Sunlight, a mischievous intruder, slipped through the silken drapes, painting golden stripes across Rosemary's eyelids. Sleep, a reluctant guest, finally released its grip, and she stirred, the events of the previous night swirling in her hazy mind.
She opened her eyes to find him still there, asleep beside her, the moonlight clinging to his raven hair like silver threads. His face, usually etched with stoic authority, was softened in slumber, revealing a vulnerability she rarely glimpsed.
As sunlight danced upon his eyelids, Vernon stirred, his crimson eyes blinking open to meet hers. A flicker of surprise ignited in their depths, quickly melting into a warmth that mirrored the morning sun.
"Awake, my rose," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "How are you feeling?"
He reached out, his touch a feather-light caress on her cheek. The gesture, gentle yet possessive, sent a shiver down her spine, both thrilling and comforting.
"I am feeling alright, just still sore," Rosemary replied, her gaze unwavering. "How did you find me last night?"
A smile, genuine and heartfelt, blossomed on Vernon's face. "Your maid found me," his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I am glad I did not arrive too late."
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely a sigh. The words, simple yet heartfelt, carried the weight of her gratitude, a silent acknowledgement of the debt she owed him.
His crimson eyes, startled awake by the tremor in her voice, met hers. "For what, my rose?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
"For helping me when I was …," she breathed, her gaze unwavering.
A wry smile curved his lips. "I am happy to help you," he added, his crimson gaze flickering down to where his fingers still lingered on her skin, "in a way that I did enjoy a lot."
Rosemary's blush deepened.
Sunlight, a silent witness, draped the opulent chamber in silver threads, painting stripes across Rosemary's pale face as she lay nestled against Vernon's side. The drugged haze had finally lifted, leaving behind a dull ache in her head and a heart heavy with unease. Vernon, his crimson eyes reflecting the sun's glow, cradled her in his arms, his warm presence a comforting sanctuary against the shadows' lingering chill.
He broke the silence, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the chamber. "Tell me, Rosie," he murmured, his gaze searching hers, "who do you think orchestrated this treachery?"
Rosemary, hesitated. Accusations hung heavy on her tongue, choking off the initial surge of outrage. But she did not dare to accuse Violeta of the tea since in last life, she was the favoured Omega and there were tons of time the Alpha had stood by her side instead of Rosemary's. She just needed to escape from this mess.
"I… I don't know," she finally admitted, her voice barely a whisper against the silk sheets. "I do not recognize the maid who offered me the tea."
Vernon, his jaw clenched, rose from the bed, pacing the chamber like a caged predator. His crimson eyes, usually sharp and watchful, were clouded with a mix of disbelief and a simmering anger that mirrored her own.
"And the Elven ambassador's guard," he growled, his voice echoing through the gilded cage. "who led him in the chamber and how dare he put his dirty hands on you!"
A wave of dizziness washed over Rosemary, the venom's grip tightening. "Please do not do anything reckless," she pleaded, her voice weak. "Let the shadows dissipate, let the dawn bring clarity before we point fingers."
Vernon, though his anger simmered, understood. He cradled her in his arms, a shield against the encroaching darkness. "Your wish is my command, my rose," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the shadows' whispers.
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The moon, a silent sentinel, painted silver stripes across the labyrinth's opulent chamber as Vernon, crimson eyes smoldering with unshed emotion, cradled Rosemary in his arms. The mission beckoned, a grim call demanding his presence before dawn. But leaving her, his unexpected Omega, felt like tearing a piece from his own soul.
He traced the curve of her jaw with his thumb, his touch both light and possessive. "Sleep, my rose," he rasped, his voice rough with unspoken longing. "The shadows will hold no sway while you dream beneath the moon's watchful gaze."
Rosemary, emerald eyes mirroring the silver light, nestled closer, her head resting against his chest. The labyrinth's whispers, usually a cacophony of secrets, had hushed in reverence for this tender farewell.
"I shall dream of your return," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. "Of your unwavering strength, your crimson eyes piercing the shadows like the dawn's first kiss."
A smile, fleeting yet genuine, curved Vernon's lips. "And I," he confessed, his voice a low rumble, "shall dream of your defiance, your emerald eyes a beacon against the vipers' hiss, reminding me why I face the darkness, why I return to the light."
Their gazes locked, a silent conversation woven between crimson and emerald. Words seemed superfluous, replaced by the shared understanding that bloomed amidst the impending separation. They had faced peril together, defied vipers, and emerged stronger, their bond forged in the fire of adversity.
Vernon, rising from the bed, leaned down, his lips brushing against her forehead. "Remember, my rose," he murmured, his voice laced with a fierce protectiveness, "the labyrinth may cast its shadows, but my strength finds its purpose in shielding your defiance."
He pressed one last kiss to her lips, a promise of reunion woven into the touch. Then, with a final lingering glance, he turned and strode towards the chamber door, his crimson cloak rippling like a shadow in the silver moonlight.
Rosemary watched him go, her heart heavy yet her spirit untamed. The shadows, sensing her defiance, danced and flickered, but they held no fear for her.
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The moon, a celestial voyeur, cast silver threads across Rosemary's silken bed, painting stripes on her pale skin as she lay tangled in the sheets, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. These days had been a tempest.
Yet, amidst the turmoil, a flicker of warmth remained – the memory of Vernon's embrace. It had been a stark contrast to the cold indifference she'd known in her past life, a tenderness she never dared to dream of. The way his crimson eyes softened as they met hers, the gentle caress of his fingers against her cheek, the rumble of his voice as he whispered promises of return – each gesture chipped away at the walls she'd built around her heart, leaving her exposed to the intoxicating possibility of love.
Her emerald eyes, reflecting the moon's silver glow, traced the outline of the locket nestled against her chest. It held the remnants of her past life, a reminder of the pain and betrayal that had driven her to seek refuge in this labyrinth. But now, those memories felt distant, eclipsed by the warmth that Vernon had brought into her life.
The thought of leaving, of escaping this gilded cage, once a burning desire, now felt like an unwelcome chill. The labyrinth, once a symbol of her imprisonment, now held the echoes of Vernon's laughter, the scent of his cloak, the imprint of his touch. He had woven himself into the fabric of her existence, making it difficult to imagine a world without him.
"But is this enough, Rosemary?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely a sigh. The labyrinth was still a cage, gilded or not.
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