Chapter 14: Whispers Beneath the Skin

Annora

I couldn’t sleep.

Not when the midnight bells tolled their solemn song, and silence devoured the royal wing. Not even after I splashed cold water on my face...twice, hoping the chill might quiet the restless fluttering deep within my chest.

My lips still tingled; my hands still trembled. I'd fled to the atrium seeking solitude, searching for space to breathe, to think clearly.

But instead, he had kissed me.

It wasn't like the whispers I had overheard countless times, shared in secret by girls huddled beside the hearth. It wasn't tender, nor was it stolen.

It was something far more potent.

A claim.

His mouth captured mine with a hunger I did not understand, his hands firm and possessive, holding me gently yet fiercely as though I were something fragile, or perhaps dangerously precious.

I had gasped into the kiss, suspended between astonishment and a sensation far deeper, far stranger.

A stirring I could not name.

I felt a flicker of pain, sharp and fleeting, a graze upon my tongue I nearly dismissed as imagination. But there was no imagining the shift in him, the sudden intensity as our kiss deepened.

Darkened.

In that moment, I ceased to feel like a girl simply being kissed. Instead, I felt like something being tasted. Savored and consumed.

My fingertips brushed my lips softly, remembering the faint, startled sound that escaped me. A whisper of surrender. Recalling how my hands curled involuntarily into his chest, uncertain whether they meant to push him away or pull him closer.

I had done neither, and when he pulled away, his eyes were wild and dark, breathing ragged, I felt…empty. Hollowed out, yet aching for something more.

I should be afraid. I knew that. I should tread carefully. He was my King, and I might very well be nothing more than a game, a diversion.

Yet fear was distant, it eluded me.

Instead, I was breathless.

Confused.

Curious.

Something profound had passed between us in those shadowed moments, something irrevocable. I had no word to describe it, only his name lingered in my mind, repeated softly, endlessly.

By the time the first blush of dawn crept across the sky, peace still eluded me.

There was nothing for me to do.

He did not summon me. No requests for tea or reading, nor even the trivial little tasks he invented simply to keep me near.

No linens to press.

No fire to stoke.

Weeks earlier, he had made it abundantly clear, his voice reverberating through the great hall, unmistakable to all who heard.

“She belongs to me,” he'd announced to the head steward, his tone brooking no dispute. “She attends to no one else.”

Yet when a noblewoman asked me to assist her with her gown, how could I refuse? Who was I to say no? But when he summoned me, and I was found neither in my chamber nor among the other maids, tension rippled through the castle corridors like lightning before a storm.

After that incident, I was left alone.

Left with silence, and far too much time to think.

By evening, I could no longer bear another idle moment, so I quietly slipped away to the lower servants’ wing.

Elsa and Livia sat huddled in the dim corner of a corridor, trimming candle wicks and whispering gossip over misshapen scraps of wax. Their chatter halted the instant they noticed me approaching.

Elsa’s eyes widened slightly. “Annora? Didn’t expect you back down here again so soon.”

Livia’s mouth curved in a teasing smirk. “Surely you have royal duties now?”

I managed a faint smile. “There were none today.”

Elsa shifted over, patting the worn stones beside her. “Then come sit. Help us ruin candles and reputations with some of the worst stories you’ll ever hear.”

Grateful for the distraction, I settled beside them, taking comfort in the familiar work for my restless hands. As much as I longed to share my confusion with them, I couldn’t bring myself to speak of the true reason I’d come.

Not about the kiss. I couldn’t voice it aloud.

Not about how his gaze had burned into me, as if he wanted to unravel every thread of who I was. Or how the memory of his touch lingered, haunting my thoughts relentlessly.

Livia studied me intently, her eyes narrowing. “You seem unusually quiet.”

“I’m always quiet,” I deflected softly.

She tilted her head, unconvinced. “Not like this.”

Elsa glanced between us, concern creasing her brow. “Is something wrong?”

I forced another smile, carefully masking the turmoil beneath. “No. Just…restless.”

Livia didn’t press further, though the arch of her brow told me plainly she didn’t believe my excuses. As we trimmed candles, laughed softly, and shared scandalous stories of foolish nobles, something heavy pressed against my chest, unspoken, pulsing beneath my skin, demanding acknowledgment.

A question I couldn't dare speak aloud.

Later that night, I found myself drawn again to the atrium.

Why?

Habit, perhaps. It had become my sanctuary, a place of quiet and reflection.

But there was something else lingering in the air. Something hopeful, fragile, that I struggled to deny.

The marble floor was cool beneath my feet, moonlight spilling softly across the empty space and casting silver shadows along the walls. I perched on the edge of the fountain, just as I had before.

Waiting.

But he didn’t come.

When the breeze stirred, brushing gently across my bare shoulders, I shivered.

It was then I realized I wasn't merely waiting. I was longing.

Longing to feel the intensity of his presence, inhale his intoxicating scent, to be captured again by his gaze, and drawn once more into the warmth of his touch.

Yet he didn't come, and uncertainty crept in, twisting quietly inside my heart. Had that kiss been meaningful only to me?

Eventually, I returned to my room, disheartened despite knowing I had no right to expect otherwise. He was the king. I was merely his servant.

Yet still, I dreamed of him.

Not of the kiss or the touch of his hands.

But of his eyes, red as ripe fruit, glowing fiercely like embers trapped within ice. Bright. Terrifying. Mesmerizing.

This time, I felt no fear.

In the dream, we stood together in the palace gardens beneath a sky so dark it swallowed the stars. The roses around us were black as ink, their petals glistening with dew. The wind murmured softly through the hedges, yet everything around us seemed perfectly still as if the whole world had paused, holding its breath.

He stood before me, silent and regal, perfectly still, yet not cold. Instead, a quiet warmth radiated from him, pulling at something deep within my chest.

When his gaze met mine, I didn’t see hunger. Instead, I saw something softer...something close to awe and felt myself slowly unraveling.

He reached for my hand, taking it gently, reverently, as if he were holding something precious.

“I would never harm you,” he murmured, his voice deeper than sleep, softer than a whisper. “But there is something I wish to ask.”

I tried to speak, but words abandoned me. I managed only a silent, uncertain nod.

“Will you let me taste you?” he asked softly, a question framed in trust, not desire. “Not to take, not to harm, only to know you...a little more deeply.”

My heart stumbled, and the truth came easily.

“Yes.”

He moved closer, deliberately, tenderly. His mouth brushed softly against the curve of my neck, not biting, merely resting there, as though the very shape of me held a meaning I couldn't grasp.

The air around us seemed to shimmer.

Suddenly, power stirred inside me, blooming hot and fierce beneath my skin, surging through my veins. A tidal wave that felt distinctly, inexplicably mine.

He felt it too. I could sense it in the catch of his breath, in the tightening of his fingers around mine. Not in fear, but reverence.

Then his lips parted, fangs glinting softly, poised to gently pierce my flesh-

I woke with a start, gasping, alone in my room.

My heart hammered furiously in my chest, and my skin burned with sensations I couldn't name.

I pressed trembling fingers to my neck, feeling nothing. No wound, no mark. Only the lingering, vivid memory.

A dream, yet it clung to me, refusing to fade.

I felt it still. not fear...but power.

After completing my morning routine, I found it waiting on my table:

A single camellia.

Blood-red, glistening with dew. There was no note. Only his scent, wild and intoxicating, filling the air.

My hand trembled as I reached for it, petals impossibly soft beneath my touch.

Fear stirred within my chest, a quiet shadow, curling like smoke…

Yet despite everything...

...I smiled.