AURORA

THE PRINCE’S CHAMBERS

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The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind her, echoing like a verdict. Aurora stood frozen in the dim light of the Crown Prince’s chambers, the rich tapestries and polished marble floors blurring into shadows around her. Her knees trembled, but it was his voice—sharp and commanding—that rooted her in place.

“Name,” Jael demanded, his tone detached, almost cruelly indifferent.

Aurora’s lips parted, but her voice broke before it could find strength. “Au—Aur—Auro—”

He raised one brow, tilting his head slightly, studying her like a hawk circling prey. “Hmm. Auro?” His lips curled faintly, not in kindness, but in mild disdain. “What a strange name.”

Her chest tightened. She dropped her gaze, the rush of shame stinging behind her eyes.

But Jael didn’t dismiss her. Instead, he moved closer, the sound of his boots slow and deliberate against the stone floor. Each step pressed her further into her own silence until his shadow draped over her like a cloak.

“Where did you come from?” he asked. His voice was quieter now, though no less commanding, the kind of softness that felt more dangerous than a roar.

Aurora swallowed hard. “The—The village by the western hills, my lord.”

He hummed, circling her like he was piecing together a puzzle only he could see. His presence was overwhelming, his nearness suffocating—yet something about his gaze didn’t hold the same hunger she had endured under Jareth’s touch. Instead, there was curiosity, sharp and unyielding.

“And who gave you to Jareth?” His words were clipped, each syllable precise, testing.

Aurora’s breath faltered. Her hands twisted in the fabric of her dress. “I—I was sent. Ordered…”

His steps stopped just short of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from him. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering until it was almost intimate. “Look at me.”

Her lashes fluttered, and for the first time, she dared to raise her eyes to his. A strange tension gripped the air. His expression remained cold, but in his eyes—dark and unflinching—there was something else. Something that unsettled her even more than indifference.

“You’re trembling,” Jael observed, and though the words were simple, the way he said them made her pulse quicken.

Aurora pressed her lips together, unsure if she should speak, unsure if she even could.

He studied her for a long, weighted moment before finally pulling back half a step, though his gaze never left hers. “Strange name. Strange girl.” His tone softened—not gentle, but almost thoughtful. “Perhaps not so strange after all.”

Jael turned from her without warning, his heavy cloak trailing as he strode toward the massive bed carved of dark oak and draped in crimson velvet. Without so much as a glance back, he reclined onto it, resting against the pillows like a predator at ease.

“Sing,” he ordered. His eyes slid lazily to her, though his tone left no room for defiance. “A song to put me to sleep.”

Aurora’s heart jumped. Surely, he was mocking her. She stood rooted in place, lips parted in disbelief. “My…" lord?”

His gaze sharpened, cutting into her hesitation like a blade. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The command burned through her spine. Fluttering, awkward, she opened her mouth and let a fragile melody spill into the silence. Her voice wavered like candlelight in a storm, unsure, trembling—but still soft, clear, beautiful in its rawness.

Before the tune could settle, Jael lifted a hand, silencing her. “Enough,” he said. His tone wasn’t cruel, only decisive. He shifted, turning his face into the pillow. “Stay. Watch me.”

The strangeness of the command struck her, but she dared not question. So she stood, rigid at first, then slowly easing into stillness, her wide eyes following the rise and fall of his chest.

Moments passed. His breath grew steady, unhurried. Aurora blinked in disbelief—he’s asleep. The Crown Prince of Kingdom Everest, the man whispered to be carved from steel, who never knew rest, slept under her gaze.

Jael, drifting at last into slumber, felt something unexplainable loosen in his chest. For the first time in years, the weight pressing down on him felt lighter, his heart’s walls rattled by the presence of a mere servant girl.

Aurora, meanwhile, found her nerves softening. Her eyes wandered across the grand chamber: the tall shelves lined with scrolls, the swords mounted like art, the glowing embers in the hearth. And then she saw it—

A glass cupboard at the far end of the room. Inside, on a pedestal, lay an heirloom: a pendant wrought in silver and midnight stone, glowing faintly under torchlight. The moment her gaze met it, something inside her screamed Mine.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. Step by step, breath shallow, she reached for the glass. Her fingers stretched toward the lock, trembling with a hunger she couldn’t explain—

A vice-like grip seized her wrist. Pain lanced through her arm as she gasped, snapping out of the trance. Behind her, Jael loomed, his hand crushing hers with a force that promised to break bone. His voice was ice.

“What do you think you are doing?”

Her knees buckled. She dropped to the ground, forehead nearly touching the floor, trembling as words tumbled out. “Mercy, my lord—please—I don’t know—I wasn’t—please forgive—”

For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing. His shadow towered over her, his silence louder than thunder. Then, at last, he released her, turning away as though she were nothing but dust.

“Leave.”

She stumbled backwards, heart pounding, until the doors swallowed her into the cold corridor beyond.

Every step away from his chambers felt like borrowed time. She could still feel his grip on her wrist, the weight of his stare. In her chest, terror twisted into a darker thought—death awaits me.

By the time she reached the servants’ quarters, Aurora’s lips were pale, her breath shallow. She needed to find Aida. Only her friend would know the truth that gnawed at her now: how do they behead servants?