The man on the floor did not move.
Princess Elena Whitmoor froze where she stood, her eye pressed against the narrow crack in the door. The dim candlelight inside the chamber flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the stone walls.
The dead man lay sprawled across the floor, his arm bent awkwardly beneath him. A dark stain slowly spread across his tunic.
Elena's breath caught in her throat.
She had never seen a dead body before.
Behind her, Lydia clutched her sleeve.
"What do you see?" Lydia whispered, her voice trembling.
Elena couldn't answer.
Her eyes had shifted to the man standing in the center of the room.
Tall. Still. Silent.
He stood over the corpse like a statue carved from shadow.
A long black coat hung from his shoulders, its fabric heavy and worn like something from another age. His dark hair fell loosely across his forehead, slightly disheveled, as if he had run his hand through it moments earlier.
Then he moved.
Slowly.
His head turned.
And Elena saw his face.
Her heart nearly stopped.
Those eyes.
Bright red.
The same terrible color she had seen in her dream.
For a moment she convinced herself it had to be a trick of the candlelight. Perhaps the flames reflected strangely against the glass in the room.
But the longer she stared, the clearer it became.
Those eyes were truly crimson.
The man tilted his head slightly.
Directly toward the door.
Directly toward her.
Elena instinctively stepped back.
The wooden floor creaked beneath her shoes.
The sound seemed to echo through the corridor like a shout.
Inside the room, the man stopped moving.
Silence swallowed the hallway.
Lydia's grip tightened around Elena's arm.
"Did he hear that?" Lydia whispered nervously.
Elena opened her mouth to answer—
The door swung open.
Both women gasped.
The tall stranger stood before them now, framed by candlelight from the room behind him. Up close, he looked even more unsettling.
Not monstrous.
Not disfigured.
In fact, he was… striking.
Sharp features. Pale skin. Dark hair that fell slightly past his collar.
But those eyes ruined everything.
They glowed faintly like embers buried beneath ash.
For several long seconds, no one spoke.
The man studied them quietly.
His gaze lingered on Elena.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if he were trying to recognize something.
"Well," he finally said.
His voice was low and calm.
"Either you're very brave… or very lost."
Lydia quickly stepped forward, placing herself slightly in front of Elena.
"We—we didn't mean to intrude," she stammered. "We heard screaming and thought someone might be hurt."
The man glanced briefly back into the room.
"Yes," he said simply. "Someone was."
Elena swallowed hard.
"You killed him."
It wasn't meant to sound accusing.
But it did.
The man looked at her again.
A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
"You say that like it surprises you."
Elena felt heat rush to her cheeks but said nothing.
The stranger stepped fully into the hallway and closed the door behind him with a quiet thud.
"Now," he said calmly, "the more important question is…"
He folded his arms.
"Why are two young women wandering through my castle without permission?"
Lydia blinked.
"Your castle?"
The man raised an eyebrow.
"Yes."
A brief silence followed.
Then Elena spoke.
Her voice felt strangely steady despite the pounding of her heart.
"We arrived only a few minutes ago. The carriage left us at the gate."
The man's expression changed slightly.
"Ah."
He studied her again.
More closely this time.
"And who exactly are you?"
Elena straightened her posture instinctively.
"I am Princess Elena Whitmoor of the Kingdom of Whitmoor."
Lydia quickly added, "And I'm her maid—Lydia Hart."
The man's red eyes flickered with interest.
"The Whitmoor princess."
He repeated the words slowly.
Then he nodded to himself.
"So they finally sent you."
Elena frowned.
"You knew we were coming?"
"Yes."
His tone was casual.
"As it turns out, I did receive a letter about that."
Lydia glanced at Elena nervously.
The man stepped closer.
Not threateningly.
But close enough that Elena could see faint scars running across the back of his hand.
"I suppose introductions are in order," he said.
He placed one hand over his chest and bowed slightly.
"My name is Rowan Dacre."
The name hit Elena like a sudden gust of cold wind.
Rowan Dacre.
The King of Dravenfall.
The ruler of Hollowthorn.
The rumored monster.
Elena's breath caught.
"You're… the king?"
Rowan straightened.
"Yes."
Lydia nearly choked.
"Elena… we should bow," she whispered urgently.
Both women quickly lowered their heads.
Rowan chuckled softly.
"That's not necessary."
Elena hesitated before lifting her gaze again.
Now that she knew who he was, the tension in the hallway felt different.
He wasn't just a stranger.
He was the man she had traveled across two kingdoms to marry.
And he had just killed someone.
Rowan seemed to sense her thoughts.
"That man inside the room," he said calmly, "was an assassin."
Lydia's eyes widened.
"An assassin?"
Rowan nodded.
"He made the mistake of sneaking into my castle with a knife."
Elena glanced at the closed door behind him.
"And the screaming?"
Rowan shrugged lightly.
"Captain Miles Brigg was questioning him."
Lydia looked uneasy.
"Captain…?"
"Yes."
Rowan gestured vaguely down the hallway.
"He's probably still cleaning up."
Elena wasn't sure if that was meant to be reassuring.
Rowan's gaze returned to her.
Something about the way he watched her made her skin prickle.
Not hostility.
Not anger.
Something more curious.
"You look familiar," he said suddenly.
Elena blinked.
"We've never met."
"I know."
Rowan's brow furrowed slightly.
"But still…"
He stepped a little closer.
Lydia shifted protectively beside Elena.
Rowan stopped.
His crimson eyes studied Elena's face with unsettling intensity.
Then he said something that made her heart skip.
"I've seen you before."
Elena felt a chill crawl up her spine.
"That's impossible."
Rowan tilted his head.
"Is it?"
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Rowan stepped back.
"Well," he said casually, "we shouldn't stand in this corridor all night."
He turned and began walking down the hallway.
After a few steps, he looked over his shoulder.
"Are you coming, Princess?"
Elena hesitated.
Something about this castle… about this man… felt dangerously strange.
But she had come all this way.
She had no choice now.
Lydia whispered nervously beside her.
"Elena… I don't trust him."
Elena quietly replied, "Neither do I."
Then she followed the man with crimson eyes deeper into Hollowthorn Castle.