Into His Chamber

The room shifted.

Music began to play.

Not joyful music—but low, hypnotic tones spun from silver flutes and iron strings, threaded with the heavy beat of ceremonial drums. A sound older than the kingdom itself. The kind of sound that moved bodies whether they wished to dance or not.

A servant rang a bell. The crowd, slowly, as if woken from enchantment, began to sway.

A celebration had begun.

The Feast of the Night Heir.

It was not a festival for laughter.

Aurelia stood frozen in place.

No one had told her what to do. No one had offered her food or a seat. She was simply there—in the centre of the room, clothed in beauty but orphaned by context. An ornament. A question no one wanted to ask.

And yet they watched her.

The nobles danced, yes, but their eyes did not smile. Every glance that landed on her was weighted, precise. Like the gaze of a falcon right before the strike.

She wasn't being ignored.

She was being studied.

Like prey.

Somewhere to her left, a general whispered behind his golden goblet. To her right, a high priestess traced the rim of her wineglass without drinking, her fingers stained with ritual ink. No one approached her. But no one looked away either.

Then the flutes changed.

The crowd opened slightly.

And Tenebrarum stepped into the centre of the floor.

Without speaking, without even glancing at anyone, he held out a hand.

Matrona took it.

Aurelia's breath hitched, just for a moment.

The princess moved like she had been carved from moonlight and raised on fire. Her limbs were liquid, her hair pulled back in a silver chain. The two of them—black and pale, quiet and violent—fit like matched blades.

At first, it looked innocent.

They danced like siblings raised in palace halls. Synchronized. Familiar. Her head tilted toward his shoulder as they circled once, twice. His grip is possessive but not inappropriate. The kind of closeness shared only by royalty trained to impress.

Aurelia watched from the corner, dazed, trying to guess what they were.

Siblings? Surely.

Until he gradually shifted his mask with deliberate caution, a glimpse of his pale red lips emerged, contrasting sharply against the shadowy facade that obscured the rest of his face.

He dipped Matrona gracefully, the world around them fading as she lost herself in his gaze.

A warm smile blossomed on her lips, radiating joy and a hint of mischief.

And then—

He kissed her.

Not a mere brush on the cheek, nor a fleeting peck meant for the public eye.

It was a full, deep kiss, bold and unabashed, right there in the heart of the dance floor.

Her lips curled around his with an intoxicating familiarity, as if claiming him entirely, drawing him into her world with an irresistible magnetism.

The room didn't react.

No one gasped. No one stopped dancing. Not a single flute lost its tune. As if they had seen this many times before. As if this was... normal.

But Aurelia's heart stopped for one cold second.

The kiss broke.

Matrona turned her head.

And stared straight at her.

There was no longer any doubt in her gaze.

It was not hunger.

It was rage.

Aurelia had misunderstood everything. That was not a brother and sister moment. That was the crown princess. The future queen. The one who wore Tenebrarum's mark. The one who had been trained to stand beside him—not behind him.

And she was not staring at Aurelia out of curiosity anymore.

She was starting to kill.

Aurelia stepped back.

Just slightly. Just enough that no one would notice. She hoped.

The flutes played on. The dancers spun like ghosts. Tenebrarum now danced with another woman—taller, with thorns braided into her hair. Matrona had disappeared from the centre of the room, but Aurelia could still feel her presence. Watching. Burning.

She needed to breathe.

To disappear.

So she walked. Slowly. Careful not to rush.

Each step took her farther from the heart of the celebration. Past a line of marble pillars. Past servants carrying trays of crimson drink. Past nobles with eyes like glass daggers.

She didn't know where she was going.

She just knew she had to leave.

Her chest felt tight. Her fingers shook slightly against the hem of her gown. Her mind raced back to Marcus—his voice, his warmth, the way he had looked at her like she was human. The last night before the raid. Before everything had been taken from her.

Before her family burned.

Before her freedom was sold.

The memory was too much.

She turned left—then right—walking faster now. Through a dim hallway draped in velvet banners. Her heels tapped lightly, muffled by thick carpets embroidered with sigils she didn't recognise.

She found a door.

It was half-open.

She slipped inside.

Quiet.

Breathless.

She closed the door behind her and leaned on it, eyes shut.

But the scent hit her first.

Spiced leather. Steel. Smoke. And something darker.

Not perfume.

Presence.

She turned.

And froze.

The room was vast, shadowed by bookshelves and weapons, a desk littered with maps and ancient scrolls. A blood-red tapestry covered the far wall. And beside the open window—

Stood a dark human.

Tall.

Kaelen turned fully.

And she saw him.

His bare chest bore scars, silent reminders of past battles and untold stories. The pale lines on his muscles hinted at a history beneath the surface, reflecting quiet strength. Dark trousers hung low on his hips, and his bare feet rested on the cool marble floor. His blonde hair fell over ocean-like eyes, filled with deep emotion. In this moment, he was without armour or crown—just the raw essence of danger.

And silence.

For a moment, Kaelen only stared at her—expression unreadable, gaze sharp as a blade half-drawn.

Then his face twisted.

Disgust. Annoyance. Contempt.

"Get out."

His voice was low and clipped, as if her presence insulted the air itself.

Aurelia froze. Her throat clenched. She didn't answer.

She couldn't—not with the way he was looking at her. Like something foreign had just trespassed into his world. Like a stain.

He took one step forward.

"I don't let slaves into my room," he said flatly.

But then he saw them.

Her eyes.

Violet.

Unnatural.

Staring up at him, wide with fear—but something else, too. A softness he couldn't name.

His breath stilled. That mocking disgust in his eyes flickered. Changed.

He didn't move again.

Didn't speak.

And Aurelia, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, suddenly turned away—quick, like the sight of him had burned her.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice trembling as she reached for the door. "I didn't know… I wasn't trying to—"

"You shouldn't be here," he said again. But this time it wasn't a threat.

It sounded like a warning.

Or a confession.

And he didn't take his eyes off her.

Not even when she slipped out the door.

Not even when it closed between them.

---

To be continued...