Mathew POV
As the late afternoon slipped into evening, the celebration continued. More people began to dance, some gathered around the tables to eat, and others lingered by the open bar. By 8 p.m., some guests had already left, while members of the close royal circle remained.
After a long day, Mathew decided to have a drink.
He was of age now—and he was the king. If anyone deserved a proper drink, it was him. He approached the bar and asked the bartender for a whiskey on the rocks. As he took a seat, he rolled up the sleeves of his white formal shirt and rested his elbows on the polished wooden bar.
His royal jacket had been taken off earlier, and the crown was stored safely away. Now he wore just his shirt, black trousers, and pointed dress shoes—nothing flashy, just comfortable.
The bartender placed the drink before him.
Mathew nodded in thanks and took the glass in his hand, feeling the coolness of it against his warm fingers. He brought it to his lips and took a sip, the burn of the whiskey sharp but satisfying.
As he set the glass down, something red caught the corner of his eye.
Curious, Mathew turned his head and spotted a woman with striking, vibrant red hair that fell in waves down to her lower back. He had seen blondes, brunettes, and women with black hair before—but never a red this intense. The color seemed to shimmer under the soft lighting of the bar.
She noticed his gaze, and Mathew felt his cheeks grow slightly warm when her deep reddish-brown eyes met his. Her lips curled into a playful smile as she said, "You know, it's rude to stare."
Mathew cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "You have beautiful hair," he said, his voice steady but unsure. "It's rare to see that color around here."
Not wanting to appear rude, he turned back to his drink and downed the rest in a single motion. He wasn't sure why he'd said that aloud—something about her had caught him off guard. Her eyes weren't just brown; there were hints of red in them too, deep and mysterious. She didn't look like anyone from his town. If she was from here, she had to be new.
Mathew raised his hand, signaling the bartender for another drink. It looked like he was going to need two tonight—then, hopefully, he could sleep.
The bartender noticed him and poured him another one. While Mathew sat and waited for his second drink, he felt a warm presence next to him with a hint of sweat and cinnamon scent. As he turned to see who smelled that nice, the scent was overwhelmed with cinnamon with a hint of candy to it. He was surprised to see it was a woman whose hair he had complimented just now.
" I want to thank you ," she says sweat while smiling, making his eyes widen as he realizes how beautiful she is. She has a unique look in her not like any woman who has this all look like a small mouse nose. She was different, he could tell by the way she dressed too, wearing a black gown instead of light colors like the other woman he knew and she was wearing red lipstick on her full lips, with her brown eyes made up with smoky brining her brown red eyes more out. And on her neck she was wearing and black choker with a little charm of a heart on it.
" No one ever complement my on my hair that before "said the woman sweetly as she took the seat next to him.
The bartender returned with his drink, and Matthew thanked him, then took his glass and took a sip from it. He needs to ease his nerves since he felt anxious, and something about this woman makes him feel something in him that he doesn't know what is.
But he took the time and ask her " Are you from around here ?"
He haven't saw her around here before and wonder if she was from here. The woman took a sip from her wine glass and say " Not quite juts visiting "
Mathew frown and dare to ask " Do you have friends here of family " he took a sip from his glass and hear the woman start to chuckle as she say " You are quite full of question aren't you"
Mathew could not help to smile as he admit it but say " As duty of the king I need to know " he looked at her and they eyes meet with moment and he could see she have shy moment as her cheeks form light red making her freckles more stood out from her adorable nose .
" I know you are the King " she say while smiling back at him making his stomach almost turn in to butterflies they eyes meet with each other .
"I was at your coronation and I think you would make a grade king to this nation of land and that we need strong leader like you" say the woman while rising her glass to him and then took a sip from her glass.
Mathew took a deep breath and lifted his glass, taking a long sip before swallowing it down. As he set it back on the counter, he spoke softly, "Thank you for the compliment."
The woman tilted her head, watching him with a curious glint in her eye. "So why is a king like you sitting alone at the bar at this hour, when you should be out there celebrating your coronation?" she asked.
Mathew smiled faintly, his gaze drifting down to the tumbler in front of him. He picked it up and downed the rest of the whiskey in one smooth motion, then placed it at the corner of the bar before turning back to her. Their eyes met again.
"You have a good point," he said quietly, his voice low and sincere. "But I'm not like most kings. After a long day like today... I just wanted a moment to myself."
And it was true. He wasn't like the young kings from old tales—drinking until they stumbled, surrounded by women and songs and gold. He had been raised differently, with discipline and humility. He knew where his morals lay, and sometimes, solitude was more comforting than a thousand people cheering his name.
He noticed the woman finish the last sip of her wine and place the glass down gently on the counter.
"You remind me of how I used to be," she said suddenly.
Mathew frowned slightly and turned to her. "How so?"
She let out a soft chuckle, then shook her head. "I used to keep to myself too. Always with my nose in a book, minding my own world. Then… my parents died. I lost everything. A man took me in, gave me a new family, and showed me a world I never knew existed."
Mathew turned his full attention to her. He could see it now—the sadness in her eyes, even though she was trying so hard to hide it behind her smile.
"I'm sorry about your parents," he said gently. "No one deserves to feel that kind of pain."
She tried to smile through the tears glimmering in her dark red-brown eyes, and something inside him stirred. He didn't want to leave her like this—not tonight. He didn't know who she was, but he knew she shouldn't be alone.
"There's a private room in the castle," Mathew said. "My father used to use it for meetings, but it has a personal bar, a fireplace, comfortable sofas… even a pool table. If you'd like, we could go there. Somewhere warmer. Somewhere quieter."
She looked down at her empty glass, then up into his eyes.
"I should probably be going," she said softly, standing up from her seat.
His heart skipped a beat. Something about the finality in her tone made his chest tighten. As she turned to leave, Mathew rose quickly and gently grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
"Wait," he said, almost instinctively.
Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes met his.
"Mathew," she said, her voice quieter now, "we both know one drink won't be enough. And it's best… if I leave. I don't want any trouble and was only actually here to visit my old family house in the town"
Her words only deepened his curiosity. IF her parents house was in the kingdom house then she was from here. It make him more curious and that he want to found out more about her. She knew his name and she have saw him how he have being crown, yet he didn't know hers.
And something about the way she spoke—like she was protecting him—confused him even more.
"I don't understand," he said, stepping closer. "Why would you say that? If your are from here at least let me get to know you "
She looked down for a moment, then said, "Because if you knew what I am… you wouldn't have let me in to begin with."
She turned again, ready to walk away, but Mathew didn't let go. His voice softened, almost a plea now. "You may think that," he said, searching her expression. "But at least let me know your name. And have just one drink with me. You came to see my coronation—let that be our beginning, not our end."
Brielle POV
She was stepping over the line to come back—and he wasn't going to let her go that easily.
Mathew, the newly crowned king, was too good to be true with his striking blue eyes, dark hair, and chiseled features. Every young woman had been swooning over him at the coronation. He was the kind of man who made people—men and women alike—turn their heads.
Her heart skipped a beat as their eyes met, and for a moment, she felt completely lost in the ocean-blue depths of his gaze.
"Why do you want me to stay?" she asked softly.
He was now so close, she could barely breathe with him standing before her. The noise of the ballroom faded away, the music becoming a distant hum, as if the world had quieted just for them.
"Because there's something about you," he said, his gaze locked with hers, voice low and serious. "And I know you feel it too—the same thing I'm feeling."
He was right. She did feel it. But she couldn't allow herself to give in. His magnetic presence made her pulse race, so strong that even her magic couldn't keep it at bay. If Lord Lorcand found out what she was up to, she'd be doomed. If Rage discovered her location, he'd spill the truth faster than she could teleport back to the Wicked Castle.
Maybe just one drink, she reasoned. One drink, then she'd leave. She'd hide her magic, act like a normal human, and slip away unnoticed.
"Okay," she breathed out. "Just one drink. Then I really have to go."
Mathew nodded, releasing her wrist gently. "One drink."
She followed him out of the ballroom and into the long, dimly lit hallway of the castle. She remembered, as a young girl, how she used to admire this castle from a distance.
Her parents, both secretly witches, had lived in the town. But after a terrible night—one she could barely remember—she lost them and had wandered into the woods where Lord Lorcand had found her. She was only five years old then. As she grew older, he told her the truth: he wasn't her father. She had come from this very town.
The castle halls were vast and cold, the stone walls towering on either side. Golden chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a warm glow. She followed Mathew until he reached a door, turned the golden knob, and opened it. The creak of the door echoed through the hallway.
Brielle stepped inside behind him. The room was dark, lit only by the pale moonlight streaming through tall crystal windows. She watched as Mathew moved to the fireplace and began lighting it.
She closed the door gently behind her. The moment it clicked shut, they were alone.
Soon, the fire came to life, bathing the room in a soft orange glow. Mathew turned on a lamp for extra light.
"There we go," he said with a smile.
Brielle finally saw the room more clearly. It was luxurious, with wood-paneled walls, a polished bar in the corner, plush leather sofas near the fireplace, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves carved with intricate floral designs, and a pool table near the window.
"This room is magnificent," she said warmly, smiling at him as he poured them both a drink behind the bar.
"It's more my father's room than mine," Mathew replied, glancing around.
She noticed framed certificates on the walls—pieces of history, legacy, and pride. Brielle stepped up to the bar as he slid a tumbler of whiskey her way.
"Here you go," he said.
"Thank you," she replied softly. She wasn't much of a whiskey drinker, but one glass would be enough.
Mathew joined her with his own glass, standing close. His smile made her legs weak—no wonder the women at the coronation had been falling over themselves.
"May I at least know your name?" he asked kindly.
She hesitated, pressing her lips together and taking a breath. Maybe… just this once, she could share it.
"My name is Gabrielle," she said, taking a sip from her glass to hide her nerves.
No one ever called her that anymore. They all used her nickname. But the way Mathew smiled at her when she said it—the warmth in his blue eyes—made her feel like she was melting.
"I like your name," he said. "It suits you. I'll never forget a name so beautiful."
She smiled shyly and took another sip. She had to remind herself: He's a king. You're a hag.
She watched as Mathew moved to the fireplace, warming himself. She joined him there, sipping quietly.
"So, your family home," he said. "Where is it located?"
She rarely talked about her past, especially with her twisted new family—Rage, who collected souls for fun, and Vale, who hunted humans like sport.
But tonight… she wanted to feel normal.
"My family's old house is on Lavender Road," she said, glancing at him. "It's an old yellow wooden house at the corner of the street."
Mathew smiled, and she felt her cheeks grow warm.
"They must've been good people. I think I've seen that house before—the one with the beautiful garden out front?"
She took a deep sip, remembering the garden. That had been her secret—the flowers she planted in memory of her mother.
"So," she said quickly, changing the subject, "you've probably heard this a thousand times today, but… how does it feel to be king?"
She finished her whiskey, surprised by how easy it was to talk to him. Usually, she used magic to seduce, to get what she wanted. But Mathew was different.
He chuckled. "That's been the most asked question today. Honestly, being king comes with a lot of responsibility. But I was raised for it. And now… it feels right."
She reminded herself that this was her cue to leave. One drink—she had promised. It was nearly nine. Time to go.
She walked back to the bar and placed her glass down.
"Thank you for the drink," she said sincerely, walking back toward him.
He took his last sip, still by the fire.
"We could always have another," he teased, flashing his charming smile.
Her heart skipped again. She looked away, trying not to fall into his ocean eyes.
"Mathew… I should be going," she whispered.
It was easier to say while looking at the floor, not at him. But then she heard the clink of his glass being set down, and footsteps. When she looked up, he was standing right in front of her.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Brielle thought she might faint from how close he stood. The warmth of his presence, the intensity in his gaze—it was overwhelming. When he gently took her hand in his, a spark rushed through her, electric and wild, and her breath caught in her throat.
"What could I do to make you stay?" Mathew asked softly, his voice almost trembling with vulnerability.
Brielle's breath hitched. The words clung to the edges of her lips, but the truth rose like a stone in her chest. "You're a king now," she whispered. "And I'm just a savage woman. If you knew the truth about me… you wouldn't ask me to stay. You'd hang me."
Her voice faltered. Deep inside, she knew it was true. Witches—especially dark witches—were hunted, feared, and executed without mercy. If he ever found out what she was capable of, he would bury her in the deepest dungeons of the earth.
She turned her face away, trying to avoid his gaze. Her magic stirred inside her like a restless storm, pushing against her control. Panic would give it power. She breathed slowly, deliberately, trying to keep it at bay. If she lost control, her eyes would glow crimson and reveal everything.
"You keep saying that," Mathew said gently, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. The touch was tender, grounding. "But whoever you are… when I'm with you, I feel something. I don't know what it is. But I know you feel it too."
She looked up, drawn to his deep blue eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest, trapped between desire and dread. She wanted to run—but she also wanted to stay. She wanted to fall into his arms, but she feared what he would see if she did.
When he brushed his thumb over her lips, her breath stuttered. The soft smear of her lipstick stained his skin, but he didn't seem to care. His touch was electric—sending waves of heat down her spine.
Then it happened.
A nearby lamp exploded with a loud pop, making them both jump. The room plunged into a flickering darkness, the firelight casting wild shadows on the walls.
"What the hell?" Mathew said, startled. He turned to her, brows drawn in concern. "Are you okay?"
Brielle swallowed hard and nodded, trying to look calm. "I'm fine," she murmured. She knew deep inside it was her magic who took control over her. But she try hard to stay calm and let she not do more damage to this room or to Mathew.
He studied her for a moment, then said, "It felt like… like something powerful was in this room."
She knew. It was her. And yet… she didn't want to run anymore.
Without thinking, she stepped toward him—and kissed him.
It started with urgency, her lips crashing into his. He froze for a moment, surprised—but then melted into her, kissing her back with a fire that matched hers. The kiss deepened, fast and hungry, as if they'd been waiting lifetimes for this moment.
Her hands roamed his chest, trembling as she worked at the buttons of his shirt.
When it took too long, frustration won—she yanked it open, buttons flying across the floor. He growled against her mouth, lips moving to her jaw, then down her neck.
"I want you," she whispered, eyes closed, surrendering to the warmth of his mouth on her skin.
Her fingers traced his chest, his abs—hard, sculpted, real. She undid his belt, opened his pants, and slid the zipper down. Their breaths grew ragged, their bodies magnetized by an invisible force.
She took his hand in hers and guided him to the large sofa. He followed without a word. When they stopped, she paused—then slowly unzipped her dress and let it fall to the floor, heels kicked aside.
Standing in just her bra and panty, she met his gaze. "Do you want me?" she asked, a playful challenge laced in her voice.
Mathew didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, pulling her close by the waist. "I want all of you," he murmured, his voice deep and low, eyes burning into hers.
His fingers slid to her back, unhooking her bra. Her hands moved to his hips, pushing his pants down. When they dropped to his knees, she guided him to sit.
The firelight flickered across his bare skin, casting golden shadows over his body. He looked like something out of a dream—raw, unguarded, beautiful.
Brielle stepped out of her panties, letting them fall, and climbed into his lap. She took his length in her hand and slowly lowered herself onto him. The moment he entered her, a soft moan escaped her lips—intense, consuming.
She began to move, her hips swaying in slow, deliberate rhythm. Their eyes met, locked in a silent promise, and she kissed him again—deeper this time. Everything else faded away. The kingdom. The danger. The fear. For now, it was just them.
Two hearts beating as one.