The dress is the color of a fresh wound.
I was dressed like desire had crawled out of hell and stitched itself to my skin. A deep, blood-red silk that felt too thin, too loud. It clung to this doll's body, leaving my shoulders and back bare to the cold, judging air of the manor. The servant girl who helped me into it looked at me with a kind of holy terror, as if she were dressing a corpse for a beautiful, sinful funeral.
Mine.
Walking into the banquet hall is like stepping onto a stage. The heat, the noise, the cloying scent of a hundred different perfumes all trying to suffocate each other—it hits me like a physical blow. Hundreds of candles glitter in the air, catching on jewels and polished silver and the sharp, predatory smiles of the nobility. They're all here. The vultures. Come to pick at the bones of the girl who was supposed to burn.
Every eye turns to me.
The music falters. A hundred quiet conversations die at once. There's a collective intake of breath. i feel it like a change in the air pressure. i am the storm that just walked through the door.
For a second, the assassin in me takes over. My eyes scan the room. I clock the exits. The guards. The faces that hold the most power. It's an instinct. A reflex. Find the threat. Find the escape route.
But there is no escape route. Not from this.
My confidence is a mask i've stapled to my face. Underneath, my heart is a frantic bird against my ribs. My skin feels wrong. Too exposed. The memory of the fire is a ghost itch all over my body. i can almost smell the smoke.
My father, Duke Ravaryn, gives me a look from across the room. A look that says, You are a disappointment. But you are a useful one. He wants them to see me. The miracle girl. The cursed daughter, purified. A political asset.
i lift my chin. i put a slow, venomous smile on my lips. And i walk toward the head table.
He's there.
The Crown Prince. Kaelan Valerius.
He's exactly as the system described him. Cold. A statue carved from ice and duty. His uniform is a severe, unforgiving black, making him a slash of darkness against the gold and white of the hall. He isn't talking to anyone. He's just… watching. Observing. His grey eyes are flat and empty.
The whole court is watching. Not to see if i failed. To see if i'd burn everything down again.
A servant pulls out the chair for me. Right beside him. Of course. My father's doing. Parading his monster right next to the crown.
i sit. The silk of the dress feels cold against my skin. i can feel Kaelan's eyes on me like frostbite. A wound that hasn't broken skin—yet. He doesn't speak. He doesn't even nod. He just turns his head slightly, a silent, contemptuous dismissal.
Fine. Two can play this game.
"Your Highness," i say, my voice a soft purr. i pick up the heavy silver wine pitcher, my bandaged hand a stark, ugly thing against the polished metal. The feather inside pulses with a faint, angry heat. "You look thirsty."
i lean in, my arm brushing against his as i pour wine into his goblet. The fabric of his uniform is rough. Stiff. He pulls his arm away as if i've burned him. A tiny, almost imperceptible movement. But i see it.
He still won't look at me. He just stares down at the red wine filling his glass.
"I don't drink with criminals, Lady Eve," he says, his voice low and cold. Not for the table to hear. Just for me.
The insult lands. A clean, sharp cut.
The system in my head, the dark shadow-mother, laughs. A cold, pleased sound.
…he sees the monster… she whispers. …good. now make him see the woman…
A quest notification flickers in my vision. The bonus objective. First Touch.
My smile doesn't waver. "That's a shame," i say, pouring a glass for myself. My hand is perfectly steady. A lie. "You must be very lonely at these parties."
He finally looks at me. His grey eyes are like a winter storm. "The company i keep is a matter of honor. Something you know nothing about."
"Honor?" i take a sip of wine. It's bitter. "Is that what you call trying to burn a girl alive? Or is that just Tuesday?"
His jaw clenches. A tiny muscle flickers in his cheek. There it is. The crack in the ice.
"You were a threat to the stability of the Empire," he says, his voice a low, controlled hiss. "A known vessel for dark energy. The ritual was a necessity."
"A necessity," i repeat, the words tasting like poison. The memory of the flames, the pain, the terror… it's a hot, sick feeling in my gut. i push it down. i smile wider. "And my survival? Was that a necessity too? Or just… an inconvenience?"
"An anomaly," he corrects, his voice sharp. "One that my father, the Emperor, is watching very closely."
A threat. A polite, political threat. We know what you are. We're watching you.
"Good," i say, leaning in a little closer, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'd hate to be boring."
i offer him a toast. i clink my glass against his. He doesn't move. He just stares at me, his eyes full of a cold, calculated hatred.
i'm losing. He's a wall. A fortress of ice. i can't get under his skin.
The system whispers its displeasure. …this is not how you hunt, my child. he is not a beast of passion. he is a man of pride…
My pride. The word echoes in my head.
The fear, the pain, the humiliation… it all comes rushing back. The mask of the confident seductress starts to crack. And the broken girl underneath, the one who is so tired of being a pawn, she's the one who speaks next.
"You know," i say, my voice quiet now. Raw. The smile is gone. "You look at me like i'm dirt. Like i'm something you scraped off your boot."
He says nothing. His silence is an answer.
"You have no idea, do you?" i go on, my voice shaking a little. i can't stop it. "What it feels like. To be strapped to a post. To smell your own skin burning. To have a thousand people watch you die and call it justice."
"Lady Eve," he says, his voice a low warning. "That is enough."
"No," i say, my voice breaking. "It's not enough. It'll never be enough. You all stood there and you watched. You watched them light the fire. And you did nothing."
The words are a torrent now. A flood of all the pain and rage i've been holding back. i'm not trying to win a quest anymore. i'm just… bleeding.
"You want to talk about honor?" i spit, my eyes burning with tears i refuse to let fall. "There was no honor on that dais. Just fear. And politics. And a girl who didn't deserve to die."
He moves.
His hand shoots out, grabs my wrist. The one that isn't burned. His grip is like iron. A cage of bone and muscle.
"I said," he grits out, his face inches from mine, his grey eyes a storm of something i don't understand. It's not just anger. It's… something else. Something shaken. "Enough."
The moment his skin touches mine, the world goes silent.
The noise of the banquet fades. The music stops. All i can feel is the heat of his hand on my wrist. The shock of it.
The system screams in my head. A chorus of ecstatic, triumphant whispers.
[+200 SIN POINTS ACQUIRED]
BONUS OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: First Touch
SKILL UNLOCKED: [CHARM (Lv. 1)]: Your presence bends attention. Your voice lingers longer. Your touch lingers longer. Use wisely.
CROWN PRINCE KAELAN — CONTEMPT: 50/100 | CURIOSITY: +5
He lets go of me like he's been electrocuted. He snatches his hand back, staring at it as if it's been poisoned.
i stare at my wrist. A faint red mark is already forming where his fingers were.
i won.
i got what i wanted.
So why do i feel so empty? So sick?
i had to show him the broken part of me. The real part. To win.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat. A light, airy, practiced sound. The mask is back in place.
"My deepest apologies, Your Highness," i say, my voice all honey and silk again. "It seems the wine has made me sentimental."
i take a sip from my glass. My hand is perfectly steady.
And i meet his eyes.
He's still staring at me. But the cold contempt is gone. Replaced by something else. Something new.
A dangerous curiosity.
He saw the monster.
And for a second… he touched her.
And i think… i think he liked it.