4. The Beast hungers. For more.

"If I give you the green rose," he said, voice low and quiet, "then you must give me something in return."

Heat rushed to her face—blazing, wild—like an awakened volcano, and for a breath, Hereon nearly smiled.

They had stood in that crumbling garden for what felt like minutes, silence folding between them. All the while, he fought—failed—not to look at her.

She was tall. Slim. 

Her bare legs, smooth as honeyed silk, gleamed beneath the faint wash of moonlight, and the thought struck him hard— he wanted to touch her.

Not out of lust. 

But to feel if she truly was as soft as she looked.

Her hair, long and brown like polished chestnut, spilled down her back in lazy waves. 

It called to his fingers.

He wanted to run his hand through it, slowly, reverently— as if she were a dream he dared not wake.

Five whole years had passed since he last saw her. 

Back then, he had only followed his father's orders and failed to see the girl who suffered under those rules.

When he looked at her now, it felt like fog and smoke piercing through him—just as her voice had stirred something in him.

"What do you want?" she breathed, cautious with her words. "What do you seek, My Prince? Because I am certain there is nothing that this lowly maiden could offer."

Hereon's gaze shifted now that she had asked. He began to feel curious— a trace of what little he had felt a moment ago.

It was ritual—nightly, sacred—to visit his mother's grave. Here, he escaped the weight of a crown not yet worn, the chaos of Blackenroot's future pressing against his spine.

The palace choked him. The title clung like chains. Within those golden walls, he withered quietly, forced to harden, to smile when his soul begged to scream. But here, in silence, near the cold earth that cradled his mother, something inside him—though not all—unclenched.

It didn't soothe the rage. That fire was unreachable, untouchable. But it made him think.

Tonight, the silence cracked.

He sensed it before he heard it—another presence, impossible in a place that never welcomed footprints but his. Then her voice bled through the night.

She sang.

No instrument. No ceremony. Just a voice—low and raw, like something ancient had clawed its way up her throat and refused to die quietly.

The earth stilled.

The beast inside him froze. Pain dulled—not gone, but quieter.

It wasn't just the ground that shifted. Something stirred beneath his ribs, something long buried. And for the first time in too long… he began to feel.

Now, the beast inside him doesn't just listen.

It hungers. For more.

"You will come with me. To the palace."

He didn't ask—he commanded.

Karina shivered when his amber eyes locked onto hers. For a heartbeat, she wished to run, to vanish. But instead, she drowned in that gaze, swallowed whole.

"You must be mistaken, my prince," she said, voice steady with borrowed courage. 

"And if your memory fails you, allow me to remind you. You and your father—the king—along with his council, banished me from this land."

 "Yet here you are," he said, pointing at her with deliberate calm, untouched by her defiance. 

 "Your feet on the very soil you were warned never to touch again."

"My prince..." 

She clicked her tongue, breath catching. What could she possibly say? He was right in every word. There was no escaping this. No more running. 

But the palace? 

Of all places, the palace? Did he want the Council to take her head?

Prince Hareon tilted his head, watching her closely, reading every flicker of doubt in her eyes. Then he spoke—calm, assured, immovable.

"Do not worry about anyone finding out. You'll be disguised as a maid."

Karina's hands trembled. She clasped them tight, hiding the quake beneath her fingers. He couldn't see it. He couldn't know. Still, her voice slipped out in a whisper—half warning, half plea.

"My prince… it's too dangerous for me to stay in the palace. My voice—it could bring ruin."

Hareon didn't flinch. His gaze drifted over her, slow and deliberate, like a man studying something precious he couldn't understand.

"Who would know?" he asked, his eyes catching hers—smoky, defiant, unwilling to look away. 

"Unless you sing."

Karina sighed. This was spiraling into far more trouble than she ever intended. But how else was she supposed to truly live—without singing? It wasn't like she did it every day. Still, sometimes… sometimes it slipped. It consumed her. And when it did, the aftermath was never gentle.

Her voice could destroy.

So why—why did the prince want her in the palace? What was he really after?

"Your voice is dangerous," Hareon said, stepping forward. "But not to me."

His movements were slow, measured, as though any sudden motion might shatter the moment—or send her fleeing.

"You will not sing for anyone," he said, gaze locked on her. "You will sing—but only for me. No one else must hear what I heard."

Karina's mouth parted in stunned silence. He wanted her to sing? For him? Only him?

gods.

What did that make her now?

His personal 'musician'?

"My prince…" she gasped, shaking her head. "That is too much to ask."

She let out a small laugh—light, strained. A poor attempt to soften the tension thickening between them.

"Please… ask for something else. Something possible."

His face was hard—carved from stone. Lips pressed into a thin, merciless line.

"What I've asked is entirely possible." 

He stepped forward, each movement deliberate, precise—until only inches separated them.

 "And I am not asking. I command it."

Karina shivered. His voice didn't shout, but it roared. Authority radiated from him like heat from fire—slow, consuming, inevitable. Fear snaked up her spine, cold and heavy, as her toes dug deeper into the muddy ground.

 "You will sing," he said, voice low and unwavering. "When I tell you to. Every time. Without objection."

Her lips parted. A protest threatened to escape—something, anything to reclaim her voice. But those eyes, fierce and unrelenting, silenced her. They held her in place, chained by something unseen. And like a spell whispered on wind, she surrendered, as if the choice was never hers.

"Good," he murmured, lips curling in amusement—but the smile never reached his eyes.

gods.

How she hated him—for dragging her into this cursed bind.

"Now that we have an agreement," he mused, turning with the grace of royalty, hands clasped behind his back, "I shall give you what you seek."

He didn't glance back as he walked away, but his voice cut through the air.

"Come with me, and I'll show you."

Karina pressed her lips together, holding back every word burning on her tongue. And yet… she followed.

It was over.

She had walked straight into something far greater than herself—and now, she would have to survive it. Whatever it took.