle, my territory.

But no matter how much I try to psych myself up, I can't move. My hand grips the doorknob, frozen in place.

What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do when I meet her eyes?

Ridiculous. Pathetic.

I let out a sharp breath, hoping it will somehow snap me out of this… this stupor. And then—

The door swings open.

It wasn't me who opened it.

She's there. Her.

Her eyes widen for a split second before narrowing, cutting into me like blades. My chest tightens, and I hate it. Hate how she makes me feel.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her tone sharp but steady.

"It's my castle, princess. I can go wherever I want," I snap. My voice comes out colder than I intend.

Shit. That's not what I meant.

She rolls her eyes, and something inside me snaps.

"You know I hate when you do that," I say, my voice rising.

"As if I care," she bites back, her defiance hitting me like a slap.

She's so small, so delicate, but somehow she knows exactly how to get under my skin.

"Where are you going?" I ask, trying to regain some semblance of control.

Her glare sharpens. "I'm not going to run away, if that's what you're worried about. I'm not stupid."

Her words almost make me laugh—almost. Instead, I smirk. "I know you won't."

She doesn't flinch, but I can feel her unease. She hates me, and the weight of it presses down on my chest like a stone.

"I… I was heading to the kitchen," I finally say, lowering my voice. "In case you're hungry. You only had breakfast, after all."

Her eyes flash with suspicion. "How do you know that?"

"Know what?" I ask, feigning innocence.

"That I didn't have lunch."

"You didn't touch your food," I say, watching her face. "All you did was stab at it with your fork. Strange behavior for someone who couldn't stop talking about how hungry they were this morning."

Her lips press into a thin line, and for a second, I think I see something—embarrassment? Anger?—flash across her face. It's satisfying. Too satisfying.

And then it happens. That surge. That heat.

Him.

Get out. Get the fuck out.

I blink hard, forcing myself back to the moment.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she snaps, her voice like a bucket of cold water.

"H-how am I looking at you?" I stammer, suddenly aware of how close I am.

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't answer. Instead, she brushes past me, breaking the fragile connection. "It's creepy."

"Where are you—"

"As you said, I haven't eaten. And I'm hungry." Her words are clipped, but I catch it—the faintest blush creeping up her cheeks.

Cute.

 Lilith's POV

He's infuriating.

Every step we take down this endless hallway feels like a test of endurance.

"What were you reading in there?" His voice, low and unexpected, startles me.

I glance at him warily. "History."

"History?" His tone is skeptical, but there's a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

"Yes," I reply, keeping my voice even. "I'm interested in the histories of different kingdoms."

"And what about my kingdom?" he asks, his arrogance seeping back in.

"Well," I begin, a small smile tugging at my lips. "I hate to correct you, but according to the most

recent records, the ruler of this kingdom isn't you. It's Alfredtand Winslow. Your father, I assume?"

The effect is immediate. His face darkens, and his entire demeanor shifts.

"You don't know anything, princess. Don't talk about things you don't understand," he says, his voice colder than the castle walls.

My stomach twists, but I hold my ground. "That's what the records say."

"The records don't always tell the truth," he snaps.

"Then what is the truth?" I press, refusing to back down.

"Some things are better left buried," he says, his tone carrying a finality that makes my skin crawl.

Fine. If he won't give me anything about the past, I'll dig into something else.

"And what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you read, or do you just stare at the ceiling all day?"

He snorts, the sound surprisingly human. "I'm not a book person."

Of course he isn't.

"So, what do you do?"

He doesn't answer, his silence stretching between us like a challenge.

"Let me guess. Singer?" I tease, hoping to crack his infuriatingly stoic exterior.

He glares at me like I've just insulted his entire lineage.

"Not a singer, huh? Poet?"

"Do I look like someone who writes love letters?" he asks, his voice sharp as a blade.

I shrug, undeterred. "Death notes count as poetry," I mutter, mostly to myself.

His lips twitch, and for a split second, I think he might laugh.

"No, princess," he says, his tone softening ever so slightly. "I don't write."

"Then what do you do?"

The silence that follows is heavier than before. He doesn't answer, and I don't push.

Finally, he nods toward the doorway ahead. "We're here."

The kitchen. Of course.

Just like that, the moment is gone, and I've lost whatever chance I had of prying anything useful from him.

But as I step into the room, I let a small, hidden smile curl at the corner of my lips.

Everyone has a weakness.

I'll find his.

And when I do, I'll make sure to use it.