Violet eyes

Aurelia didn't speak of it.

She left Kaelen's chamber with her head lowered and her hands shaking—though no one stopped her, no one saw. The music echoed from the ballroom in haunting bursts, a rhythm her body could no longer follow. Her slippers barely made a sound against the marble floor as she returned to the shadows.

Matrona was still dancing, her crown glittering beneath the chandeliers, a predator cloaked in silk and pride. Tenebrarum's hands were on her waist, but his face remained unreadable, as though none of this mattered to him.

Aurelia stood at the edge of the hall again. She felt invisible. But she knew she wasn't.

They were watching.

Not just Matrona.

Not just the nobles who knew she didn't bow.

Even the king had noticed her. The masked girl with violet eyes, untrained in royal decorum, too noble to be a slave, too small to threaten them—yet something about her made the hall grow quiet when she walked past.

Someone whispered, "She shouldn't be here."

Another voice answered, "But she is."

And Aurelia—still trembling from Kaelen's room, from the look he gave her—didn't know what part of herself she was supposed to erase next.

---

Tenebrarum appeared beside her without warning.

His presence swallowed the space between them. He didn't look at her. He didn't need to.

"Where were you?" he asked, voice like steel sheathed in velvet, quiet but commanding—dangerously so. Like a man used to being obeyed. Like a man who never asked twice.

Aurelia's breath caught.

Her fingers curled into her skirts, trying to steady herself. The scent of him was sharp—smoke, iron, and cold shadows—and it sank into her bones.

"I—" Her voice faltered. She stared ahead, not daring to meet his eyes. "I just needed air."

Silence. A silence that screamed.

His eyes moved to her, slow and deliberate. "Air," he repeated. "You disappear from a royal gathering, where eyes are on you, and your answer is air?"

He stepped closer. The heat of his body against her side made her want to run again, but her feet refused to move.

"I didn't mean to leave the hall—"

"But you did." His voice dropped lower. "And you ended up in my brother's chambers."

Her spine stiffened.

She hadn't told anyone.

She hadn't even spoken.

But of course—Tenebrarum always knew.

Aurelia looked up at him then, only for a moment. His eyes were unreadable, dark as ink, unblinking.

"You're trembling," he muttered, more to himself than her. "Did he touch you?"

Her mouth parted, stunned.

"No—he didn't—he just... I didn't know it was his chamber."

Tenebrarum leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear.

"Don't go where you're not wanted," he said. "Not everyone in this court has my restraint."

Then he stepped away, leaving her throat dry and her heart rattling against her ribs.

As he walked away, his steps slow and imperial, Aurelia's eyes followed him—drawn to the very man she should fear, the man everyone else did.

Her heartbeat was too loud. Her hands wouldn't stay still. She tried to breathe, but the air felt too thick to swallow.

Why was she here?

Why had he taken her from the slave markets only to drag her into a ballroom filled with monsters in silk and blood?

Why had he made her his? Why give her a dress that shimmered like starlight, a seat among royals, a name whispered like it meant something?

And why—why—did he come for her like he had the right?

Her gaze swept the ballroom.

Matrona.

The crown princess danced still, but her eyes were on Tenebrarum. Watching him. Possessive. Furious. A viper in crimson lace.

Aurelia turned her eyes away.

Tenebrarum had a bride.

So why her?

She didn't belong here.

Not with the nobles.

Not in his orbit.

And definitely not in that half-lit corridor where he looked at her like a thing he owned.

She pressed her palm to her stomach as if she could stop the churning. Her thoughts spun faster than the violins playing in the distance.

It wasn't affection. It wasn't kindness.

So what was it?

Why her?

And still—no one around them had heard a word.

But everyone saw it.

Everyone watched the way he stood too close, the way she looked too pale, the way his shadow never quite left hers.

---

Kaelen, on the other side of the ballroom, now clothed, kept on watching.

And saw it again—that flicker in her.

The way she looked at Tenebrarum like she wanted answers but was too afraid to ask. Like she didn't understand what kind of game she'd been thrown into.

Kaelen leaned against one of the balcony pillars, one hand still gripping the stem of his goblet. The wine had long since gone warm.

So that was her.

The girl Tenebrarum had purchased without negotiation. The girl who didn't bow. Who wore nobility like it had been branded into her at birth. Not trained, no—but that spine. That trembling pride.

He watched her now, the way her fingers kept brushing the fabric of her dress like she wanted to claw it off and disappear. Her eyes were wide, violet under the candlelight. She wasn't crying. He respected that.

She looked… lost.

And that was dangerous in a place like this.

Kaelen hated himself for how his body remembered her—the curve of her back when she ran out of his chambers, the wild look in her eyes, the sharp breath she took when she realised she wasn't alone.

He hadn't meant to be intrigued.

He certainly hadn't meant to feel anything.

But her eyes had that wild softness. Like something not yet broken. Like something still worth ruining.

Kaelen raised the goblet to his lips but didn't drink.

He glanced toward Tenebrarum again.

His brother hadn't even looked back at her. Cold as frost. Possessive as a god. As if it was already decided.

But Kaelen had seen the girl's confusion. Her shame. Her questions.

And he was starting to wonder if he wanted the answers, too.

---

To be continued...