The maid's hands trembled as she held the silver tray, her voice barely a whisper.
"Your Grace… forgive me, but Lady Elara has been skipping her meals. I thought… you should know."
Alaric didn't answer immediately. A single, sharp breath slipped from between his lips. His dark eyes lowered to the tray, as if it contained something poisonous.
"Thank you," he said at last, his voice flat but taut, like a string drawn too tight.
As the maid scurried away, he stood alone in the hall, his gloved fingers flexing once, then curling into a fist.
Why am I going?
She doesn't need me.
She shouldn't need me.
Yet if she drifts too far into that hollow sadness… who would pull her back?
He cursed under his breath. Foolish. Weak. He hated this softness more than he hated the curse that stalked his blood.
---
The greenhouse loomed ahead, veiled in soft gray light. Vines curled along the glass panes, breathing a ghostly glow into the fog inside.
He stepped in quietly, careful not to disturb her.
Elara sat among the pale roses, her hair unbound and falling like dusk over her shoulders. In that moment, she looked so fragile he thought a single word might shatter her.
He turned to leave. He wasn't meant to be here. He had come to make sure she ate — nothing more.
"You came here… for me?" Her voice, soft as the petals around her, froze him mid-step.
He turned sharply, his cloak sweeping behind him like a dark wave.
"I did not come for you," he said, voice rough, each word pulled from somewhere deep and unwilling. "I only came to make sure you don't forget to eat. I prefer order… in all things."
Elara's gaze dropped to the floor, her fingers brushing the edge of her dress. She turned her face slightly away, as if studying the pale roses.
So… you did come for me.
Her lips barely moved, the thought so quiet it was swallowed by the air between them.
He didn't seem to notice—or pretended not to.
Elara watched him, her eyes wide and searching.
He looks so severe. Like a blade sharpened too many times.
Yet behind that coldness… there is something else. A warmth he keeps locked away, terrified I might see it.
Silence stretched between them like a fragile thread.
"I… I didn't mean to—" she began, but he cut her off with a small, impatient gesture.
"Do not forget again," he said, voice low, each syllable controlled. Then, softer, almost lost to the vines and the dim light: "I dislike unnecessary disorder."
He turned away before she could answer, slipping into the shadows that seemed to rise to meet him, swallowing him whole.
Elara stayed frozen among the roses, her heart echoing in the quiet glass walls.
She raised a trembling hand to her lips.
Why does he hide so much? Why does he look at me like I am a question he does not wish to answer?
But the only reply was the hush of the roses, and the lingering warmth of a man who claimed he felt nothing at all.
---
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See you in the shadows…
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