SELIN'S POV.
The chambers were so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. The fire had burned low, leaving a soft amber glow that made everything look warmer than it really was. I'd finished cleaning the last of the shelves, which, for the record, were way too high for anyone shorter than a tree, and decided to snoop a little. Not in a bad way. Just…casual observation. Investigative cleaning.
I trailed my fingers along a line of books, squinting at the strange symbols carved into the spines. The place smelled like smoke and something darker, like rain on metal, if that made any sense. Everything in here screamed power and secrets.
But then I saw it. A small blade on the table, curved, polished, and beautiful. I leaned closer. "What are you, huh? A royal letter opener? Or a murder accessory?"
"Neither," a deep voice said behind me.
I froze. Every inch of my body went rigid.
Oh no.
I turned around so slowly I might as well have been rotating on hinges. And there he was, the terrifying, quiet, brooding king whose castle I was apparently haunting now. He stood in the doorway, half in shadow, his eyes glinting like polished steel.
"You shouldn't be touching things that don't belong to you," he said, voice low.
My throat went dry. "Oh! I wasn't—I mean, I was! But, um, not in a stealing way. More in a—uh—'that's shiny, what's that?' kind of way."
His expression didn't change. Not even a twitch. I could feel my nervous smile wobbling. He started walking toward me, slow, deliberate steps that somehow sounded heavier than they should. I took one tiny step back.
"You were told to stay within the inner chambers," he said. "Does this look like obedience to you?"
"Well," I said, my mouth moving before my brain could stop it, "technically, I am within the chambers. I didn't leave. So that's, like, partial obedience. Which should count for something, right?"
His eyes flicked down, then back up. I could feel his patience thinning like a stretched thread.
He stopped right in front of me, close enough that the air shifted. His scent…woodsmoke, rain, something dangerously clean, hit me all at once.
I should've stepped back, but I didn't.
"Are you always this talkative," he murmured, "or just when you're nervous?"
"Yes," I said. Then immediately winced. "Wait, I mean—no. Maybe. Depends on the threat level."
He almost…almost, looked like he wanted to smile. But it didn't reach his eyes. "You seem comfortable for someone who claims to be terrified."
"Who says I'm terrified?" I asked. My voice cracked on 'terrified.'
He tilted his head slightly, like he was studying something he didn't quite understand. His gaze dropped to my hand, the one that had just been holding the blade, and something in his jaw tensed. Before I could even ask, he stepped back sharply. Like he'd touched a flame.
That…was weird.
I blinked. "Are you okay?"
"Stay where you are." His tone dropped, cold and sharp enough to freeze the air.
I frowned. "Why? Did I step on a trap? Is there, like, a magic circle I can't see—?"
"Don't," he said, cutting me off. "Don't move closer."
That was enough to send a shiver straight down my spine. He looked…strained. Like he was fighting something inside himself. Then, maybe because my survival instincts were broken, I blurted, "Why is it such a big deal to touch you? I mean, I heard some of the maids whispering that I touched you once and didn't die, and when you first brought me here you said something about me being alive—"
"Enough." His voice cracked through the air like thunder.
I flinched. The silence that followed was heavy, too heavy. He turned away, his shoulders rigid, his hands clenched so tightly I thought I heard leather creak.
"You ask too many questions," he muttered.
"Because you keep giving mysterious answers," I shot back, softer this time. "What are you, some kind of cursed prince or—"
He turned around so suddenly I gasped.
His eyes…gods, his eyes, weren't just silver now. They glowed faintly, like moonlight on a blade.
He closed the distance between us in two strides, and I found myself backed against the wall before I could blink. His arms braced on either side of me, but not touching. His hands hovered inches away, fingers curled, as though he were physically restraining himself.
I didn't dare breathe.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" he asked, voice low, and dark.
I swallowed hard. "Uh, invading personal space?"
He exhaled, long, slow, strained. His hands stayed where they were, trembling slightly. "You should be afraid of me."
"I'm trying," I whispered, "but you're making it really confusing."
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Pain? Anger? Hunger? I couldn't tell.
Then, in that same steady tone, he said, "Tell me, little human. Are you trying to touch me again?"
"What? No!" My entire face went hot. "Why would I—? That's not— You're—!"
His mouth twitched. "Then stop looking at me like that."
"I'm not looking at you like anything!"
"You are." His voice dropped another octave. "And if you keep doing that, you'll make me forget what I am."
Whatever that meant, it sent my heart racing. I couldn't think. Couldn't move.
All I knew was that his breath brushed my cheek…warm, controlled, and barely holding back something dangerous. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped away. The wall behind me felt cold where his presence had been.
"Stay in your room," he said quietly, not looking back. "And for your own sake, stop asking questions."
He walked off before I could respond, leaving me standing there like an idiot clutching the air that used to be between us.
After a long silence, I whispered, "Wow. Okay. Definitely cursed. And possibly insane."
I glanced toward the doorway where he'd disappeared and sighed.
"Maybe both."
***
My heart was still doing that stupid racing thing hours later. I'd scrubbed every corner of his stupid, massive room just to stop thinking about how close he'd been…his breath, his voice, those eyes that looked like they could burn and freeze me at the same time.
Why was I even thinking about him?
He was terrifying. Brooding. Probably allergic to emotions. And yet…when he leaned in, he looked almost…hurt. Like touching me took more effort than lifting a mountain.
I groaned and dropped the rag. "Pull yourself together, Selin," I muttered. "He's your captor, not your—whatever."