The silence in the study wasn't just a lack of sound; it was a physical weight, a pressurized chamber where the air had been sucked out, leaving only the metallic tang of old ink and the heavy, winter-chill scent of Dracarus. I had let the bone dagger slip, the hilt hitting the rug with a muffled thud that felt like the closing of a chapter. I was tired, my internal system was failing, and the "Kill Project" knowledge was looping in my brain like a corrupted file I couldn't delete.
I expected him to dismiss me. I expected him to sneer and send me back to my gilded cage of a dorm. But Dracarus didn't move. He stood there, his long, pale fingers still resting on the leather cover of the ledger. . . the evidence of my past life. . . and his gaze turned into something sharper, colder.
"You think because you've dropped the knife, the glitch is fixed?" His voice was a low, dangerous vibration. "You were never supposed to leave your room, Hina. The guards were instructed to keep you contained. Not because you are a guest, but because a corruption like you needs a firewall. And yet, here you are, prowling through my private sanctum like a common thief."
"I'm not a thief," I snapped, my wildcat spirit baring its teeth even though my knees felt like jelly. "I'm a person who's tired of being lied to. If I'm a 'human rot' intended to bring down a kingdom, shouldn't I at least know why?"
Dracarus stepped closer, his presence a literal weight that made the obsidian floor feel like it was tilting. "In this palace, Hina, disobedience isn't a personality trait. It's a death warrant. I don't tolerate glitches in my design, and I certainly don't tolerate being bypassed. You've invaded my study, seen things that should have remained buried, and questioned the very threads of fate my father weaves."
He began to pace, his movements fluid and predatory. "I could have the guards drag you back and double the watch. I could let the king know that his sacrifice has developed a mind of its own. Or," he paused, turning to face me with an unreadable expression, "I could choose a punishment that ensures I can keep my eyes on you at all times."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my heart doing a frantic spike.
"Follow me."
He didn't wait. He swept out of the study, the silk of his royal robes whispering against the stone. I had no choice but to follow, my boots clicking rhythmically as we bypassed the main halls. We moved through secret corridors, places where the shadows seemed to reach out for my ankles, until we reached a heavy, seamless door of dark, ancient wood.
He pushed it open, and I froze at the threshold.
I had expected a prince's bedroom to be an explosion of royal ego:
gold leaf, velvet canopies, and maybe some mounted beast heads to show off his prowess. But this was a shock to the system. The room was vast but minimalist, almost monastic in its cleanliness. It smelled of old paper, cold stone, and that signature winter-air cologne. There was no gold. Just clean, sharp lines, a massive bed draped in charcoal-grey silk, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the jagged, moonlit peaks of the kingdom. It felt less like a royal suite and more like a sanctuary. Or a high-security vault.
"You're going to spend the night here," he said, his back to me as he unfastened the silver clasps of his outer cloak.
"Spend the night?" My voice went up an octave. "Drac, that's. . . that's completely improper. We can't. The maids will talk, the king will hear... we aren't even engaged! Why would you take me here of all places?"
Wait...
Don't tell me you—
SICK FREAK, I'M NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL!!!
I screamed before I knew it; my hands rose in the air and gave him a dirty slap. He was just as shocked as I was, if not more, and instead of killing me, he smiled again before he turned around, his face a mask of royal indifference. "Consider it an experiment, Hina. I want to see if your presence continues to disrupt the threads of fate even when you are at rest. If you're here, under my roof and within my sight, you can't go sneaking into libraries or sharpening bone daggers. Consider it a study in proximity. Besides," he added, a flicker of something crossing his eyes, "if you're here, I know exactly where your hands are, and don't flatter yourself; you're not even that good-looking.
"I'm not a pet; you can't just say stuff like that," I muttered, but the sheer exhaustion was finally winning.
"Tonight, you are whatever I say you are. Go to bed, Hina. That is an order."
The bed was large enough for three people, but it felt terrifyingly small as I climbed in, still in my rumpled clothes. I didn't even take off my boots at first, feeling like a soldier in enemy territory. He stayed on the opposite side, the silk sheets a cold, slick barrier between us.
We lay there in the dark, our backs to each other. The silence was agonizing, filled only by the distant groan of demonic crows outside. I could hear his steady, slow heartbeat. . . the heartbeat of a predator who didn't need to rush because he knew the prey had nowhere to go. I started to bicker just to keep my brain from melting.
"You know, for a prince, your bed is surprisingly uncomfortable," I whispered to the wall.
"And for a 'rat,' you're surprisingly talkative," he shot back, his voice vibrating through the mattress.
"Maybe if you didn't treat humans like meat shields, you'd have better conversations. Is this how you treat everyone? Or am I just lucky?"
"You are a unique case, Hina. Most people know when to hold their tongues. You, however, seem to have a hardware defect that forces you to challenge everything."
"It's called a personality, Drac. You should try getting one."
"Maybe if you didn't act like a wildcat, I wouldn't have to leash you in my own bedroom."
Frustrated, I rolled over to glare at the back of his head. "I am not—"
At that exact moment, he turned around too.
Our faces were inches apart. In the dim, blue moonlight filtering through the windows, his eyes weren't just cold; they were searching, wide and reflecting my own terrified, defiant expression. For a split second, the prince and the sacrifice vanished—it was just two people in the dark, one a hunter who had forgotten why he was hunting and the other a glitch that refused to be fixed. I could see the fine lines of his face, the way his pupils were blown wide in the dark. My breath hitched, and the air between us felt like it was about to catch fire.
He was the first to pull away, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to his side, breaking the spell.
"Go to sleep, Hina," he said, his voice suddenly gruff, lacking its usual polished edge. He pulled the heavy charcoal covers over his shoulder, effectively ending the conversation. "Have a good night's rest. You'll need your strength for the Gala."
I stayed awake for a long time after that, watching the shadows of the velvet curtains dance on the ceiling. He eventually fell asleep . . . or did a very good job of faking the slow, rhythmic breathing of a deep slumber . . . but I couldn't shake the feeling that something big was going to happen tomorrow