Where Eva had been led by the maids was a room that seemed meant only for hosting guests— at least that was what she gathered from where she stood. She hadn't realized how stiffly she lingered there, like a misplaced tree, until Mira, the maid, spoke up, "You may sit down. It's an honor to even enter this castle, let alone sit in that chair, so you should be grateful."
What... an odd choice of words. Eva let the passive-aggressive remark pass without reply, instead moving toward the chair adorned with floral prints. As soon as she lowered herself onto it, she heard Mira turn the lock of the door, the sharp click followed by a mutter not nearly as hushed as intended, "...here to seduce again, tsk, low whores."
Eva's green eyes blinked, and only then did she stir to respond.
"I'm here to sell ribbons," she said evenly.
Mira's eyes narrowed, as though startled Eva had spoken at all, before she scoffed and rolled her eyes, dismissing the reply as if it were a pitiful joke.
Seeing there was no point in chasing civility where none was offered, Eva brushed the words aside. She sat quietly, her gaze wandering instead, taking in the framed paintings and the delicate floral wallpaper. The room was pretty, clearly touched by a woman's hand. Perhaps the red ribbon had been chosen for her as well?
How romantic. He had been meticulous in choosing it, even making Eva wait so he could inspect it with his own eyes. Surely he must be smitten with her.
"A little enviable," Eva murmured to herself. She had never once imagined marriage— not for herself, never. And yet the thought of having one soul who would always remain by her side, especially now, seemed like a dream she could almost long for.
She didn't know what had beguiled her. Perhaps it was the weight of the grandiose room, vast and silent, that left her nervous and restless, urging her feet to lift from the chair and carry her toward the window.
It was then, in the far corner, that something unusual caught her eye: a canvas, large and striking in its frame, yet tucked discreetly behind a cupboard as though it were not meant to be seen.
Her hand lifted, fingers hovering with curiosity, about to brush against the canvas when the sudden click of the lock made her whole body jolt.
From the doorway came the figure who had startled her. First to appear were black polished shoes, gleaming so brightly they might have reflected her face more clearly than the worn mirrors in her home.
Her gaze traveled upward, tracing long, elegant legs clad in tailored black trousers, the line of a black coat falling smoothly over a blood-red shirt, immaculate and creaseless. His broad shoulders brushed the doorframe as he entered, pushing it open wider, and for a heartbeat he lingered there— almost deliberately— granting her the chance to take in his presence.
And like a lamb transfixed by the sun's warmth, Evangeline could only stand frozen by the window, unable to look away from the figure who seemed conjured out of dream or vision.
A cascade of black hair was slicked neatly back, lending his face a strict, forbidding cast despite the ethereal beauty it framed. Angelic—yes, that was the word. He could have been mistaken for Heaven's envoy, though no wings graced his back. She didn't need them. With one glance, even from across the room, she knew. He was a Seraph.
For who else could bear such otherworldly beauty, or eyes of violet that gleamed sharp and smileless, like gemstones cut to wound?
His long lashes cast shadows over violet eyes as he regarded Evangeline, who stood frozen in place—like some fairy had bewitched her into stone.
She was not dressed finely. In her tattered brown gown and hair tied loosely at her nape, she looked far from her best. And yet, her wide green eyes—those luminous, glassy orbs—fixed on him with such intensity that Hades found himself smiling.
"Have you stared enough?"
The words left his lips like silk, smooth enough to send a shiver chasing down her spine.
Eva blinked, throat tightening as she swallowed hard.
Flustered, she tore her gaze from him, heat flooding her cheeks until they burned so brightly it felt as though her skin might spark.
"My apologies, sire," she stammered, bowing low, head bent as if her humility might erase her offense. But Hades only lifted a hand, a simple gesture that dismissed her apology as unnecessary.
He moved forward with unhurried grace, settling into the chair with a languid ease, one leg crossing the other as though the very earth itself had bent to receive him. His posture alone made her knees weaken, as though urging her to kneel.
"What are you doing?" he asked, resting his chin against his hand, reclining sideways on the couch with a carelessness that radiated command. "Show me the ribbon."
Her heart stumbled. Nerves clutched at her chest, and she could not tell if it was the suffocating silence of the room, her own clumsy missteps, or the sheer weight of Hades himself that unsettled her so deeply.
But she dared not anger him by hesitation. Returning swiftly to her chair, she drew her basket close, lifting the red lace ribbon she had carefully wrapped in clean cloth. With a tentative push, she slid it across the polished floor toward him.
No sound followed. No murmur of approval or even a flicker of disdain. When she dared to glance through lowered lashes, she found his gaze fixed not on the ribbon—but on her.
Her heart twisted inside her ribcage, every beat rattling against her bones. His gaze was unbearable—too sharp, too consuming. She had never felt eyes like Hades's before, a gaze that went deeper than simple observation, as though he sought to unravel her, to count every lash on her eyelids, to learn each subtle twitch of her muscles.
Her nerves tightened until they hummed, and against her own better judgment she longed for his eyes to leave her, even just for a moment. In a fragile whisper she asked, "Does the ribbon match to your expectation, sire?"
"Expectation," Hades echoed, his lips curving into a smile. "It seems that it does."
But his eyes never strayed toward the ribbon.
A tremor passed through her.
"You must wonder why I requested a red lace," Hades said, his tone deliberate, coaxing her gaze upward until her green eyes, cautious and uncertain, finally met his violet ones.
The intensity of that stare locked her in place, and she nearly faltered under it.
"I know you have questions," he continued smoothly, "you seem the curious sort."
"My apologies for being too curious," Evangeline answered at once, her words rushing out before she could weigh them. She feared provoking him—he was precisely the kind of man who might smile even as he punished.
"Don't apologize," Hades replied, his voice warm with certainty, almost indulgent. "I am used to it. No one isn't curious about me."
His smile deepened ever so slightly, and then he asked, "Have you heard of the red thread of fate?"
Was he... making small talk?
Him? The man who owned a castle so vast it swallowed the sky, whose time must be worth more than she could ever fathom?
It felt strangely out of place, almost absurd. But since Hades had smiled—though those violet eyes of his remained chillingly cold—Evangeline dared not question it. Instead, she answered softly, "I don't think I have heard about it."
"Can you read?" he asked, and she shook her head ever so slightly.
"Not too well."
"That's alright," he said, almost gently. "If you don't know something, you can always learn."
The words brushed against her heart with surprising warmth. The way he mentioned she could learn without shaming her for not knowing it felt so simple, a harmless politeness, and yet... they sounded like kindness to her, a rare kindness she had not felt in weeks of enduring nothing but coldness and disdain.
"To put it simply," Hades continued, leaning forward at last, his large hand reaching for the ribbon.
The red lace looked delicate in his grasp, almost fragile. His fingers—broad, calloused, and far too strong—played with it as though he could crush it without effort, and yet he toyed with it carefully, letting the lace slide between his touch.
"There is an old saying," his voice dropped, smooth and resonant, "about a red thread tied to a person's soul... and to the soul of their fated one. A bond that tethers them together, regardless of their will."
Silence filled the room. He was waiting— she realized that now. Waiting for her to speak.
Harmless, she told herself. Only harmless. So she whispered, "That sounds... romantic."
"Romantic?" He repeated the word with a faint, sharp curve of his lips. "To be bound by another against your will, and you call it romantic?"
"Well... if they both agree?" Evangeline's brows knitted together as she fumbled through the thought. "My apologies, sire. I do not know much about these sorts of topics."
"But why not?" Hades pressed, his tone light but probing. "I thought women loved to speak of love. You must have a suitor of your own, perhaps even a man already promised to you?"
His gaze lowered back to the ribbon, twining between his fingers like blood caught in a snare, before it shifted again—up, deliberate, to her lips.
Her small, pink lips. The way her tongue peeked out to wet their dryness made his chest tighten and his hand ache, the ribbon crumpling slightly in his grip.
"No I don't," her voice came to his ears making him to smile until a dimple was formed at the corner of his cheeks.
"Perfect," he then muttered, "I don't like stealing but I was about to do it if it's necessary."