Music recommendation: 6 inches, Rihanna, Beyonce and The Weeknd
Asher's rage still simmered beneath his skin as he stormed the castle halls. He was no fool, Lord Gaius had been the first and soon they would come in numbers. The fae were a wily bunch and their ambition matched the ruthlessness, many would try to take his throne and even go as far as recruiting supporters. He would not let that happen he thought as he punched a wall.
Dust rose in the air ant the wall became cracked. His bloodied hand ran through his dark hair, smearing what remained of Lord Gaius. He knew what he looked like at the moment. At the corner of his eyes, he could see the servants shiver in their spots as they averted their eyes. The halls were deadly quiet as everyone held their breath. He would kill all who dared to challenge him after all he was the most powerful fae on the throne. He smiled evily as he stalked towards his chambers.
He entered the room and slammed the doors, still shaking with rage.
And then he saw her.
Zarafea stood by the window, the faint light from the moon casting a silver glow on her skin. She didn't flinch when his eyes met hers. Instead, she tilted her head, her glass-blue eyes studying him with a strange calm. It was unsettling—infuriating, even—that she could look at him like that, after everything. After the execution. After the lies spread about him. After the blood that had just been spilled in the throne room.
"I see you've had quite the day," she murmured, her voice soft but with a playful lilt that only served to ignite the fire in his chest.
Asher ripped off his coat, his black shirt underneath soaked in sweat and blood. He said nothing at first, merely allowing the silence to speak for him. The air between them thickened, laden with the scent of iron and the lingering tension from the court. He began to strip down further, walking to the bath in the corner of the room, completely indifferent to her presence.
The water steamed, and as he sank into it, he finally spoke. "You shouldn't be here," he said, voice cold and devoid of emotion. His grey eyes pierced through the mist rising from the bath, locked onto hers.
"And yet, here I am," she replied, stepping closer to the edge of the water, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "I don't think you've told me to leave yet."
His fingers ran through the water, tracing circles on the surface. "Maybe I'm waiting for you to realize how dangerous it is to stay."
Zarafea's smile only grew wider as she walked gracefully around the bath, her gown shimmering with every step. "Oh, I've realized that from the beginning, Asher." Her use of his name was deliberate, a soft taunt, as though she were poking at the edges of his anger, testing him.
He let out a slow breath, leaning back, letting the warm water soothe the tension in his muscles. His eyes, however, never left her. "Is that what this is to you? A game?"
"A game?" she echoed, her expression one of amused surprise. "No. Games have rules. And this—" she gestured between them "—this has none."
Asher's jaw tightened. He had long since learned to keep his emotions in check, but there was something about Zarafea that chipped away at his carefully constructed walls. "What do you want, Zarafea?"
She stopped her circling, standing just out of reach, her eyes dancing with mischief and something more—something that unsettled him. "What I want? To survive, just like you." Her gaze flicked to his chest, where the scars of countless battles marred his skin. "We're not so different."
"We're nothing alike," Asher growled, sitting up straight, his voice sharp.
"Oh?" She arched a brow, stepping closer, her scent—like wildflowers and rain—filling the space between them. "You think you're the only one who's lost something? The only one who's been betrayed, abandoned? Asher, I created this dimension. I've lost everything."
His silence was answer enough. Zarafea, however, seemed undeterred. She moved closer to the bath, kneeling beside him now, the faintest trace of her fingers trailing along the edge of the tub, dangerously close to touching him.
"And yet," she whispered, "you're still standing. Just like me."
Asher's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist before she could pull away. His grip was firm, but he didn't pull her into the water—just held her there, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Don't think for a second that you understand me," he hissed. "I've lost more than you can imagine. And I won't let anyone—especially you—use me as some kind of pawn in your plans."
Zarafea didn't flinch under his grip. Instead, she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his skin. "Use you? No, Asher. I'm here to help you."
"Help me," he scoffed, finally releasing her wrist and sinking back into the water, his cynicism creeping back into his tone. "You're the goddess of Azra, trapped in your own nightmare. What could you possibly offer me?"
She stood, her face calm but her eyes flashing with something deeper. "More than you know. But let's start with something simple." She turned, walking toward the window again, her voice smooth and measured. "I'll make an appearance at your ball—three days from now, as a commoner. No titles, no grandeur. Just the daughter of a simple physician."
Asher's laugh was dark, his smile cold. "You'll stand out the moment you enter the room. Even disguised as a commoner, you'll never blend in."
"Perhaps that's the point," Zarafea replied over her shoulder, her eyes glimmering with unspoken challenge. "Perhaps I want them to notice me."
There was a beat of silence before Asher's smile faded, replaced by something more calculating. "This... commoner daughter of a physician. She better not cause trouble."
"I wouldn't dream of it," she purred, turning to leave, her gown trailing behind her like moonlight.
Asher watched her go, his mind racing. The anger that had been simmering moments before had shifted, replaced with something far more dangerous. Zarafea wasn't just another woman trying to play the court. She was something far more deadly.
And as much as he hated to admit it, she had already slipped under his skin.