The sound of the train echoed through the station, a rhythmic clattering that filled the air as passengers hurriedly gathered on the platform. Amidst the bustling crowd, Klaire pushed her way through, slipping between people to avoid being seen.
It had been three days since the incident, and she had scoured the forest as much as she could, searching for Little Ash, but to no avail. Her heart ached with worry, yet now she had no choice but to flee.
As the train prepared to leave, Klaire hastily made her way to her assigned room. She had a feeling that her father's men would search the commoner quarters first, never suspecting she'd hide among the nobles. And she was right.
---
Outside, the men dispatched by her father scoured the train thoroughly. Tyler Marte, the butler with brown hair and sharp black eyes, led the search. He was a commoner who had risen to serve as the count's most trusted aide.
"Damn it, the lady's not here," Tyler muttered, frustration clear in his voice. He turned to the three men standing behind him. "You three, check the noble quarters. But be discreet—don't cause trouble or arouse suspicion. We can't afford a scene."
---
Klaire had just entered her private compartment and was about to close the door when a hand suddenly stopped it. A man pushed his way inside.
"You—what are you doing here?" Klaire demanded, startled, but the man quickly covered her mouth with his hand.
"Last time I saved you," he whispered. "This time, you're going to save me."
Klaire's eyes widened in confusion, her mind racing. She glanced out the door and saw three or four figures dressed as knights making their way down the hallway, clearly searching for someone. Her heart pounded. "Why are they chasing you?" she asked as she hurriedly shut the door.
"They're my stepmother's men," the man replied casually. "Sent to kill me."
Klaire stared at him, bewildered. She already had enough on her plate, running from her father's men, and now this? Her pulse quickened as the voices of the knights grew closer. Are they really assassins, if so why were they dressed as knights?
Pacing the room, Klaire asked nervously, "What do we do?"
The man, however, showed no sign of panic. In fact, he looked infuriatingly calm, as if being chased by killers was a minor inconvenience. His composure only added to Klaire's growing anxiety, her body heating up from the pressure. Then, without warning, he began unbuttoning his shirt.
"What are you doing?" Klaire asked, bewildered.
He shrugged off his shirt, revealing a lean, muscular torso, and said , "Relax. Just follow my lead."
Flustered, Klaire quickly covered her eyes with her hands. "Wh-why?" she stammered.
Before she could say another word, he pulled her into an embrace, his skin warm against hers. "Just do as I said," he whispered.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the door. "Anyone in there?" a knight called out. "Open up! We're looking for someone. This is an order!"
Silence.
The knights exchanged wary glances. "Open up, or we'll have no choice but to come in!" another shouted.
Still no response.
The knights gestured for the train staff to unlock the door. With a soft creak, the door opened.
"How dare a mere knight barge into my quarters!" Klaire's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
The bed curtains were drawn, obscuring their identities. Only their silhouettes were visible, but the scene left little to the imagination.
The knight hesitated as he approached the bed.
"Get out! Don't you know who I am?!" Klaire snapped, her tone indignant. "How will you answer my father if this gets out? Even His Majesty shows respect to him, and you, a lowly servant, dare to disturb me?!"
The knight faltered, clearly unsure how to proceed.
"This—" The knight's voice trembled slightly as he glanced back at his commanding leader, eyes wide with anticipation and trepidation.
His leader, a figure of unwavering authority, raised a hand, urging him to retreat. "Forgive this humble servant, my lady. We shall depart at once." The knight bowed his head, a mixture of respect and longing evident in his posture, leaving the air thick with unspoken tension.
Klaire could feel the heat radiating from her body, a warmth that seemed to pulse through her, igniting every nerve ending.
There was a man above her, his skin bare and glistening in the dim light. A sudden breath caught in her throat; she wished desperately for the moment to rush. The man's breath brushed against her lips, tantalizingly close, sending shivers down her spine. His arm encircled her, the other gripping tightly on her delicate waist. She felt acutely vulnerable, as though the world had shrunk to just the two of them, her heart racing with a mix of fear and exhilaration. When would the knights leave? Anxiety gnawed at her.
As the leader of the knights bowed, raising his chin with an air of finality, the man before Klaire slowly withdrew his hand from her waist. Time seemed to freeze as he shifted, his fingers gliding to her cheek, cradling her face in a way that felt both intimate and chilling. In the blink of an eye, he captured her lips with his, sealing her lip in a fervent kiss.
Klaire gasped, her body rigid with shock. The suddenness of his touch sent her heart racing, her eyes flying open to meet his inscrutable gaze. He remained motionless, a predator savoring its prey, and she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, a blush blooming across her skin. She instinctively shut her eyes tightly, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.
The world outside faded into oblivion; all she could focus on was the sensation of his lips pressing against hers. A frown crossed her features as the kiss deepened, and she found herself caught in a whirlwind of passion that left her breathless. Why was he so committed? Her lungs screamed for air as she felt his warmth enveloping her, his determination palpable. Just when she thought she might drown in the depths of his desire, his tongue slipped past her parted lips, invading her mouth with an undeniable urgency.
Klaire's fists clenched tightly, her mind racing with confusion and a desperate need for space. The boundaries of her reality blurred as she pushed against him, a mix of instinct and desire coursing through her veins. Yet, even as she fought against the tide of his overwhelming presence, a part of her surrendered to the intoxicating pull of his obsession.
With each heartbeat, the line between fear and thrill blurred further, leaving her teetering on the edge of a precipice she never knew existed.
Klaire could no longer perceive the sounds of the knight, so she forcefully shoved the man who had been leaning over her.
Klaire hurriedly leapt off the bed and strode towards the door to see if the knights had genuinely departed.
Klaire exhaled a sigh of relief, gradually turning to face the man.
Perhaps they had lost themselves in the moment; the kiss might not have been intended, Klaire speculated unilaterally.
"You--I can't keep addressing you as 'you.' What is your name?" Klaire inquired softly as she cautiously approached the man on the bed.
The man rose, "My name? You can call me Eric. And what about you, my lady? You don't appear to be an ordinary person."
How could he pinpoint that so accurately; indeed, Klaire was far from ordinary, being a runaway noble, but revealing such a secret to a stranger was not an option.
"Klaire, my name is Klaire. I'm a merchant on my travels," Klaire stated, deliberately avoiding his eyes. Her name was indeed Klaire, she wasn't lying.
"So, you were abducted during your journey?" Eric questioned as he closed the distance between them step by step.
Klaire unknowingly stepped back, "Yes. Those bandits—they abducted and robbed me while I was en route to the Darkmoor Duchy."
Eric scrutinized her with a piercing gaze, "And how did you manage to escape?"
Klaire clarified, "As a merchant, I was accustomed to robbery, so the idea of escaping rarely concerned me. I managed to slip away unnoticed, and that's how I encountered you by the lake."
It seems Klaire have answers to ervery question, but why was she being interrogated by a stranger?
Eric stepped nearer, "So it was merely luck?"
Klaire blinked quickly, flustered as Eric cornered her against the table. With her back pressed against the surface, Klaire instinctively pushed Eric away by his chest. Even though her strength paled in comparison to his, she quickly turned her face sideways, "What are you doing?" she asked, flustered.
Eric chuckled at her feeble attempt to escape, then retrieved something from behind her—it was his shirt. "I'm just trying to get dressed, what were you imagining?"
A crimson blush crept onto Klaire's cheeks; she swiftly turned her back to Eric, hands covering her face, now burning with embarrassment. "Nothing! Just get dressed quickly!" Klaire rushed to the train's window.
"I'll considered the debt between us gone, we don't own each other any more", Klaire said sternly.
---
As the train moved, Tyler and his men could be seen navigating through the train station.
"The lady was not in the noble's quarters?" Tyler asked sternly.
His subordinate shook his head. He remembered checking the noble's quarters. While inspecting, he observed several knights exiting a room, overhearing their conversation. He decided it was prudent to withdraw.
---
Inside the moving train, Klaire was sound asleep. Despite her wariness of Eric, fatigue had eventually overtaken her; now she rested peacefully with a stranger in her room.
"Your Highness," came Hugon's voice.
Alaric gazed at the slumbering Lunette on the bed. How could she be asleep, he wondered, a creepy smile creeping onto his lips.
"Why did you opt for the train? We could have escaped through an alternate route without raising any suspicion?" Hugon queried.
Alaric replied, "I wanted to see what she was going to do next. Hugon, do you know what she told me? She claimed her name was Klaire and that she was merely a merchant going about her day when she was abruptly kidnapped—even though I orchestrated the whole thing. Does she truly have no idea what her father was doing behind those close door? Or is it all just an act?" he chuckled.
Hugon was equally baffled. "Lady Lunette is a sly and cunning person; she's likely attempting to deceive us."
Alaric smiled and rose from his chair, moving closer to the sleeping figure, leaning in, "An act or not, I'll confirm it myself."
Hugon remained silent. Lady Lunette—this woman reeked of malice; she embodied wickedness, just like her nefarious father. The prince was only 20 when Count Zadimous captured him. It was all a coincidence -- the prince was fleeing from the Empress's attempted assassination and somehow ended up in the hand of the count. Hugon vividly remembered how, upon his escape, the prince's body was marred with scars and bruises, his hair disheveled from the brutal sword cuts inflicted by Lady Lunette. She transformed him into a shell of a man and drained life from him. After escaping the Count, the prince developed disgust toward humanity. For whatever reason, the Prince's awakening was delayed till his 21st birthday. Although the external scars had healed post-awakening, the internal wounds in his heart were still apparent. Lady Lunette had been diabolical from a young age. Hugon felt a need to protect the prince from her, yet, ironically, it feels like Lunette is the one in danger.
"Something else on your mind?" Alaric inquired, still aware of Hugon's presence in the room. Despite the curtain masking Lunette's delicate body from Hugon's view, Alaric felt disturbed by his presence, especially with Lunette dressed so lightly.
Hugon replied, "It's His Majesty. The elders and nobles are clamoring for the candidacy of the Crown Princess, particularly with His Majesty in such a vulnerable state."
Alaric tenderly brushed his fingers across Lunette's serene face, muttering, "Those relentless old codgers can't wait to shove their daughters into my arms—disgusting."
"The competition's been announced already; news will circulate in no days," Hugon said.
"The selection is only for the first-born, right?" Alaric asked.
"Indeed, Your Highness. This rule was established by the Empress. I suspect it involves Lady Seraphina," Hugon answered.
"Let's revise it to include all unmarried noblewomen; I'm sure that would please most of them," Alaric suggested with a sly smile.
And just like that, Hugon departed.
Alaric's gaze fixated on Lunette's face. A part of him yearned to strangle her, while another part advised against such folly.
At first, he only wanted to see what she was up to, but upon seeing her reaction, he felt the urge to tease her.
Ever since his escape from Count Zadimous, his life transformed drastically; he became adversarial toward humanity, even the slightest touch igniting rage within him, yet strangely, he relished it whenever Lunette's hands brushed against him.
He took Lunette's hand in his, toying with her delicate palm. Bringing her soft fingers to his lips, he slowly enveloped them in his mouth, playfully biting down just enough to evoke a wince from her. He chuckled at her endearing response.
He loathed her, and yet here he was, tenderly handling her fragile fingers. Is this what people call "obsession"?
Obsession, Alaric smirked; how could he be obsessed with someone who had transformed him into this? He must be utterly mad, huh.