Kyria
It wasn’t tough, just firm. Hot.
I turned back, and my breath was caught.
His eyes were molten. Unspoken words swirled there—desire, rage, fear, and something else I could not fathom.
He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Let go of me, like my skin burnt him.
“Kyria,” he said, voice low, “I can’t lose control.”
And he walked away. Leaving me trembling.
Because despite the coldness, despite the distance, he wanted me.
And he hated himself for it.
The Grand Hall buzzed with a strange rhythm. I couldn’t quite place.
Whispers clung to the wall like ivy — gossip trailing behind every look I received in the hall. If I lingered too long in any room, silence greeted me. The maids always go silent each time I’m spotted.
It didn’t take a genius to realise I was being edged
