Heir of Ashes

Chapter 12 :Temptation

Chapter 12 Temptation

Sinclair POV

Sam, my right-hand man, usually watches the monitor to choose who can come in and who doesn’t meet our standards. People think we are picky, that we only allow the rich and influential in, but it is the complete opposite. We do not want to take money from the hard-working citizens of Gemstone. We take from those who have plenty to give. Call me Robinhood.

Sam is busy sorting out two guys who got into an argument in the club; they had the good sense to argue in a private room instead of in the main room. The private rooms are booked out for people who want to talk business. It is soundproof, but we have cameras in the room. The sound is switched off to give them privacy, as far as they know at least. We have the rooms bugged. Gemcrest is my home, and I will not let shady deals disrupt the peace. We have shadow booths, which are in the corners of the room, almost completely in the dark. That is where normal deals take place, and if you want to be next level, you go to the private room.

This job is boring; there is hardly anything happening. We are late enough into the night that most of the people are already in attendance. I am mostly staring at an empty screen. I feel bad for putting Sam on this job. It is important, but honestly, he is better suited for another job. I might have to find someone more suited for this position in the future.

My eyes dully look up at the screen again as the trapdoor's alarm rings. I see pink heels coming down the ladder, then a sparkling pink dress. Definitely someone with money. I will most likely let her in. She fixes her dress before looking at the guy. I recognise her immediately.

She shouldn’t be here.

A princess in my club.

The princess.

Princess Meira of Vermillia.

A girl raised in gold and locked doors.

A girl who should never have been able to sneak past her father’s security, let alone climb into my world of shadows.

Now it’s not as simple anymore. It’s not a simple case of she has money that we can use, so let her in. If someone finds out she was in here. It can cause us a lot of problems. On the other side, I am curious to see what the most spoiled princess in Gemcrest is doing here, slumming it with the dark and dangerous. The underbelly of Gemcrest.

Curiosity won out. “Let her in.” The guard by the door doesn’t even hesitate; he steps aside, letting her through. I completely forgot about watching the camera by the door as I turned to the cameras inside the club. I watched her every move. She was smart enough to wear a wig when coming here. She didn’t pay attention to anyone. She seemed to be on her own mission.

She went to the bar to take a shot before going to dance. I watch the way she moves-awkward at first, then fluid, then bold. Her innocence is a bright flame in a room full of gasoline. I found myself being pulled towards the club. I just wanted a closer look. I thought she would be here to try and get attention, I’m willfully amazed to see she wasn’t.

I sat at the bar, trying not to be obvious. My men immediately stood straighter; they expected a threat, seeing me here in the club. I don’t come here all that much. I never sit at the bar; I have my own supply in my office. I have to have a drink in my hand to keep me from storming over to her. I want to be closer. I want to look into those odd green eyes of hers and who she really is.

Then some i***t tries to approach her. He was walking straight for her. She was enjoying herself; she wanted to dance alone. It’s one of the reasons why I have been holding myself back, even when my feet burned to go closer and my hands itch to grab onto her and sway with her.

I cut him off before he could even touch her. One look from me had him stopping in his tracks. My men took him off my hands, escorting him out. He hadn’t really done anything wrong, not yet at least, but he intended to, and that was enough for me. Giving in, I walked up to her, breaking her tranquillity.

“I wouldn’t have thought The Basement was a place for a princess to spend her night,” I say casually. I wanted her to know that I knew exactly who she was. I watched her eyes for a reaction. I saw them go big before she schooled her expression.

She blinks up at me, innocently. “Sorry, I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” I could play this game with her and pretend not to know her, pretend that I was mistaken, but I want to know why she is here.

“No.” I step closer. “I know exactly who you are,” I said confidently, smiling at her. I had her full attention now. She was watching me so closely, clearly trying to analyse me. She wanted to know what I wanted, just as I wanted answers for her odd behaviour.

Her throat bobs. “How?” she lets out an exasperated sigh, knowing she has lost this battle of wills. …

“Your eyes.” I pause, letting the truth land. “One emerald green. One sage green. Rare. Impossible to forget.” She freezes. She is just looking at me. I have no idea why. I didn’t say something completely crazy. Everyone in Gemcrest knows about her eyes. Her mother's too. A family with weird traits.

Her reaction to it, though, is sweet. I thought she’d be spoiled and self-absorbed, but she isn’t. She seems delicate. So unaware of the danger around her and breathtakingly brave for being here all on her own.

“Your secret is safe with me. I am really good with secrets.” I say quietly. “But you should go home. This place isn’t for princesses. It’s for dangerous men.”

“I’m not here for a man,” she snaps lightly. “I’m here to… breathe.” I didn’t mean to imply she was here trying to catch a guy's attention- she most certainly caught mine. I just meant that it’s dangerous for her.

She brushes past me, making something in my chest tighten. I have no intention of feeling like this. She is supposed to be just another patron. I move away, going to sit in a shadowed part of the club, my eyes never leaving her. Pretending it’s just to make sure she is safe.

She keeps drinking. Too fast.Too much. I want to go and stop her, but I don’t. I can’t get involved. I shouldn’t have left my office. Her cheeks are flushed. She is drunk, I can tell from how she sways. Foolish girl.

I can see she is struggling to stay up before her knees start to buckle. I rush over, immediately catching her before she hits the ground. She went limp in my arms. This is exactly what I didn’t want. I told myself not to get involved, and now I am standing with an unconscious princess in my arms.

I swear under my breath.

She weighs nothing.

She smells like jasmine and rebellion, which, it seems, is the smell of vodka.

I nod to my guard at the door.

He opens the exit without question.

I need to get her home. I can’t let her sleep in off here. The last thing anyone needs is to find the princess missing tomorrow morning. If she is foolish enough to come out and party, she should also be responsible enough not to pass out and put herself in danger. I don’t even know if she came here with a car. If she did, she would have to come and get it tomorrow. I put her in my car. Her hair fell into her eyes. I stroked it away, making the entire wig shift. I pulled it off, taking her in.

She is so damn beautiful. I force myself to step away and close the door. As we took off, she started to mumble nonsense in her sleep. A few words I caught:

“Free… finally… freedom…”

I don’t let myself feel what those words do to me.

When we reach the Vermillia estate, I slip out and lift her again. She curls instinctively into my chest. Her body feels so warm against mine. A warmth I haven't allowed myself to feel in a while

I carry her across the garden, avoiding the patrols. I know all the kingdom's defenses as the one who supplies all their weapons; I make sure that I know where the weapons will be in use. I don’t want any one kingdom to have too much power.

When standing below her balcony, I whisper:

“Wake up, princess.”

Her lashes flutter.

Slowly, she stirs.

Just before she can stand, she wobbles, making me grab her waist, pulling her flush against me. Her breath hitches as she looks up into my eyes. We are caught in the moment, staring at one another. The only thing to be heard is our breathing. I break out of the spell first.

“Watch out,” I murmur. “Don’t fall. I’ve got you.” For a second-just one-she looks at me like I’m the safest place she’s ever been.

That look is dangerous.

For both of us.

“I brought you home,” I say, stepping back, forcing space between us. She glances around, recognising the balcony she must have sneaked out of hours earlier.

“Oh,” she whispers.

“Goodnight, princess.” I turn away from her before I can talk myself into staying.

"Wait, what's your name?"

"Sinclair," I say, not even looking back

Her gaze burns into my back until I disappear into the darkness.

-----

MEIRA POV

The music vibrates through my bones as I dance, the bass thrumming up my legs like a heartbeat outside my body. For a moment, I get to be no one - just a girl in a wig.

Then I feel it.

A stare.

Not hungry. Not judging.

Knowing.

I turn, and that’s when I see him.

The man walking toward me cuts through the crowd as if he owns it.

White hair-shaved close on the sides, longer at the top and combed back.

Ice-blue eyes that look almost silver in the club’s lighting. A piercing glints from the piercing on his right eyebrow; two studs sit high on the bridge of his nose. His body is lean, strong, and ink showing beneath a sheer black button-up that clings to every line of muscle.

A black tie.

A fitted black suit jacket.

A walking contradiction-danger wrapped in elegance.

And he’s staring straight at me.

He stops close, too close, his voice low enough that only I hear it.

“I would’ve never thought ‘The Basement’ was the kind of place a princess would visit.” My stomach drops. Princess. No. No one was supposed to know.

I force a shaky smile. “Sorry. I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

He tilts his head. “No. I’m certain. You’re Princess Meira of Vermillia.”

My breath catches.

“How could you possibly-?” I was confused. I thought my disguise was perfect. Especially with tattoos, no one knows my leg is tatted up, no one would think I would ever do.

“Your eyes.” His gaze softens, just barely. “No one else in the Four Kingdoms has green eyes like yours. Not two different shades.” My heartbeat stutters.

He noticed my eyes first? Not the tattoo? Not the dress?

“My secret-” I whisper.

“It's safe with me, I am good with secrets,” he promises. “But you should go home. This place is for dangerous men.” Something rebellious inside me snaps.

“I’m not here for a man,” I say. “I’m here to feel something. To escape.” A flicker of emotion crosses his face - a mix of anger and something I can’t name.

Then I made the mistake of drinking again.

And again.

And again.

Until the room tilts sideways. I remember the glass slipping from my hand.

Someone is calling my name. Strong, warm hands, catching me before the floor does.

Then darkness swallows me whole.

I’m floating. The last clear thing I heard was the music. Then shattering glass and my father’s voice:

“You belong to me.”

I try to run, but the floor becomes thick mud, my legs sink in, and I can’t move. I try to push through it, but the floor-length dress I have on is caught in the mud; it feels like ropes holding me captive to the floor.

Hands grab my wrist. I felt panic rush through me, but I realised it’s not my father’s.

These are warm. Gentle. Steady.

A low voice echoes through the darkness:

“I’ve got you.” A face appears. White hair glowing like moonlight, ice-blue eyes burning through the void.

.

He reaches for me, and the mud has dissipated.

“Don’t fall,” he murmurs.

“Don’t break.” The darkness pulls harder.

My body feels heavy - too heavy to stay above the surface.

His hands hold me.

Anchor me.

Lift me.

“I’ve got you, princess.” The dream shifts-light, then dark, then a rush of cold air as my body is lifted, carried. I’m being moved. A heartbeat thuds beneath my ear. Warmth surrounds me. For the first time, the darkness doesn’t win.

Because he’s there.

Holding me together.

“Princess… wake up.” The voice is soft-too soft for Father, too warm for any guard.

I blink hard. The world swims into focus. I notice that I am being held in someone's arms against a chest.

He sets me gently on my feet, but the moment my weight shifts, my knees buckle.

A small gasp escapes me, but he catches me instantly, pulling me tight against his chest, one arm around my waist, the other steadying my back. His breath is close to my ear. His body is heat, strength and control - everything I don’t have.

“Watch out,” he murmurs. “Don’t fall. I’ve got you.” My hands grip the front of his jacket without thinking. My head is spinning, but the world feels sharper with him holding me. When I finally lift my gaze, he’s watching me with an intensity that steals my breath.

“I brought you back home,” he says quietly. Home. The word feels heavy, accusatory, and wrong. I tear my eyes away and realise where we are. Just below my balcony. The same balcony I climbed out of hours earlier.

“Oh,” I whisper. “I… thank you.”

He steps back slowly, making sure I can stand on my own before releasing me. He hesitates, just for one heartbeat, like he’s fighting something inside himself.

“I’ll be going now,” he says, voice deeper, restrained. “Get inside safely.”

He turns. Walks into the shadows.

"Wait, what is your name?"

"Sinclair." He says, not even looking back at me. How fitting, because ‘sin’ is all I think about when I see him.

And then he disappears.

I stay frozen, staring after him long after he’s gone, my heart beating far too fast to blame on alcohol. Because for the first time in my life, something dangerous felt safer than home.

I stand there long after he’s gone. The night air clings to my skin, cool and quiet, but my pulse is anything but. Sinclair. The name settles somewhere deep in my chest - dangerous, steady… real.

I turn back toward my balcony, climbing up the vines carefully, going inside without a sound. My room is exactly as I left it. But something in me isn’t.

I close the doors behind me slowly, pressing my forehead against the glass. My gaze drops to my leg, to the ink curling over my skin—flowers and skull, softness and ruin.

Mine.

My mind drifts back to him. The way he looked at me. It felt like he saw me. He didn’t look at me like I was completely broken, and he didn’t look like he wanted to own me.

My chest tightens. I now know what freedom feels like. And I don’t think I can go back. My fingers curl into fists at my sides. Tomorrow, Father will expect obedience and silence like he always does. I don’t think I will be able to give it.

I lift my chin slightly, staring at my reflection. Something has shifted. Something he won’t be able to control.

A slow, dangerous smile pulls at my lips.

Let him try.