The cool night air brushes against my skin as I lean on the marble railing, trying to shake off the tension of the banquet. Alex, still recovering from my well-placed kick, laughs softly beside me, his hand resting on his stomach.
"You didn't hold back, did you?" he says, a smile tugging at his lips.
"You deserved it," I reply, smirking. "Next time, keep your hands to yourself."
Alex straightens, adjusting his jacket with exaggerated care, as though trying to salvage his dignity. "Noted," he says lightly, though his green eyes are warm and amused.
The garden below glitters under the moonlight, its soft glow reaching us even out here. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The quiet between us feels comfortable, like a shield against the noise of the banquet behind us.
"You know," Alex says after a while, his tone more serious than I expect, "I've already decided who I want to marry."
I glance at him, startled by the abruptness of his words. "That's... sudden," I say cautiously. "What's the rush? You're not exactly old."
He chuckles, the sound softer now. "I don't think it's about age, Vee. Sometimes you just know."
I blink, not sure how to respond. Alex isn't usually this serious—it's throwing me off. "Well, good for you," I say, keeping my voice casual. "I hope she knows what she's signing up for. You're not exactly a walk in the park."
He laughs, but there's something different about it this time, something gentler. "I think she can handle me."
The way he says it makes my chest tighten slightly, though I can't explain why. "So, who is she?" I ask, hoping to steer the conversation into safer territory.
Alex looks at me, his gaze steady and... warm. For a moment, I forget to breathe.
"She's someone I trust," he says quietly, "someone who makes me feel like I can be better just by being around her. She's strong, funny, and doesn't let me get away with anything."
I frown, trying to piece together his words. "Sounds like you're putting her on a pedestal. Be careful—people can fall off those."
Alex grins at that, his usual mischievousness returning. "Maybe. But I'm willing to catch her if she does."
His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, and I can't shake the feeling that there's something he's not saying.
Before I can overthink it, Alex leans against the railing beside me, tilting his head back to look at the stars. "It's nice out here," he murmurs, his voice soft. "Peaceful."
"Yeah," I say quietly, looking out at the city again. "It is."
We stay like that for a while, side by side under the moonlight, the chaos of the banquet fading into the background. Whatever Alex is thinking, whatever he's not saying, it feels like it can wait. For now, the quiet is enough.
The banquet finally ends, and I feel like I've been dragged through ten rounds of battle. My legs ache from standing in heels all night, my cheeks hurt from forced smiles, and my head is pounding from all the insincere flattery and veiled jabs. All I want is to collapse in my bed and forget this night ever happened.
As I trudge down the hallway toward my chambers, the heavy skirts of my gown trailing behind me, a familiar, gentle presence greets me.
"Welcome back, my lady," Lily says with a soft smile. Her long brown hair is tied neatly, the straught hair framing her kind face. Her blue eyes shine with a calm warmth, like she somehow knows how exhausted I am and is silently telling me it's okay.
"Lily," I sigh, relieved to see her. "I'm ready to drop. I don't even think I have the energy to take this gown off."
She chuckles lightly, stepping closer to me. "You've worked hard tonight, my lady. Let me help you."
I let her guide me into my chambers, her steady hands easing the weight of the evening off my shoulders. She unties the intricate ribbons at the back of my gown, her movements efficient yet gentle.
"Was it as dreadful as you expected?" she asks, a hint of amusement in her tone.
"Worse," I groan, sitting on the edge of the bed as she helps me out of the ridiculous layers. "If I had to hear one more noble drone on about alliances or trade deals, I might have thrown my drink at them."
She laughs softly at that, her gentle demeanor never faltering. "I'm glad you didn't, my lady. Though, if you had, I would've made sure the wine was of the finest vintage."
That earns a tired chuckle from me. Lily always knows how to lift my spirits, even when I feel completely drained.
Once I'm finally free of the gown and dressed in a simple nightgown, Lily brushes out my hair, her fingers deft but soothing. I close my eyes, letting the repetitive motion calm the buzzing in my mind.
"Thank you, Lily," I murmur.
She pauses for a moment, then rests a hand lightly on my shoulder. "You don't need to thank me, my lady. It's my honor to take care of you."
Her words are simple but sincere, and I feel a flicker of warmth in my chest.
"Still," I say, opening my eyes to meet her gaze. "Thank you. I'd lose my mind without you."
Her smile widens slightly, a small but genuine expression. "Rest now, my lady. Good night." And with that Lily leaves.
Two more years pass, and I've grown into myself—or so the whispers say. My reflection shows a version of me that is both familiar and startling: my silver hair shines like silk, cascading just past my shoulders, and my red eyes seem sharper, more striking. It's odd to hear people call me beautiful or even gorgeous. I never really cared about those things, but now, they cling to me like a label I can't shake off.
At sixteen, I feel the weight of expectations more than ever. Lady Ellie still visits often, bringing her lively energy and endless chatter, but Alex? He visits less.
He's seventeen now, and in a year, he'll inherit the position of Archduke. His time is consumed by studies, councils, and preparation for the enormous responsibility awaiting him. I tell myself it's fine, that it's natural, but when he does visit, it's... different.
Our sparring matches, though less frequent, are more intense. His skill has only improved, while I've plateaued. I used to think I could keep up with him, maybe even beat him one day, but now I always lose. Every. Single. Time.
And every single time, without fail, he grins down at me from above—smug, infuriating, and undeniably handsome.
"A deal's a deal, Vee," he says, leaning closer, his tone annoyingly playful. "You owe me a kiss."
I groan, half in irritation, half in defeat. "I never agreed to this deal," I mutter, but it doesn't matter.
His cheek is already angled toward me, that stupid grin plastered across his face. And so, with my dignity in shreds, I lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek, feeling my face heat up.
If Dad or Izek ever find out, Alex would be so dead.
The mere thought of their reactions makes me shudder. I can practically hear Izek shouting, "You're kissing who?!" And Dad? He'd have Alex running for his life faster than you can say "execution."
"You're lucky Dad and Izek don't know about this," I grumble, stepping back and crossing my arms.
Alex chuckles, standing and brushing himself off like nothing just happened. "I'm not worried," he says breezily. "They like me too much to kill me."
I scoff, narrowing my eyes. "Oh, really? Let's see how much they like you after I tell them what's been going on."
He winks, taking a step closer. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
He laughs, that warm, infuriating sound that somehow makes my heart race every time. "You're adorable when you're threatening me, Vee."
I scowl, grabbing my practice sword and pointing it at him. "Get out of my sight, Archduke-to-be, before I decide to make good on my threats."
Alex raises his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Alright, alright. I'll leave you be—for now. But don't think you're off the hook for next time."
As he walks away, I feel my face heat up again. Stupid Alex and his stupid grin. Why does he always win?
I shake my head, trying to focus. But as I touch my lips absently, I know one thing for sure: no matter how much I try to deny it, Alex has a way of always getting under my skin. And maybe—just maybe—I don't mind as much as I let on.
We're in the guest room, sprawled across the plush velvet chairs. Or at least I'm sprawled, comfortably sinking into the cushions with a tray of sweets in front of me. Alex, meanwhile, sits with the stiff elegance of someone who's too used to proper posture.
Not that I care. I'm busy devouring the macarons, each bite a burst of sugary bliss. Alex doesn't even glance at the tray, his hands resting idly on his lap.
"You're seriously not going to have any?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as I reach for another macaron.
"You know I don't like sweets," he replies, leaning back and watching me with amusement.
"More for me, then." I shrug, popping the macaron into my mouth.
He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "You're hopeless."
We fall into a companionable silence for a moment, the only sound being my occasional crunch or contented hum. Then, out of nowhere, Alex speaks.
"I've been getting a lot of marriage invitations lately."
I pause mid-chew, glancing at him. He's staring at the ceiling, his expression unreadable.
"Okay," I say after swallowing, reaching for another macaron. "And?"
"And I've been ignoring them."
"Uh-huh," I reply, not entirely sure why he's telling me this. I'm not particularly interested in his marriage prospects—or lack thereof. My focus is on the next macaron, this one with a perfect swirl of raspberry cream.
Alex sighs dramatically, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "You're not even curious?"
"About what?" I ask, finally looking at him.
"Why I'm ignoring them."
I roll my eyes, setting the macaron down and giving him my full attention, though my tone remains teasing. "Okay, fine. Why are you ignoring them, oh mighty Archduke-to-be?"
His gaze flicks to mine, a hint of something serious beneath his usual playful demeanor. "Because I already know who I want to marry."
I blink, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. "Oh."
For a brief moment, I feel a strange flutter in my chest, but I push it away. It's none of my business.
"Well, good for you," I say lightly, picking up another macaron. "I hope she says yes."
Alex just smiles, that infuriatingly knowing smile of his, and leans back in his chair. "We'll see."
I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious. "Why do you look so smug?"
"No reason," he says, his voice annoyingly casual.
I huff, deciding it's not worth the effort to push him further. If he wants to keep his secrets, fine. I have macarons, and they're far more satisfying than whatever mind games Alex is trying to play.
I'm happily devouring another macaron when Alex suddenly leans forward, closing the space between us. My hand freezes midair, holding half a macaron, as his face gets far too close for comfort.
"Hold still," he murmurs, his tone soft but laced with that teasing edge I know too well.
Before I can ask what he's doing, his thumb brushes against my cheek. The unexpected contact sends a jolt through me, and I jerk back, almost knocking over the tray of sweets.
"What are you doing?!" I yelp, my voice coming out embarrassingly high-pitched.
He leans back in his chair, completely unbothered, holding up his thumb with a small dollop of cream. "You had macaron cream on your cheek," he says, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
I blink, heat rushing to my face. "I—I can wipe my own face, thank you very much!"
"Clearly not," he says, smirking. "You were too focused on inhaling the macarons to notice."
"I was enjoying them," I huff, crossing my arms and glaring at him.
"Enjoying them like a child who's never had sweets before," he teases, popping his thumb into his mouth to lick off the cream.
I stare at him, scandalized. "Alex!"
"What?" he says innocently, though the mischievous glint in his eyes gives him away.
I groan, slumping back into my chair and grabbing another macaron just to distract myself. "I swear, you're insufferable."
He chuckles, watching me with that maddeningly amused expression as I defiantly bite into the macaron. "And yet, you'd miss me if I stopped visiting."
I don't dignify that with a response, focusing instead on my sweets. But I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips, even as my cheeks remain warm.
I hate how Alex has a point, because when I think of it, he's my only friend.
I pause mid-bite, Alex's smug words bouncing around in my head. You'd miss me if I stopped visiting.
Would I?
I glance at him, sitting there all proud of himself, like he's just won some grand prize. He's lounging back in his chair, arms crossed, with that irritatingly perfect grin. I squint at him, trying to figure out why that statement is bothering me so much.
And then it hits me.
Alex is my only friend.
I freeze, mid-chew. The macaron in my mouth suddenly feels like it's turned to ash.
What? How? When?
I look down at the tray of macarons, as if they might hold the answer. They don't. This is a disaster. This absolute buffoon—this insufferable, smug, ridiculous Alex—is the closest thing I have to a friend?
No, no, no, no. There's been some mistake. I can't have let him become my only friend. I've sparred with him, argued with him, kicked him in the stomach, for heaven's sake! Friends don't do that... do they?
"What's with the face?" Alex interrupts my internal crisis, leaning forward. "Don't tell me you're finally out of room for macarons."
I stare at him, dumbfounded. Out of room for macarons? He thinks that's the problem?
"Vee?" He's grinning now, clearly entertained by my silence. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
I shake my head, trying to snap out of it. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
"You sure? You look like you've just realized something life-altering. Did you finally accept that I'm better than you at sparring?"
I blink at him, and the absurdity of the situation washes over me. This guy. This idiot is my only friend.
I grab another macaron and stuff it in my mouth to avoid answering, but Alex doesn't stop watching me, his grin widening.
"You're weird today," he says, leaning back with a smirk. "But I guess that's why I like hanging out with you."
I nearly choke on the macaron. Oh no. It's worse than I thought.
After a week of stewing over the horrifying revelation that Alex, of all people, is my only friend, I decide it's time to take action. No longer will I be shackled to this ridiculous, insufferable archduke-in-training! I need more friends. Real friends. Noble lady friends.
So, for the first time in my life, I do the unthinkable: I attend a noble ladies' tea party.
It's hosted in one of the grand estates on the east side of town, the kind with too many fountains and not enough charm. The garden is perfectly manicured, the table is lavishly set with the finest porcelain, and the air is thick with floral perfume and… something else. Something foul.
The smiles.
All the ladies are smiling at me, but it's the kind of smile you give when you've found a spider in your shoes but are trying to keep your composure. They're dressed to the nines, their hair perfectly coiffed, their dresses dripping with jewels. They look perfect. But the second I sit down, I realize something is very, very wrong.
The conversation starts innocently enough.
"Oh, Lady Vee, you look so lovely today! Is that gown from Lady Elara's boutique?"
"Yes, it is," I reply, feeling oddly proud.
"Oh, how wonderful. Though I heard her latest designs are starting to look… a bit dated, don't you think?"
Wait, what?
Before I can even process the insult veiled as a compliment, another lady chimes in.
"And your hair, Lady Vee! Such a unique color. It's so exotic. My maid tried a similar dye once, but it didn't suit her."
Exotic? My natural hair color is "exotic"? And why does it sound like they just compared me to a badly dyed maid?
It gets worse from there.
"Oh, Lady Vee, do tell us about your sparring sessions with Lord Alex," one lady says with a sickly-sweet smile. "We've heard you're quite… spirited. Such a shame men don't usually prefer women who are too strong, don't you think?"
My brain short-circuits. Are they serious?
And then the pièce de résistance:
"You must be so excited for Lord Alex's upcoming inheritance," one of them whispers conspiratorially. "I mean, we all know he's likely to marry someone of high standing soon. I do wonder who the lucky lady will be…"
They all turn to look at me.
Oh no.
This isn't a tea party. This is a den of vipers.
I sit there, plastering a polite smile on my face as they lob subtle insults, backhanded compliments, and nosy questions at me, all while sipping their tea like it's the nectar of the gods.
One lady, with hair so tightly curled it looks like a sheep's wool, leans forward. "Lady Vee, do tell us about your unique combat training. How fascinating it must be to see a woman of your… delicate build attempting such rigorous activities."
The saccharine tone drips into my ears, and I barely hold back a snort. My delicate build could toss her over the garden wall if I wanted.
Another lady, dressed in enough silk to upholster a fleet of carriages, adds, "Yes, it's so admirable. I'm sure it's a refreshing change for the men to see someone… unconventional. Wouldn't you agree, Lady Vee?"
The other ladies titter, their laughter like nails on a chalkboard.
I look down at my teacup, imagining it's the smirking face of the one speaking. My grip tightens. I could smash it right now and be done with this farce. But no, I can do better than that.
I glance at the teapot sitting in the center of the table. It's been untouched all afternoon, overshadowed by the more exotic blends the hostess proudly announced earlier. Perfect.
With a smile sweeter than anything I've ever worn before, I rise to my feet. "Oh, ladies, forgive me. I've been so rude. I just realized no one's had a chance to try this delightful lavender tea. Allow me to pour."
Before anyone can protest, I snatch the pot and begin filling their dainty porcelain cups. They try to refuse, of course, but I insist, my smile never wavering.
"Oh, you must try it," I coo, practically shoving a cup into Sheep Hair's hands. "It's my absolute favorite blend. I swear it's… unforgettable."
The ladies exchange wary glances, but etiquette demands they comply. One by one, they sip the tea.
The first reaction is subtle—a little scratch of the throat, a tiny cough. Then comes the redness, spreading like wildfire across their porcelain skin. One lady's lip quivers, her eyes wide as she clutches her teacup like a lifeline.
"What… what's in this tea?" she croaks.
"Oh," I say innocently, twirling a lock of my hair. "It's a very special blend. Lavender, chamomile… and just a hint of almond extract. Isn't it divine?"
The collective gasp is music to my ears.
"You used almond?" one lady shrieks, clawing at her neck as hives blossom like a cursed bouquet. "I'm allergic!"
"Oh dear," I say, my voice dripping with faux concern. "I had no idea. You poor things!"
By now, the garden is in chaos. Ladies are fanning themselves, itching furiously, or outright fleeing to find the nearest healer. The hostess is sputtering apologies, and I—well, I'm just standing there, sipping my own (completely harmless) cup of tea, basking in the disaster I've wrought.
When the last of the noble vipers stumbles away, I set my cup down with a satisfied sigh.
No new friends today, but honestly? Totally worth it.
When I get home, I barely make it through the grand doors before I'm ushered into the parlor. Mom and Dad are already seated, their expressions caught somewhere between stern and… something else entirely.
"Vee," Mom starts, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Would you care to explain why the our household has been bombarded with letters from nearly every noble lady who attended today's tea party?"
"Bombarded," Dad echoes, his voice deep and commanding—if you ignore the slight twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
I shrug, attempting my best innocent face. "It was just a… slight misunderstanding. How was I supposed to know they were all allergic to almonds?"
Mom raises an eyebrow, but it's clear she's holding back a smile. "A misunderstanding, is it? Because the letters describe it more as a calculated act of vengeance."
I open my mouth to protest, but Dad cuts in, leaning forward. "Calculated? That's a strong word," he says, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Were the tea leaves hand-selected? Did she boil the water to the perfect temperature? I wonder…"
"Darling," Mom says, her tone a warning, though her lips are twitching.
Dad shrugs, sitting back with an amused glint in his eyes. "I'm just saying. If she put that much effort into it, maybe we should be proud of her initiative."
"Proud?" Mom echoes, though she doesn't sound the least bit scandalized. "She gave half the noble ladies in the capital hives!"
"And weeded out the disloyal ones," Dad counters with a smirk.
I blink. "Wait, what?"
Mom sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, though I catch her lips twitching too. "What your father means is that while your methods were… excessive—"
"Brilliant," Dad interrupts, earning a glare.
"Excessive," Mom continues firmly, "we're not entirely displeased with the results."
I can't help but stare. "So… am I in trouble or not?"
Mom gives me a pointed look, but the warmth in her gaze betrays her. "You're grounded for a week. No sparring with Alex."
"What?!"
Dad clears his throat. "Except for lessons, of course," he amends.
Mom narrows her eyes at him. "She's grounded, Alaric."
Dad raises his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. No sparring. But," he adds, turning to me with a grin, "you handled yourself well today. Sometimes, Vee, nobility means knowing how to fight battles without swords. Just… perhaps next time, fewer allergens."
Mom groans, but I can see she's trying not to laugh.
As I leave the room, pretending to sulk, I hear Mom mutter, "She really is your daughter, isn't she?"
And Dad's proud, unapologetic laugh is the last thing I hear.
The soft murmur of voices drifts up from the estate's main hall, and I know exactly who's here without even looking. Alex. And Lady Ellie, of course. Normally, the thought of Alex showing up would make me want to immediately prepare some snarky comment or maybe a sparring match where I'd inevitably lose—but for some reason, today, the idea makes my stomach do an annoyingly excited little flip.
I groan, flopping onto my bed dramatically, the silk of my blankets muffling my voice. "Why am I like this?" I ask the ceiling, as if it might have the answers. Of course, the ceiling, being an inanimate object, offers no advice. Rude.
I roll over onto my side, the faint chatter downstairs reminding me of why I'm stuck in here sulking like a grounded child—which, I suppose, is exactly what I am. Forcing noble ladies to drink hive-inducing tea apparently warrants a "time-out" in my parents' eyes. They should have thanked me, honestly. Those women were practically toxic waste with hair and petticoats.
But no, I'm confined to my chambers while Alex is downstairs. Alex, with his dumb smirks and his stupid habit of winning every sparring match, and his—ugh—sparkly green eyes that definitely don't look unfairly good when the light hits them just right. Not that I notice. Ever.
I groan again and bury my face in a pillow, but the stupid excitement bubbling in my chest refuses to die down. I actually wanted to see him. Like, genuinely wanted to. I wanted to hear him tease me, watch him pretend to dislike sweets while sneaking bites of mine, and maybe, maybe, sneak in a cheek kiss like always.
I bolt upright. "Wait."
The realization smacks me like a ton of bricks. "I was looking forward to seeing Alex?" My voice cracks halfway through the sentence, which is appropriate because I am clearly losing my mind.
I slap my forehead hard, then immediately regret it because ow. "What is wrong with me?" I mutter, pacing the room like a lunatic. "He's an idiot. A smug, infuriating, obnoxiously attractive—wait, no, stop that thought right there—idiot."
But no matter how much I try to convince myself that Alex is just the same annoying boy who's been bothering me for years, the truth is painfully clear: I was excited to see him. Alex.
I flop back onto the bed with a groan, glaring at the ceiling again. "This is your fault," I grumble at it, as if it has somehow orchestrated this disaster.
If this is what liking someone feels like, I think I'd rather go back to forcing hive-inducing tea down noblewomen's throats.
The imperial ball is a masterpiece of excess, glittering chandeliers, endless fountains of wine, and noble sycophants flitting around like moths drawn to a flame. My final debut, they call it. A celebration of my grace, beauty, and impeccable role as the Emperor's precious soon to be daughter in law.
What a load of crap.
I tug at the hem of my crimson gown, my annoyance simmering beneath the mask of poise I wear so well. My silver hair shimmers under the lights, cascading like a waterfall over my shoulders, and my scarlet eyes scan the room with quiet disdain. Even though so many years have passed, the vermin in the noble's eyes, it's still there.
The Emperor's gaze bores into me from across the grand hall. Beside him sits the Crown Prince, Valerian, looking every bit the insufferable peacock. His golden hair is perfectly coiffed, his icy blue eyes filled with haughty entitlement. To the crowd, he's a vision of imperial perfection. To me, he's just another arrogant pest.
All night, the same demand echoes around me, carried by envoys, whispered by nobles, and eventually spoken directly by the Emperor himself: Marry the Crown Prince. Secure the empire's future.
Each time, I offer the same answer. "No."
Valerian corners me during one of the dances, a smug smile plastered on his face. "You'll come around," he drawls, twirling me like I'm some prize he's already won. "Everyone does. Who could refuse someone like me?"
I stare at him, my expression flat. "Apparently me," I say sweetly before stomping on his foot. Hard.
He hisses in pain, but I'm already gone, sweeping out of the ballroom toward the gardens.
The Emperor finds me there, his golden robes practically glowing under the moonlight. His voice is sharp, edged with impatience. "Enough games, Vee. You will marry Valerian. It is your duty to the empire."
And just like that, something inside me snaps.
I turn to face him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. "My duty? To what? To you? To this corrupt, suffocating empire?" I step closer, my voice cold and sharp. "I owe you nothing. You took me in, molded me into your perfect little puppet, and now you expect me to sacrifice my future for your throne? No. Never."
The Emperor's face darkens with rage, his voice rising. "You insolent—"
He doesn't get to finish the sentence.
The next morning, the imperial palace is buzzing with fear. Mounted high on the gates, in plain view of the city, are two heads: the Emperor's and Valerian's.
The sight is gruesome, yes, but also fitting. Beneath them hangs a sign, my handwriting clear for all to see:
"Consider this my resignation."
The throne room is a scene of chaos: blood streaks the marble floor, the Emperor's headless body slumps on the golden throne, and the crown prince lies beside him, equally lifeless. The imperial sword feels heavier in my hand now that my rage has ebbed, leaving me standing in the aftermath of my very bad, no good, spur-of-the-moment decisions.
The grand doors burst open, and my entire family floods in. Father strides forward first, his usual commanding presence marred by wide-eyed shock. Mother's heels clatter against the floor as she clutches her skirts, Theo and Fiona trailing behind her with matching expressions of confusion. Izek doesn't bother walking—he's literally floating, crackling with magical energy like he's ready to smite someone.
"Vee, what exactly have you done?" Father demands, his voice booming.
I take a deep breath, planting the sword in front of me like a royal proclamation. "What I had to, Father. The Emperor and Valerian were... obstructive."
Mother gasps, hand flying to her chest. "Obstructive? You cut their heads off!"
"They wouldn't stop trying to marry me off to Valerian," I say, as though that's a reasonable justification. "This seemed... efficient."
"Efficient?!" Theo sputters, while Fiona leans over to whisper, "Honestly, it's kind of badass."
"Fiona!" Mother snaps, scandalized.
Izek lands with an unnecessarily dramatic thud, magic still sparking from his fingertips. "You know, Vee, I usually enjoy chaos. But even I'm questioning your life choices right now."
"You'll get over it," I retort, brushing some blood off my sleeve. "Besides, I already have a solution."
Father narrows his eyes suspiciously. "What sort of solution?"
I point the imperial sword at him, grinning like I've just solved the kingdom's most complex puzzle. "Dad. You're going to be the new Emperor."
The silence that follows is deafening. Everyone stares at me like I've just announced I'm marrying a duck.
Father blinks. "What?"
"You heard me," I say, stepping closer. "You've already been running the empire from behind the scenes. Now you can do it officially."
*By this line Vee means that Alaric often secretly did work for the Emperor as his Shdow, but now he doesn't have to hide anymore and can do it openly. Alaric is extremely tactful because of which he is-or I suppose-was useful to the Emperor.*
"I am not ruling an empire," he says, crossing his arms. "I am a Duke, not some pompous royal."
"You've been telling pompous royals what to do for years," I point out. "What's the difference?"
"The difference is-," he starts, only for Theo to cut in, "She's got a point, Dad. You're basically Emperor already, just without the fancy crown."
Fiona nods enthusiastically. "And the crown would really suit you."
Father glares at them, but Mother steps forward, her expression softening as she places a hand on his arm. "Alaric, maybe this is... fate. You would be a good Emperor."
"Elara, not you too," he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Just accept it, Dad," Izek chimes in, lazily conjuring a glowing crown made of light and dropping it onto Father's head. "Look, you're halfway there already."
"Take that off," Father growls, swiping at the crown, which dissolves into sparks.
"You're perfect for this," I insist, gesturing dramatically at him. "You're strong, fair, and everyone already listens to you. Plus, I refuse to do it, so you don't have a choice."
"You do have a certain imperial presence," Fiona says thoughtfully.
Father sighs deeply, like a man who's realized he can't win against his entire family. "I hate all of you," he mutters, but he steps toward the throne anyway, grumbling the whole way.
As he approaches, Izek flicks his wrist, magically cleaning the blood off the golden seat. "There. Good as new."
Father sits down reluctantly, gripping the armrests like they might bite him. "If I do this," he says, glaring at all of us, "it's under protest. And there will be rules."
"Like no decapitating people during negotiations?" I ask innocently.
His glare intensifies. "Especially that."
Mother clasps her hands together, looking oddly proud despite the carnage. "Well, this is certainly a... memorable way to ascend to the throne."
The news spreads like wildfire, igniting every corner of the empire with scandal and disbelief. "The Emperor is dead!" the whispers begin, carried from palace halls to the farthest villages. "The Crown Prince too! And it was the Imperial Princess who did it!"
By the time the details emerge—how I personally beheaded the Emperor and Valerian before forcing my father to take the throne—half the empire is convinced I'm a bloodthirsty warlord, while the other half reverently whispers that I've rid them of tyrants.
In marketplaces, vendors gleefully gossip over the drama. "Did you hear? She forced General Alaric into becoming Emperor! Can you imagine the look on his face?" one woman cackles, slapping her knee.
"Rumor has it she told him, 'You're perfect for this,' while holding the imperial sword like some sort of royal executioner," another man chimes in, awestruck.
Meanwhile, nobles in their gilded parlors are utterly scandalized. "She what?" Lady Ascelia shrieks, nearly spilling her wine. "The Imperial Princess took matters into her own hands? Unthinkable!"
Lord Remiel, lounging lazily in his armchair, smirks. "Honestly, Ascelia, it sounds like something you'd do if you had the spine."
"Remiel, don't be vulgar," she snaps, though her face is tinged with reluctant admiration.
Back at the palace, the family takes the explosive spread of news in stride—or at least, most of us do.
Theo bounds into the newly appointed Emperor Alaric's study, clutching a stack of letters. "Father! You've got thirty marriage proposals in the last hour. Apparently, 'new Emperor' is very in vogue."
Father glares at him over the rim of his glasses. "Out."
I lounge nearby, shamelessly eating a tart as I watch the chaos unfold. "Don't worry, Dad," I say, smirking. "You're a hot commodity now."
"You are the reason for this mess," he growls, rubbing his temples.
"I think you're handling it beautifully," I retort, propping my chin on my hand. "And besides, the empire needed a shake-up."
Mother walks in, regal and composed as always. "Shake-up, indeed. The southern dukes are practically worshipping Vee as a goddess of justice. The northern lords, however…" She trails off, raising an elegant eyebrow.
"Let me guess," I say, taking another bite of my tart. "They want me exiled? Or executed?"
"Both," Mother replies smoothly, though her lips twitch in amusement.
"I'd like to see them try," Izek says, entering the room with an apple in hand, casually conjuring a ball of fire in the other. "They'd need to get through me first."
"Me too!" Fiona adds, poking her head in. "They'd regret it instantly."
Father groans, leaning back in his chair. "This family is going to be the death of me."
"You mean the life of the empire," I say, grinning shamelessly.
As the empire reels from the upheaval, I can't help but feel a spark of satisfaction. Sure, I've turned the realm on its head, but isn't that what legends are made of?
Let them whisper, let them argue—I've done what needed to be done. The empire is ours now, and chaos or not, we're going to rule it our way.
The moment Father ascends to the throne—reluctantly, of course, after a day-long debate filled with grumbling, protests, and an impressive amount of facepalming—the first person to kneel before us and pledge unwavering loyalty is Alex.
Of course, he does it with that infuriatingly confident smirk of his, looking every inch the Archduke he has become. Three years ago, he inherited his title, and his parents retired to a peaceful countryside estate, leaving him to manage the vast lands and responsibilities on his own. Naturally, Alex thrived.
Now, at 21, he's practically the picture of nobility. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that silky black hair always perfectly disheveled as though styled by a team of invisible winds, and those piercing green eyes that somehow seem both playful and calculating. Damn him.
And don't get me started on the marriage proposals. The number of highborn ladies who've tried to snag him is staggering, but Alex has rejected every single one without even batting an eye. His reasons remain maddeningly mysterious.
"Your Majesty," Alex says smoothly, bowing low before Father. His voice is rich and calm, but there's that ever-present spark of mischief dancing behind his words. "As Archduke of the Empire, I pledge my eternal loyalty to the Emperor, the Imperial Princess"—he glances at me for a beat longer than necessary, smirking slightly—"and the royal family."
Father sighs, looking exhausted by the formalities. "You've been loyal for years, Alex. This is unnecessary."
"It's tradition," Alex counters, straightening and flashing his most charming smile. "And besides, it's only right to honor the new Emperor properly."
Mother, standing beside Father with her usual serene grace, chuckles softly. "He's quite the diplomat, isn't he?"
"Too much," I mutter under my breath, glaring at Alex. He meets my gaze, his smile widening as though he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
"Oh, don't look so sour, Vee," Alex teases, stepping closer. "You should be thrilled. The empire's in good hands now, and I'm still here to keep you company. Aren't you lucky?"
"Lucky?" I scoff, crossing my arms. "I should've sent you to the countryside with your parents."
"You'd miss me," he replies without hesitation, his confidence unshakable.
I roll my eyes but can't entirely suppress the warmth creeping into my cheeks. Damn him again.
As Alex takes his place among the court, seamlessly blending charm and power, I can't help but notice how natural he looks in this role. It's maddening, really, how someone can grow more infuriating and more handsome at the same time.
And worse yet, he's still the only person who can pull a genuine smile out of me even when I don't want to give him the satisfaction.
The next three years become a game—one that's far more entertaining for Alex than it is for me. With him constantly lurking around the palace, looking annoyingly perfect, I find myself coming up with increasingly ridiculous ways to try to get rid of him. Not that I want him dead, really... mostly. But he's a pain, always showing up with that infuriating smile and his unshakable confidence, and I just can't resist the urge to wipe it off his face.
The first attempt is simple. Poison in his wine. It's my go-to, and I'm careful, slipping a drop of the strongest sleeping draught into his goblet during one of Father's banquets. The plan is flawless—Alex takes a sip, and within minutes, he'll be out cold. Perfect for sneaking him into the deepest dungeon of the palace.
Except...
The idiot drinks from the glass and, without missing a beat, swirls it around before turning to me.
"Is this your idea of an apology for last week?" he asks with a smirk, his fingers twirling the glass like a fine wine connoisseur. "Because, honestly, the poison's not my favorite, Vee."
And just like that, I realize—he's been drinking from the wrong glass. He never touched the one I'd spiked. How? Why?
"You knew?" I growl, slamming my hands on the table.
"Of course, I did." He winks, leaning closer. "You think I don't notice your little tricks? I see everything, princess."
I could strangle him right there, but I don't. I don't have the time. Instead, I stomp off in frustration, plotting my next move.
The next try is even more creative. I arrange for a wild boar hunt—on horseback, of course—and insist that Alex join. As I expected, he's eager to show off his incredible skill with a bow. The idea is to get him alone in the woods, somewhere out of sight of the rest of the hunters. A quick, well-aimed arrow, and voilà, problem solved.
Except...
He's too good. Not only does he outshoot me—again—but he manages to casually leap over a log while my horse goes full panic mode, and as I tumble off my saddle into a thorn bush, he turns to me with that devilish grin.
"Need a hand?"
I can feel my blood boil as I pick myself out of the thorns, brushing dirt off my dress, seething.
"This is getting ridiculous." I mutter, rubbing my head. "You're impossible."
"That's what you love about me." His smug voice echoes through the woods.
By now, I'm starting to think Alex might actually be impervious to anything I try. Every time I think I've outsmarted him, he turns it around on me. He doesn't even have to try anymore—he just knows. It's like he's always one step ahead, which, frankly, is starting to get on my nerves.
Still, there's always something satisfying about plotting, even if it never quite works out. So I keep at it. My third attempt involves the palace gardens, and a whole bunch of carefully laid traps with slippery floors and hidden pitfalls. I watch from the window, waiting for him to step right into one of them, but just as he enters the garden...
He stops.
Looks around.
And then, with that damnable laugh of his, steps around every single trap I set.
"Well, that was cute, Vee." He calls out, catching me spying. "You should consider a career in gardening. Though, I'd be careful with those roses—someone could get pricked."
And then, just to top it off, he casually hops onto one of the benches and waits for me to come down. His smirk is wide, his green eyes gleaming.
I'm this close to throwing a rosebush at him.
It's a strange, frustrating thing, this game between us. I don't know if I want to strangle him or kiss him or—actually, that's just it. He's always teasing me, always making me want to lash out. And every failed attempt just makes me want to try again.
Because, let's face it, when you're constantly failing to get rid of someone, there's only one conclusion left to make: they're not just annoying... they're probably the most interesting person in the room. And it kills me to admit that.
It's late, and after another failed attempt to end Alex's reign in my life, I collapse onto my bed, letting out an exaggerated sigh. I'm done. Seriously. I mean, he's literally impossible to kill. Literally. I've tried everything: poison, traps, sneak attacks... nothing works. It's like the guy has some kind of sixth sense that warns him every time I plan something. How? How?!
And then, as if the universe itself is mocking me, I hear it. That familiar rustling sound—the one that can only mean one thing: Alex's here.
I sit up so fast I nearly knock myself off the bed. But before I can even start yelling, I hear his voice.
"You're giving up on me, Vee?"
I freeze. My brain momentarily shuts down, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. I turn around slowly, and there he is. Alex. In my room. Leaning casually against the doorframe, looking like he just walked out of a romantic novel.
"Where did you even come from?!" I demand, already exasperated. Seriously, how does he sneak in so effortlessly? It's the goddamn Imperial Palace.
"I've been here for a while," he replies nonchalantly, eyes twinkling with mischief. "I like to make an entrance."
He steps closer, and my heart stops. Great, now I'm really in trouble. He's getting too close—too close for comfort. But before I can even protest, his hand shoots out, and he grabs my chin, tilting my head up to face him.
"Not gonna lie, I'm kind of disappointed," he says in a smooth, almost teasing tone. "I thought you liked a challenge, Vee. But it seems like you're just giving up on me."
My breath hitches, and I swear I feel my heart do a flip. Is he flirting with me right now? What in the world is going on?
His body cages me in, and the heat from him is absolutely unbearable. His breath is warm against my skin, his fingers still holding my chin, his thumb brushing over my jaw. And that smile, that stupid, infuriatingly charming smile… He knows exactly what he's doing.
"You are still going to try to kill me, right?" His voice is a dangerous whisper, but there's that playful edge to it that makes me hate him, but also really want to punch him in the face. "Please, Vee. Keep challenging me."
He holds my gaze for a moment, and I'm convinced the air is getting thicker. Why does this feel like some weird, twisted version of a love story?
And then, just like that, he leans in. And before I can even react, he presses a quick, light kiss on my forehead, as if this whole thing is some kind of game.
"Goodnight," he says, his voice a breath against my ear, before disappearing without a trace.
I blink, frozen in place, trying to process what just happened. I touch my forehead, a mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and... annoyed attraction rushing through me.
"Why the hell am I still thinking about this?!" I groan out loud, slapping my forehead. Seriously. This guy has no boundaries, and yet... here I am, again, completely flustered.
I throw myself back onto the bed, letting out an exasperated sigh. I'm pretty sure I just got caught in the most ridiculous trap he's ever set, and the worst part? I kind of... enjoyed it.
I push open the door to Alex's guest room, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. It's already a bit annoying that I'm even here. After last night, I had fully expected to avoid him for a while, but here I am—standing in his room, a little annoyed and mostly confused.
Alex is sprawled across the chaise like he owns the place-which, I guess he does, it's his estate-but still. He doesn't even sit up when he sees me; he just looks over with that smirk of his, the one I'm so very familiar with.
"Well, well, look who decided to show up," he says casually, his voice full of that teasing inflection that makes me want to roll my eyes. "Didn't think you'd come after last night. You seemed a bit... upset."
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms with a small sigh. "I'm not upset. I just don't get why you always do this. Don't you have anything better to do than mess with me?"
He raises an eyebrow, like he's genuinely surprised. "You mean, I'm your 'better option' for entertainment now?" His smirk widens. "I should be flattered."
"Don't flatter yourself," I mutter. "I came here to say something, not listen to you joke around. Last night was... ridiculous."
He chuckles, clearly not bothered by my annoyance. "I mean, it was pretty fun, right?" He tilts his head, eyes scanning me with that lazy amusement of his. "I thought you liked challenges. So what, you're giving up already?"
"Giving up?" I snort, rolling my eyes. "Hardly. You're just... predictable. A little annoying, but predictable."
Alex stands up, not seeming in the slightest bit bothered by my tone. "Really? I thought I kept you on your toes."
"Yeah, well, I'm getting bored of the game," I say with a shrug. "I just don't know why you think I'm going to keep playing along with your... whatever this is."
He leans closer, that damn smirk still plastered on his face. "Please, keep challenging me, Vee. You know you want to."
I arch an eyebrow at him. "You must be insane if you think I'm giving you more chances to mess with me."
"Then why are you still here?" he teases, but it's almost like he knows exactly what he's doing.
I sigh and turn to leave, pushing the door open. "I came to get answers, but I'm done. You're impossible, Alex. But hey, maybe that's why I keep coming back. Or maybe I'm just bored," I say over my shoulder.
Alex just watches me go, his laughter echoing behind me. "You'll be back."
I don't look back, but I know he's right. I can't deny it.
The soft scent of roses fills the air as I move through my private garden, carefully plucking the fullest, most vibrant blooms. My personal retreat here in the Imperial Palace is one of the few places I feel truly at ease. The roses stand tall and proud, their deep crimson petals reminding me of everything I've fought for—and everything I've done to get here.
Life in the Empire has fallen into a steady rhythm now. Father runs the Empire like he's been born to it, even if he still grumbles about how he was "forced" into the role. Mother carries herself with such regal grace as Empress that I often forget she wasn't always royalty. Fiona's shops have blossomed into the most coveted establishments in the entire Empire, while Theo is a formidable captain of the royal knights, admired and respected by all. Izek, of course, is still as dramatic as ever, though he's earned his place as the leader of the magic tower.
And me? Well, I'm still just Vee.
The quiet leader of the Shadow Guild.
No one outside my family knows, of course. The Shadow Guild is an empire in its own right, operating in the shadows of the Empire Father governs so flawlessly. We accept any contract, from retrieving priceless artifacts to handling... messier problems, as long as the person making the contract is prepared to owe the guild a favor in return. And those favors? They're as valuable as gold.
I gently place a rose in my basket, the thorns brushing against my gloves. The guild is a well-oiled machine, its members fiercely loyal and efficient. Still, Father would probably throw a fit if he knew the scope of what I've built beneath his nose.
"Vee, you shouldn't do anything too outrageous," Theo had warned when I confided in him. His face had been stern, but his lips twitched like he wanted to laugh. "But knowing you, I expect chaos anyway."
Chaos is what I excel at, after all.
I hum softly to myself as I pick another rose, letting the fragrant petals brush my cheek. It's peaceful here—no scheming, no contracts, no Alex... Well, no Alex yet. He has an uncanny ability to show up at the worst—or best—times.
As I pluck another rose from the bush, humming softly to myself, a familiar, infuriating voice slices through the serenity of my garden.
"Vee, surrounded by thorns. How poetic."
I don't even flinch. Of course, it's him. Alexander. The human embodiment of irritation wrapped in a dangerously handsome package. I glance over my shoulder and find him leaning casually against a trellis, his violet eyes twinkling with mischief.
"What do you want, Alex?" I ask flatly, tossing the rose into my basket like it's a chore, not a delicate act. "This is my private garden."
"Private?" He pushes off the trellis and strolls toward me, hands in his pockets. "Your father didn't seem too worried about it when I passed him. He even waved me in."
"Liar."
"Okay, fine. I waved at him. Same thing, really."
I roll my eyes and turn back to the roses, determined to ignore him. Maybe if I pretend he's not here, he'll get bored and leave.
"I have to admit, I didn't peg you for the flower-picking type," he continues, undeterred. "Do you arrange them yourself, or is that something your shadow guild handles?"
"Very funny," I deadpan, snipping another rose. "What are you doing here?"
"Can't a man visit his favorite—what do you call it? Frenemy? Arch-nemesis? Life inspiration?"
"Annoyance," I mutter.
"That's the one!" he exclaims with a grin. "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."
"Why would I be happy? The last time you showed up uninvited, you broke into my bedroom and started spouting nonsense about me 'challenging' you."
He chuckles, completely unfazed. "Ah, you're still thinking about that night? I must've made quite the impression."
I sigh heavily, snipping a rose with unnecessary force. "If by 'impression,' you mean a deep desire to poison you with these roses, then yes."
"You wound me," he says dramatically, clutching his chest like I've struck him. "Here I am, risking life and limb to see you, and this is the thanks I get."
"Risking life and limb?" I raise an eyebrow, glancing at him over my shoulder. "I didn't realize walking into my garden counted as a death-defying act."
"Vee," he says, stepping closer and leaning down so his face is level with mine. His smirk widens. "We both know if your father or Izek finds out I was here, I'll be public enemy number one. Again."
"And yet, here you are," I say dryly, turning away to pluck another rose.
"Because I can't resist," he says, and there's a teasing lilt in his voice that makes me roll my eyes.
"Resist what? Annoying me?"
"Exactly." He picks a rose himself, inspecting it as if he has any idea what he's doing. "It's practically a sport at this point. And I have to say, you're a very entertaining opponent."
"Glad I could amuse you," I say, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
"Oh, you do more than amuse me," he says, and when I glance at him, he's giving me that look—the one that makes my eye twitch.
"You're ridiculous."
"And yet, you haven't told me to leave." He grins, twirling the rose between his fingers. "Deep down, you'd miss me if I did."
"I wouldn't."
"You would."
"I wouldn't."
"Say that again when I leave, and you're stuck here talking to the roses instead of me," he teases, stepping back with a flourish like he's already won.
"Good idea," I say, turning my back on him. "The roses are far better company."
Over the past few years, Vee has been blissfully unaware of the growing storm that has been brewing just beneath the surface. While she's been caught up in her usual antics, her family's dramatic rise to power, and her peculiar relationship with Alex, Cesare's obsession with her has quietly morphed into something darker, more dangerous.
From the moment Vee had caught his attention all those years ago, Cesare had been captivated by her. Her beauty, her strength, and her unpredictability had all enticed him, but as time passed, something else began to stir in him—something he couldn't control. It was no longer just admiration, no longer just the longing for something he couldn't have. It had become an obsession.
At first, Cesare tried to be subtle. He would make frequent visits to the palace, always showing up at the right moments, offering compliments, or engaging in light conversation. But with each encounter, his feelings grew more intense. When he watched her sparring with Alex, when he saw the way her eyes flashed with excitement or frustration, he could feel his grip on his own emotions slipping.
It was when he realized Alex had become the one to hold her attention that his jealousy truly set in. Cesare tried everything to get closer to Vee, to make her notice him, but she seemed so content in her world with Alex, oblivious to the depth of Cesare's feelings. She teased him, yes, but in a way that never seemed to mean anything more than lightheartedness. And every time he tried to make a move—whether it was a calculated compliment or an attempt to steer their conversations in a more personal direction—Vee always seemed to brush him off.
The deeper Cesare's obsession grew, the more erratic his behavior became. His visits to the palace became more frequent, often lingering in the background, watching from a distance. He would sometimes even catch glimpses of Vee and Alex interacting—sometimes playful, sometimes serious—and every time, a knot would tighten in his chest. But rather than stepping back, he pushed forward, his smile growing more forced, his words sharper.
Cesare was determined to make her notice him, to make her see the connection they could have. After all, she was royalty now—so was he. They were both powerful, both with the potential to shape the future of the Empire. But in his mind, it was only natural that he should be the one by her side. The thought of anyone else—especially Alex—having her filled him with a cold fury that only fueled his desire.
At night, Cesare would lay awake, his thoughts consumed with her. Her smile. Her voice. The way her eyes lit up when she was passionate about something. He fantasized about taking her away from it all, away from Alex, away from the games and the politics. In his dreams, Vee wasn't a princess or the leader of the shadow guild. She was his.
And so, while Vee continued her life, oblivious to Cesare's growing obsession, he worked in the shadows, patiently waiting for the right moment—ready to make his move.
The question, though, was whether Vee would notice him before he made his move... or whether she would still see him as just another face in the crowd.
It's a quiet afternoon in the Imperial Palace, and I'm lost in the solitude of my rose garden, carefully plucking the thorns from a crimson rose, the delicate petals untouched by my fingers. The air is warm, and the scent of the roses fills the air with a sense of calm. But just as I think I've found peace, a sudden chill runs down my spine.
Before I can react, a hand clamps over my mouth, a firm grip that prevents any sound from escaping. The weight of a body presses against my back, and I freeze. My heart races as I feel the soft strands of long silver hair brush against my face, shielding my view of whatever's coming next.
"Don't scream," a familiar voice whispers in my ear, sending a shiver through me. Cesare. Of course it's him.
For a moment, I can't process what's happening—how did he even get in? What is he doing here? I've dealt with his presence before, his subtle manipulations, his frustrating charm, but this is something different. Something is off. My mind races as I try to twist and pull away, but his hold is ironclad, and I feel his body move with ease, his grip on me unyielding.
"Let me go, Cesare," I mutter, my voice muffled by his hand. My anger starts to rise. This man—this damn man—never knows when to stop.
But instead of releasing me, he only tightens his hold, the faintest laugh vibrating against my ear. "Vee, I've tried being patient," he says, his voice low, almost coaxing. "But you've left me no choice."
I shift my body, trying to get some leverage, but Cesare just moves with me, his chest pressing against my back, his breath warm against my neck. I'm not frightened—annoyed, maybe. But this, this is just too much. What does he think he's doing?
"I don't have time for your games, Cesare," I snap, biting back the urge to elbow him in the ribs.
He chuckles softly, the sound rich and dark, like he's enjoying the power he has over me. "Oh, but you're the one who's been playing games, Vee. Haven't you figured that out yet?"
His free hand moves to my side, brushing against my waist, and I flinch, annoyed. I've had enough of this man's attention. "What do you want?" I ask, my voice colder than I intend. "You think kidnapping me is going to make me—"
But before I can finish, he pulls me closer, so close that I can feel his breath against my ear. His lips are dangerously close to my skin. "I just want to see if you can handle a real challenge for once," he says, his voice dark with something else—something I can't quite place. "You think you've been winning all this time, but let's see if you can escape me this time."
I grit my teeth. I'm used to people underestimating me, especially men like Cesare. They think they can control me, manipulate me, but that's never going to happen.
"Let go of me," I demand, this time using every ounce of my strength to push against his chest. But instead of backing off, Cesare just holds me tighter, his grip unwavering.
"Not yet, Vee," he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. "We're just getting started."
My heart pounds with a mix of frustration and something I can't quite place—defiance, irritation, and yes, maybe even a little curiosity. What is it that he wants from me? Why is he doing this now? And why, despite the ridiculousness of the situation, does a part of me feel a strange tension between us?
At first, I think that I can push away. But when I try, Cesare clamps my mouth shut with his hand, before a strange magic aura surrounds me and I faint.
Here ya'll. A really long chapter to enjoy.