Foolish ❧

The gardens were silent tonight.

Silver moonlight pooled across the polished stone pathways and spilled over the well-manicured hedges, illuminating the world in ghostly tones. Caralee walked alone beneath the cloak of night, her slippered feet whispering against the cobblestones as if afraid to disturb the slumbering earth. The perfumed breeze stirred the petals of night-blooming jasmine, sending their intoxicating scent curling into the air like a lover's sigh, but it did nothing to soothe the storm inside her.

She had come out here to clear her mind, but her thoughts clung to her like smoke—stinging, choking, impossible to dispel.

That woman.

She saw her in flashes, vivid and vile, an unshakable figment stitched into the fabric of her memory. A goddess of flesh and hunger, raven-haired and sensuous, arching beneath Merrick's mouth as he fed from her with a hunger that had once been hers alone. Her gown had been loosened to bare the delicate column of her throat, but in Caralee's mind it might as well have been an invitation—one she had seen Merrick accept with an intimacy that stole the breath from her lungs.

Caralee's heart clenched. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

She didn't know if it had truly happened. Had she seen it? Dreamt it? Imagined it? It didn't matter. The image was embedded in her mind, repeating over and over like a cursed lullaby. His mouth on another. His hands trailing along foreign skin. His body tangled with hers, and her own torn in two.

She pressed a palm to her chest, right over the phantom ache in her heart. Her breath came ragged. The gardens blurred, the stars overhead spinning slightly as if even they were disoriented by her torment.

"How did everything get so twisted… so fast?" she whispered into the night.

A month ago, she had been polishing silverware and laughing with the kitchen girls. Now, she was a princess of night and blood, betrothed to a vampire king, wandering moonlit halls like a ghost. She'd barely spoken to anyone since that morning, not even her maids, who chirped and fussed about her like sparrows in a cage. Her body had changed, her soul had changed, but most of all—her heart no longer felt like hers.

She glanced up at the moon, full and resplendent, high in the indigo sky. A small, bitter smile tugged at her lips.

"It's probably nearly tea time," she said aloud to no one, shaking her head. "Except, of course, it's the middle of the night."

Her days and nights were reversed now. Her body only truly awakened after sundown, her hunger stirred by the twilight hours. The rhythm of her new life danced to an unnatural beat, and the longer she remained in this strange waltz, the harder it became to remember who she had once been.

She missed Donovan.

Not just his smile, his laugh, or the scent of ink and old parchment he always carried. She missed the way he used to look at her—like she was the only real thing in the world. There had been a gentleness to him, a patience that Merrick did not possess. Or perhaps, had simply buried too deeply beneath centuries of war and heartbreak. Or she had thought. Before that moment in his study. She was so confused.

Her steps slowed. Her heart felt like it was in a vice, beneath her still chest. Her eyes swept the garden path ahead… and she made her decision. She missed feeling like herself.

She turned.

There was one place in the castle she had not dared to tread. But tonight, her soul would find no rest unless she —unless she saw him. Just once.

The dungeon.

Caralee stuck to the shadows, moving as silently as a shade. Her footsteps muffled by instinct rather than skill, she slipped through halls half-lit by flickering sconces. The deeper into the castle she crept, the colder the air became. The walls narrowed. The tapestries gave way to bare stone. She passed no one—the servants asleep, the nobles at court, and the guards few and far between in this forsaken wing.

Finally, she reached the end of the corridor, and just beyond a sharp corner, she saw the dark, iron-bound door that led down into the depths below. She pressed herself against the wall, straining to hear the voices of the two guards stationed at its entrance.

"…five minutes till the change. I can't feel my damn toes."

"Been so long since we housed humans in here, you think this is going to become a regular thing? His scent makes it so much harder to focus."

"Doubt it. This place isn't fit for a rabbit, let alone many. Still… strange, isn't it? Keeping a man like that locked away. I can't say I've ever heard of our king keeping human slaves."

Caralee felt her breath catch. They were speaking of him. Donovan.

A weight pressed into her chest. She hadn't thought beyond this point. Hadn't planned what to do next. Her head pounded wildly, her thoughts scattering like leaves in a gale.

This was foolish. So foolish.

She took a step back, ready to turn around, flee, pretend she had never been here. But the moment she pivoted, she slammed into something—or rather, someone.

"Forgive me, my lady," came a calm, familiar voice. "But what brings you to this corner of the castle? Surely you know this is no place for delicate young ladies."

Jacobo.

Short, severe, and impossible to mislead. His sharp eyes locked onto hers like a hawk catching a mouse mid-scurry. She forced a small, uncertain smile and tried to keep her voice steady.

"I was just… exploring," she said softly, feigning embarrassment. "I'm still getting used to the castle, and I… I got turned around."

There was a long pause. Jacobo's brow remained arched, his face unreadable.

"I see," he finally said. "Then allow me to escort you back to your chambers."

Before she could think of a clever reason to refuse, he had turned and gestured for her to follow. She obeyed, her steps lagging slightly as dread settled deep in her bones.

When they reached her door, she curtsied. "Thank you, Jacobo. That was very kind of you."

Jacobo inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "I will return before dinner to retrieve you, my lady."

And with that, he turned and departed.

But not toward his own quarters.

He made for the King's chambers.

With deliberate steps, he approached the grand carved doors and knocked once. A moment later, Merrick's voice, deep and distracted, called from within. "Enter."

Jacobo stepped into the room.

Merrick stood by the window, moonlight casting a silver glow across his sculpted form. His robe was loose about his shoulders, his bare chest rising and falling with quiet tension.

"What is it, Jacobo?" he asked, eyes still fixed on something unseen beyond the glass.

"I found the young princess," Jacobo said, his voice measured. "Wandering."

Merrick waved a hand. "Yes, I told her she was free to explore. This is her home now, after all. We can't keep her locked away like some prisoner." He chuckled quietly, but there was no humor in it.

"She was hiding," Jacobo said calmly. "Moving among shadows."

That made Merrick turn.

Jacobo met his gaze unflinchingly. "She was just outside the dungeon."

The silence that followed was thunderous.

Merrick's face froze. His eyes, glowing faintly in the dark, narrowed with sudden focus.

"…Outside the dungeon?" he repeated, voice low and dangerous.

Jacobo gave a single nod.

"I need you to look into this," Merrick said after a moment, his voice clipped with command. "Speak to the guards. See if anyone else has visited the prisoners. Especially our… esteemed guest."

He turned back to the window, his jaw tightening.

"And speak to her maids. Find out if she's been acting strange. Has she asked questions? Shown interest in anything she shouldn't? I want to know everything, Jacobo."

Jacobo bowed. "As you command, Your Majesty."

He turned to leave, but Merrick spoke once more before the door shut.

"And Jacobo… do not alarm her. Whatever she was doing… I will handle it."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, but Merrick did not move.

His hands curled into fists.

Something in the shadows had shifted. And he had a sinking feeling it had the shape… of love.