Silence hung heavily in the room, the faint hum of lingering magic adding to the weight of the stillness. Rowen perched on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, as if holding herself together. Her wrist still tingled faintly—a dull ache now, where only moments ago it had burned like fire—but it hadn't fully subsided.
Her eyes flicked toward the mirror, watching as two stewards struggled to maneuver it through the doorway. The glass surface rippled faintly under their touch, as if resisting them, but they persisted, spurred on by Dryanden's watchful gaze.
He stood near the open balcony doors, his crimson eyes fixed on the stewards until the mirror finally disappeared from sight. Only then did he exhale softly—a controlled, almost imperceptible sound that Rowen might have missed if she weren't so attuned to him.
She wasn't sure whether to speak—or if she even could. The mirror's ominous words echoed in her mind like distant thunder: "You don't know who you are… but you will." The voice had been calm, but it carried a gravity that felt unshakable. Prophetic. Final.
A shiver ran through her, and her hands tightened in her lap. What was she doing here? What did any of this mean?
"You're safe now," Dryanden said, his voice cutting through her racing thoughts. He turned back toward her, his expression surprisingly gentle. "The mirror can't harm you anymore."
Rowen's gaze snapped to his before quickly darting away, her cheeks flushing. "It didn't exactly hurt me," she murmured, her voice thin and trembling. "It just… it knew me. How could it know me?"
Dryanden moved closer, his steps deliberate and careful, as though not to alarm her. "It's an ancient artifact—volatile and temperamental. It reacts to magic, to power." He paused, studying her face. "But even so, its reaction to you was… unexpected."
Rowen let out a brittle laugh. "Unexpected doesn't even begin to cover it." She rubbed at her wrist, where the faint pulse of her crescent mark still lingered. "What do you think it meant? That voice—what it said…"
Dryanden's jaw tightened, but he crouched in front of her, holding her gaze. "I don't know," he said simply, his voice steady. "But I promise you this: whatever it is, you won't face it alone."
His words settled over her, pressing against the ache in her chest. They were comforting, but they also scared her. Because the truth was, she wasn't sure she wanted to face it at all.
Rowen stared at the floor, her thoughts spinning as she rubbed at the crescent mark on her wrist. The words from the mirror still echoed in her mind, but another question had taken root, one she couldn't ignore any longer.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
Dryanden, who had been watching the faint glow of the city beyond the balcony, turned toward her. "Tell you what?"
"That you're a prince," Rowen said, meeting his gaze hesitantly. "Not just any prince, but part of the… Celestial Line of Vireth. You're royalty—the royalty of this entire realm."
Dryanden's expression didn't waver, but his crimson eyes softened. "Would it have changed anything?"
"Of course, it would've changed things," she blurted, her voice rising despite herself. She gestured at him, at the ornate room around them. "Look at all this! I don't belong here. I never have. I'm a peasant—a nobody from some tiny town in a realm no one's even heard of. And you're…" She faltered, her throat tightening. "You're this."
Dryanden tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady. "Does that truly matter to you?"
Rowen shook her head, pacing a few steps before turning back to him. "It's not about whether it matters to me—it's the truth. You might think it doesn't mean anything, but I look at you, and I see someone who's been trained for this world your whole life. And then I look at me…" She trailed off, her voice catching.
She sank back onto the bed, her shoulders slumping. "I don't even know how I ended up here, let alone why you'd want to bond with someone like me. This… us—it doesn't make sense."
Dryanden crossed the room, his steps deliberate but unhurried, and knelt in front of her. For a moment, he didn't say anything, simply studying her as though weighing his words carefully.
"You're right," he said finally, his voice low. "You're not like the others in my world. You weren't born into it, and you didn't ask for any of this. But that's exactly why it had to be you."
Rowen frowned, searching his face. "What does that mean?"
"It means you're not tied to the rules and expectations that have trapped everyone else in this world," Dryanden said. "You see things differently. You question. You push back." His gaze held hers, unwavering. "I didn't tell you about my lineage because I didn't want you to think this bond was about status or privilege. It's not. It never was."
Rowen hesitated, her thoughts tangled. "But… why me? You could've bonded with someone who understands all this. Someone who belongs here."
Dryanden smiled faintly, the first hint of warmth she'd seen from him since they entered the mansion. "Do you really think I want someone who sees me as nothing but a prince? Someone who thinks of the bond as a way to climb higher?" He shook his head, his voice soft. "I left that life for a reason. Sixth in line for the throne doesn't mean much to me. I chose to be a helper because it allows me to make my own path, away from the court, away from the expectations."
Rowen blinked, her chest tightening. "A helper?"
"It's… a role outside the bounds of royal duties," Dryanden explained. "We go where we're needed, where others won't or can't. It's not a glamorous life, but it's one I chose for myself."
For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the faint hum of magic in the walls. Rowen's gaze drifted to the floor as she tried to make sense of everything he'd said.
"I still don't think I belong," she admitted softly. "This world… it's so much bigger than me."
Dryanden's expression softened further, and he placed a hand over hers. "Belonging isn't about where you come from, Rowen. It's about what you make of where you are."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy but comforting. Rowen wasn't sure she believed them—at least, not yet. But for the first time since they arrived at the mansion, she felt a flicker of hope.
Rowen sat in silence, Dryanden's words lingering in the space between them. She wanted to believe him, to take comfort in his assurance that she wasn't entirely out of place here. But even as her thoughts began to settle, a strange sensation stirred in her chest.
It started as a dull ache, a faint heat beneath her ribs that spread upward like a slow-moving fire. She pressed a hand against her sternum, frowning as the burn crept into her throat, dry and unrelenting.
"Are you all right?" Dryanden's voice pulled her from her thoughts. He was watching her closely now, his brow furrowed in concern.
"I…" She hesitated, swallowing against the uncomfortable tightness in her throat. "I don't know. It's—" She broke off, her words catching as the heat flared again.
Her gaze flicked to Dryanden, and suddenly, the pieces clicked into place. The burn wasn't hers. It was his.
Rowen straightened, her heart skipping a beat as she studied him more closely. He was tense, his shoulders rigid and his jaw set. His crimson eyes avoided hers, fixed instead on some distant point beyond the balcony doors.
"Dryanden," she said quietly, but her voice carried a sharpness that made him look at her. "You're hungry."
His expression tightened, the faintest flicker of guilt flashing across his face. "I'm fine," he said, his tone clipped.
"No, you're not." Rowen shifted on the bed, leaning forward as she spoke. "I can feel it. This… this burning in my chest—it's coming from you, isn't it?"
Dryanden's jaw worked, and for a moment, she thought he might deny it again. But then he sighed, his shoulders sagging as the tension bled out of him.
"It's not important," he muttered. "I can manage it."
Rowen shook her head, the persistent ache in her throat making her wince. "You shouldn't have to manage it. If you're hungry, then…" She hesitated, her words faltering as the reality of what she was about to offer hit her.
His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and intent. "Rowen, no."
"But why not?" she pressed, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "This bond—we're supposed to help each other, right? If this is what you need, then I don't mind." Rowen's voice wavered at the end, but she held her ground. Her pulse raced, and the burn in her chest throbbed harder, almost as though her body were urging her forward.
Dryanden shook his head, his crimson eyes narrowing. "It's not that simple. You don't know what it means to trust someone like me," he said quietly, his voice almost broken. "To give me that control."
Rowen stepped closer, her heart pounding. "Then let me show you that I can." she challenged, crossing her arms to steady herself. "Because all I see is you trying to fight something that's hurting both of us."
Dryanden's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond immediately. He turned away, his gaze flicking to the glowing skyline beyond the balcony. His hands clenched at his sides.
"Feeding isn't just about sustenance," he said finally, his voice low. "It's… intimate. Powerful. The bond amplifies it, makes it… more."
"Please," Rowen swallowed hard, her throat burning. "I want to help you."
He turned back to her, his expression unreadable. "You shouldn't."
"I do." Her voice was firmer now, though her heart hammered in her chest. "If this bond means anything, it's trust, right? I trust you, Dryanden."
Something in his gaze shifted then—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. He took a step closer, his towering presence somehow both commanding and hesitant.
For a moment, Dryanden didn't move. Then he closed the distance between them, his fingers brushing against her wrist as he guided her hand away from her chest. His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as he tilted her head to the side, exposing the curve of her neck.
This will hurt," he murmured, his voice thick with something she couldn't name.
Rowen tilted her head slightly, exposing the curve of her neck. "I can handle it," she whispered, though her breath hitched as he leaned closer.
His lips brushed against her skin, feather-light, and a shiver raced down her spine. She barely had time to brace herself before his fangs pierced her neck.
The pain was sharp, electric, and for a moment, she gasped, her body instinctively tensing against the intrusion. But then the sensation shifted—subtly at first, then all at once. The pain melted into warmth, a heady, intoxicating heat that spread through her veins like liquid fire.
Her knees weakened, and she grasped at his arm for balance, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips, and her eyes flew open in shock.
The sound startled her, embarrassment flooding her cheeks as she tried to pull away, but Dryanden's grip tightened slightly, grounding her. His lips curved faintly against her skin, and though his expression remained composed, she felt the faintest rumble of amusement in his chest.
She wanted to sink into the floor, to pretend that hadn't just happened, but the sensation was too overwhelming to focus on anything else. It wasn't just pleasure—it was connection, raw and unfiltered, like their very beings were intertwining in ways she couldn't fully comprehend.
When he finally pulled away, it was with a deliberate slowness that left her trembling. His fangs retracted, and his lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary, sending another shiver through her.
Rowen stumbled back a step, pressing a hand to her neck as she struggled to catch her breath. The mark was faintly warm, and her heart pounded in her ears.
"That was…" She faltered, her voice cracking. "Um…"
"Unexpected?" Dryanden offered, his tone neutral, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his amusement.
Rowen groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Oh, gods. I can't believe I—"
"You handled it better than most," he interrupted, his voice lower now, almost teasing.
She peeked at him through her fingers, her cheeks still flaming. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
He tilted his head slightly, his expression maddeningly calm. "Perhaps."
"You're impossible," she muttered, dropping her hands.
"And you're stronger than you give yourself credit for," he said, his voice softening again.
The sincerity in his tone disarmed her, and for a moment, she couldn't think of a response. Instead, she touched the faint mark on her neck, the warmth still lingering beneath her fingertips.
"See, I trust you," she said quietly, meeting his gaze.
Dryanden's crimson eyes darkened, but his expression was unguarded now, open in a way that sent a different kind of warmth through her. "And I'll make sure you never regret it," he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Rowen sat motionless on the edge of the bed, her fingers lightly brushing the faint bite mark on her neck. Her thoughts were tangled, a mix of embarrassment, confusion, and a strange, lingering warmth that made her pulse race. She barely registered Dryanden moving around the room until he returned, a damp cloth in one hand and a faintly glowing vial in the other.
"Hold still," he said softly, crouching in front of her.
Her heart skipped as his fingers tilted her chin upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. His crimson eyes were steady, unreadable, as he examined the bite. She resisted the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
"It's already healing," he murmured, his voice low but satisfied. "The bond is doing its job."
Rowen blinked, her fingers twitching in her lap. "What does that mean, exactly?"
Dryanden's gaze flicked to hers, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. "It means we're connected in more ways than one. Your body recognizes the bond now. It's adapting—quicker healing, heightened senses. You'll feel it more in time."
She wasn't sure how to feel about that. On one hand, the idea of her body changing, adapting to something she didn't fully understand, made her stomach twist. But on the other, the burn in her chest and throat was gone, leaving behind a strange sense of calm.
He leaned closer, carefully dabbing at the bite mark with the damp cloth. The coolness against her skin made her flinch slightly, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his tone more concerned than she expected.
"No," she admitted, her voice quieter than she intended. "It's just… strange."
Dryanden chuckled softly, though there was no mockery in the sound. "It's always strange the first time."
Her cheeks heated again, and she glanced away, focusing on the intricate runes etched into the wall. "You don't have to say it like that," she muttered.
He didn't respond, but she caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his expression as he continued to clean away the dried blood. When he was done, he set the cloth aside and uncorked the glowing vial.
"What's that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued despite herself.
"A salve," he replied. "It'll help with any lingering soreness, though you probably won't need it."
Rowen watched as he dipped his fingers into the vial, the faintly glowing substance clinging to his skin like liquid starlight. He hesitated for a moment, then met her gaze. "May I?"
She nodded, her breath catching as his fingers brushed against her neck. The salve was cool and soothing, and his touch was light, almost reverent.
"You don't have to be so careful," she said, though her voice wavered slightly.
Dryanden's lips twitched into a faint smile. "And risk you flinching away? No, thank you."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue, letting the silence stretch between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it was heavy—charged with unspoken words.
When he finished, he wiped his hands on the cloth and leaned back, studying her for a moment. "Better?"
Rowen touched the faint mark on her neck, noting the absence of pain or lingering discomfort. "Yeah," she said softly. "Better."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Dryanden's gaze lingered on hers, and she felt a strange, unspoken connection between them—something deeper than words, something she couldn't quite name.
"You handled that well," he said finally, his voice quieter now.
Rowen snorted, though the sound was weak. "Yeah, if you call moaning like an idiot 'handling it well.'"
Dryanden chuckled, the sound low and warm. "You're alive, the bond is stronger, and you didn't pass out. I'd say that's a success."
She shot him a glare, though her lips twitched in spite of herself. "You're impossible."
"And you're resilient," he countered, his tone softer.
The words hit her harder than she expected, and she found herself looking away, her fingers brushing against the mark again. Resilient. She wasn't sure if she believed that, but hearing it from him felt… different.
Dryanden stood, gathering the cloth and the vial before turning toward the basin near the far wall. "Get some rest," he said over his shoulder. "We'll need our strength for whatever Lady Selene has planned."
Rowen nodded, though she doubted rest would come easily. Too much had happened, and too many questions still lingered in her mind.
As Dryanden moved to clean up, she sank back onto the bed, her thoughts drifting. The bond, the mirror's warning, the weight of everything Selene had said—it all felt too big, too overwhelming.
But as she traced the faint mark on her neck, she felt the smallest flicker of reassurance. Whatever else might come, she wasn't facing it alone.
Rowen shifted uneasily on the bed, her fingers absentmindedly brushing the faint mark on her neck. She watched as Dryanden moved to the basin, his shoulders tense, his motions more deliberate than they had been. He washed his hands, dried them, and then paused, gripping the edge of the basin as though grounding himself. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken.
Without a word, he turned and crossed to the balcony, the night air catching in his dark hair as he stepped outside. He didn't close the door behind him, as though inviting her to follow, but there was a stillness to him that made her hesitate.
She pushed to her feet, crossing the room carefully. The chill of the night air nipped at her skin as she stepped out, the faint hum of Eversnow Glade's glowing skyline stretching out before them. Dryanden leaned heavily against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but his expression was unreadable.
"What are you thinking?" Rowen asked softly, leaning beside him.
Dryanden didn't look at her. "Nothing."
Rowen studied him out of the corner of her eye, noting the subtle tension in his posture—the tight set of his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the railing as though it might anchor him.
"That's not true," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You're always thinking. Usually something sharp."
A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, but it faded as quickly as it came. "Not tonight."
She hesitated, the weight of the earlier feeding still pressing on her chest. "Is it about the mirror? What happened earlier?"
His jaw tightened, but he shook his head. "The mirror's not what's bothering me."
"Then what is?"
He finally turned to her, his crimson eyes locking with hers. There was something in his gaze that stopped her breath—something raw and unguarded, as though he were standing on the edge of a cliff and debating whether to fall.
"I left the court to escape this," he said, his voice low and steady.
"Escape what?" Rowen asked, her heart pounding.
"Everything." He exhaled slowly, the sound laced with something close to bitterness. "The weight of the Celestial Line. The expectations. The sacrifices it demands."
Rowen frowned, unsure if she should press further. "What kind of sacrifices?"
His gaze drifted back to the horizon, his fingers curling tighter around the railing. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer, but then he spoke, his voice quieter.
"Sacrifices that aren't mine to make." He paused, his shoulders rising and falling with a heavy breath. "When you're tied to the throne, people suffer for it. No matter how careful you are, no matter how much you try to protect them… someone always pays the price."
The rawness in his voice made her stomach twist. "Who?" she asked, the word escaping before she could stop it.
He was silent for a long moment, his expression hardening like stone. "Someone who trusted me. Someone who didn't deserve to be caught in the crossfire."
Rowen's breath caught as the pieces began to fall into place. "You mean someone close to you."
He stiffened, but his silence was answer enough.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, her hand moving instinctively to touch his arm.
Dryanden flinched slightly at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his gaze dropped to where her fingers rested against his sleeve. "It doesn't change anything."
Rowen hesitated, unsure of what to say. The weight of his grief hung heavy in the air, tangible and suffocating.
"Did you leave because of them?" she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
His lips pressed into a thin line. "I left because I couldn't save them. Because staying meant putting more people at risk."
The words made her heart twist, and for the first time, she saw Dryanden not as the composed, unshakable presence she'd come to rely on, but as someone who carried scars that hadn't healed.
"You blame yourself," she said, her tone more certain now.
"Because it was my fault," he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He immediately winced, glancing at her with a flicker of regret. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It's okay," she said quickly, though her chest tightened at the sudden flash of anger. "I just… I don't think you're being fair to yourself."
Dryanden huffed a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Fair doesn't matter. The past doesn't care about fairness, Rowen. It just is."
She shook her head, stepping closer. "You can't keep carrying this alone. Whatever happened, it's not your fault. You're not—"
"Not what?" he interrupted, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "Not responsible? Not guilty? You don't understand, Rowen. You weren't there."
"No, I wasn't," she admitted, her voice steady. "But I'm here now. And I see someone who's still trying to do the right thing, even if it hurts."
Dryanden's gaze lingered on hers, searching for something she wasn't sure he'd find. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, and he looked away, his expression unreadable once more.
"You don't know what you're saying," he murmured.
"Maybe not," she said, her voice softening. "But I know you're not the monster you think you are."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The faint hum of Eversnow Glade filled the silence, and Rowen let her hand fall away from his arm, though she didn't step back.
When Dryanden finally spoke, his voice was so quiet she almost didn't hear it. "You're stronger than you realize, Rowen."
She frowned, her heart skipping at the unexpected shift. "What?"
He turned to her fully, his crimson eyes piercing. "You face things you don't understand, things that should terrify you, and you don't break. You don't back down." His lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "It's more than I can say for myself."
Rowen shook her head, the weight of his words settling over her. "You're stronger than you think too," she said quietly. "You just don't see it yet."
Dryanden didn't respond, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could. Rowen stayed on the balcony, leaning against the railing, the glow of Eversnow Glade stretched endlessly before her, its beauty a stark contrast to the heaviness in her chest. She glanced at Dryanden, who still stood beside her, silent and lost in thought.
The quiet between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it was charged, filled with things neither of them were ready to say.
A sudden knock at the door broke the moment, the sound sharp against the stillness of the room. Both Rowen and Dryanden tensed, the shift in atmosphere immediate.
Dryanden turned first, his composure snapping back into place as he strode toward the door. Rowen followed hesitantly, her pulse quickening.
The steward stood in the doorway, their hands folded neatly in front of them. Their expression was carefully neutral, but their voice carried an edge of formality.
"Lady Selene awaits you in the dining hall," they said, bowing their head slightly. "It is time."
Rowen's stomach twisted at the words. She glanced at Dryanden, and he gave a curt nod to the steward before turning to her.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his tone quieter than usual.
She wasn't. Not even close. But she nodded anyway, forcing herself to stand straighter. "As ready as I'll ever be."
The steward stepped aside, gesturing for them to follow. Dryanden moved first, his long strides purposeful but not rushed. Rowen trailed behind, her steps slower, heavier.
As they walked through the dimly lit corridors of the mansion, Rowen's thoughts churned. The prophecy Selene had mentioned, the unsettling events of the mirror, Dryanden's veiled past—it all felt like too much, too fast.
Her crescent mark tingled faintly again, and she pressed a hand to her wrist as if to quiet it. She didn't know what awaited them at this dinner, but the weight of it loomed like a shadow over her.
The steward led them through a series of archways, the glow of runes casting strange, shifting patterns on the stone walls. The air grew cooler, sharper, as though the very magic in the mansion was bracing for something.
Finally, they reached a pair of towering doors, their surfaces carved with intricate designs that seemed to ripple faintly in the light. The steward paused, their hands resting lightly on the handles.
"Lady Selene has much to discuss," they said, their tone measured. "I trust you will find the conversation… illuminating."
Before Rowen could respond, the doors swung open with a faint creak, revealing the dining hall beyond.
The air inside was heavier, charged with an energy that made Rowen's skin prickle. The grand table was set for three, its surface gleaming with silver and crystal. At the far end of the room, Lady Selene stood, her silver-blue robes shimmering as she turned to face them.
Her gaze swept over them, her sharp eyes lingering on Rowen for a moment longer than seemed necessary. The faintest smile curved her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Welcome," she said, her voice smooth and commanding. "We have much to discuss."
Rowen's crescent mark burned faintly again, and she resisted the urge to clutch at her wrist. She glanced at Dryanden, but he was already stepping forward, his expression unreadable.
As Rowen followed, her pulse quickened, the weight of Selene's words pressing heavily against her chest.
Whatever awaited them in this room, she knew one thing for certain: nothing would be the same after tonight.
As Rowen crossed the threshold, the door closed behind her with a resounding thud, sealing her fate alongside Dryanden's—and whatever truth Lady Selene was about to reveal.