I woke to the smell.
Sharp. Funky. Metallic. Like iron burning against something rotten, something that shouldn't exist anywhere in the palace.
I opened my eyes slowly, head pounding, chest tight. The balcony where the moon had watched me the night before was gone. Curtains drawn. Candle stubs in the corners, blackened tips like burned-out teeth. My arms felt heavy, like they carried something I couldn't name. Something wrong.
I am Vincent, the Crown Prince of Vershkha.
The memory hit in pieces. Shadows of silk. Movement. Heat. The rush. Then the collapse. The taste of iron. A scream that wasn't mine but might have been.
I sat up too fast, and the room spun. My veins throbbed beneath my skin, pulsating with a lingering echo of last night's power. The moon was gone, but the residue of it lingered in me like a brand. My pulse slowed, but the smell didn't leave. It clung, faint and insistent, and I realized with a shiver that whatever it was could have killed me.
I swallowed hard. The palace was quiet. Too quiet. Servants moved in and out silently, as though afraid to make any sound that might wake the prince already half-dead from last night's excess. But none of them knew. None of them had to. Only I carried the memory, the weight, and the lingering sting.
And then my mind found her.
Her eyes. Covered, but not hidden. They burned in my memory like sparks. I didn't know her name. I didn't know anything about her. But I could remember the way she had looked at me, or maybe not at me, maybe just at the power that radiated from me. She hadn't flinched, not like the others. She hadn't tried to run. She had been present, aware, even if she didn't realize the danger.
I had never thought about anyone like that before. Not the way I was thinking about her now.
It made me uneasy. The thought of her, just her eyes, was enough to unsettle the rigid structure of my mind. I turned over in bed, curling into myself, feeling the pulse of the city outside. Lights flickered in the distance, torches in the streets, lanterns swinging in the marketplace. People moving. Breathing. Living. And I, trapped in my own skin, trapped in the memory of a scent I didn't understand, a heat I didn't control.
By the time I forced myself to stand, my body was trembling. Weakness lingered where there shouldn't have been weakness. My legs, my arms, even my heart seemed uncertain, like something in me had been stretched too far and left fragile.
I dressed quickly, more out of habit than necessity. Robes of the crown prince, heavy and embroidered with gold thread, lining soft but restrictive. I adjusted the collar, hiding the faint bruises that always appeared when the power left me spent. They would fade by midday, just like everything else did when the world didn't know.
And I left the palace.
The city greeted me with the usual order and chaos: scholars debating under porticos, merchants shouting prices in the marketplaces, children weaving between crates of fruit and stacks of fabric. Even here, in Dark Academia's grandest streets, the smell lingered faintly, something chemical, metallic, alive. It made me pause. Look over my shoulder. Nothing. Just the normal city, the normal people.
I kept walking. Feet pounding the cobblestones, eyes scanning. I needed focus. Clarity. But the scent lingered at the edge of perception, teasing me, pulling me toward something I couldn't name.
And then I saw her.
Eyes. Covered, but familiar. Like yesterday, like the memory that haunted me in the quietest parts of the night. She was moving among the crowd, careful, deliberate. A cloak wrapped tight around her, a scarf covering everything but those eyes. But it was enough. Enough to spark something deep inside me that had never been sparked before.
I didn't think. I ran.
The crowd parted around me without noticing. I dodged carts, leapt over a crate of apples, brushed past a merchant yelling at a boy for spilling flour. My chest burned. My pulse thundered. My vision focused only on those eyes, burning beneath the cloth like two coals that refused to die.
She disappeared.
Just like that. Gone. Melted into the throng, leaving only the memory of her glance behind. I skidded to a stop, breath coming in ragged bursts. The city felt louder suddenly, harsher, alive. And somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispered: She knows.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. But the thought refused to leave.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Council meetings. Debates over trade agreements. Advisors fawning over decisions I had already made in my head. Courtiers commenting on my composure, on my grace, on my dedication. They were blind. All of them.
Then Arminia came to court that afternoon. Daughter of the neighboring kingdom. Brought here for political purposes. Beautiful, flawless, the sort of perfection that leaves people breathless, but none of it mattered to me.
I barely looked at her. I barely acknowledged her existence. She curtsied, and I nodded politely. That was all. No spark. No intrigue. No pull. Just formality.
And yet the contrast between her and the girl I had glimpsed earlier burned in me quietly. I couldn't place it. I didn't want to. But the memory of those eyes, unafraid, aware, alive, lingered longer than it should have.
By mid-afternoon, I left the palace again. I needed air. The city was vibrant, overwhelming, and I walked without aim, letting instinct guide me. Every now and then, a scent would brush past me.
faint, almost imperceptible, but it made my muscles twitch. My veins throbbed faintly beneath the surface, the echo of last night's power whispering.
And then I saw them again.
Eyes. Same shape, same defiance, same intensity. Cloaked, hidden. She was just a shadow among shadows, but I recognized the way she moved, the way her head tilted slightly when she spotted me looking.
I broke into a run.
Through alleys and narrow streets, through the marketplace, past stalls selling spices and silks, my boots echoing against stone. She moved fast, faster than any normal person should. She disappeared into a small courtyard. I arrived moments later. Empty.
Only the echo of her passage remained.
My hands balled into fists. Frustration. Curiosity. Something unfamiliar, a stir of emotion I didn't understand.
I walked back slowly, retracing my steps. The scent lingered faintly, mocking me. The city resumed its normal rhythm, oblivious to what had just passed.
I paused atop a stairway overlooking the main square. Sunlight spilled over the spires, the cobblestones, the crowds. And I realized, in a quiet, sharp moment, that the day had changed. That something had changed inside me.
It was subtle. Too subtle to admit. Too subtle for anyone else to notice.
And yet… it was there.
Something in me, buried beneath years of duty and control, had shifted.
A faint, quiet longing.
Not for power. Not for approval. Not for comfort. But for her.
And I didn't even know her name.
The day ended in a haze. Courtiers whispered. Advisors made notes I didn't read. And I retreated to my chambers, alone, restless, unable to sleep. The memory of the moon, of the power, of the scent, and most of all, of those eyes, lingered.
By the time night fell, I knew I would seek her again.
Because the moon wasn't just rising tonight.
It was calling.
And this time… I wasn't sure I would be able to control myself.