Chapter 9
1641 Words
After Cain left, Elaine stood by the window for a very long time.
The night did not change. It never did in the Realm of Eternal Night. The sky remained that muted gray-purple, like a wound that refused to heal, like a bruise pressed into the heavens.
Her wrist throbbed.
Not sharply. Not violently.
But steadily.
A dull, pulsing ache, almost in rhythm with her heartbeat.
She lowered her gaze.
The strip of cloth wrapped around her wrist was soaked through. The blood had already dried, turning dark, almost black in places. It had glued the fabric to her skin.
She did not remove it.
Partly because it would hurt.
Mostly because she did not want to.
That thought frightened her.
What exactly was she afraid of?
That she was getting used to him?
That she was beginning to remember the cold warmth of his skin?
That she might start waiting for him?
Or worse.
That in front of those crimson eyes, she might slowly, piece by piece, lose the walls she had spent ten years building?
“You’re thinking about him,” the voice in the pendant said.
“No.”
“Your heartbeat says otherwise.”
Elaine pressed a hand against her chest.
Her heart was beating fast.
But not because of love.
Because of adrenaline.
Because of the attack.
Because he had taken a blade for her.
Because she had fed him her blood.
Because he had looked at her and said, quietly, almost like a confession:
Too late.
“I’m not thinking about him,” she said, her voice steadier now. “I’m thinking about what comes next.”
“What comes next is simple,” the pendant replied. “You wait.”
“For what?”
“For him to come to you. For him to trust you. For him to fall in love with you.”
Her fingers tightened.
“I don’t need him to love me.”
“You do.”
The voice was calm.
Too calm.
Like reciting a law of nature.
“Breaking the curse requires two things. He must be willing to die for you. And you must be willing to sacrifice yourself for him. If he doesn’t love you enough, he won’t die for you. If you don’t love him enough, you won’t sacrifice yourself.”
“I don’t love him.”
“Not yet,” the voice said softly. “But you will.”
Elaine said nothing.
She only clenched the pendant in her palm, feeling its warmth seep into her skin.
Alive.
It felt alive.
She did not love him.
She could not.
Love was weakness.
Love was a chain.
Love was the reason her parents died.
Her father had loved her mother, a descendant of witches. And for that, the human king had hunted him, used his secret, destroyed everything.
Love killed.
She had seen it with her own eyes.
So she would not love.
She refused.
The next morning, when the maids knocked, Elaine was already dressed.
She chose a deep blue gown.
Not black.
Not white.
Something in between.
A color that did not draw attention, yet did not suggest fragility.
Her hair was pinned up neatly with a silver hairpin.
Its tip was sharpened.
If necessary, it could become a weapon.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
Her complexion was pale.
There were faint shadows beneath her eyes.
But her gaze was bright.
Sharp.
Ready.
“My queen, Adjutant Drake requests an audience.”
Her fingers paused for the briefest moment.
Drake.
Cain’s adjutant.
The man who had once told her to try to stay alive.
“Let him in.”
The door opened.
Drake entered.
He wore a dark gray uniform today, perfectly fitted. A slender sword hung at his waist. His boots gleamed. His hair was immaculate.
And that smile.
That same unsettling smile.
Not warm.
Not fake.
Something practiced.
Professional.
Like a mask he had worn for centuries.
“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing slightly. “His Majesty sent me to check on you.”
“To check,” Elaine repeated. “Or to watch?”
His smile didn’t falter.
“Both.”
He stepped inside and sat down as if he belonged there.
“He was concerned you might have been frightened last night.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
He studied her.
“You’re not the kind of woman who frightens easily.”
Silence stretched.
Wind brushed the curtains.
Footsteps echoed faintly somewhere in the distance.
“What do you want to say?” Elaine asked at last.
Drake’s smile deepened.
“You saved his life.”
“And?”
“He owes you now.”
“I don’t need that.”
“But he does.”
Drake stood and walked to the window, his back to her.
“For twelve hundred years, he has owed nothing to anyone. He trusts no one. Needs no one. Loves no one.”
He turned.
“Last night, he took a blade for you.”
“He did it for himself,” Elaine said coldly. “If I die, his condition worsens.”
Drake shook his head.
“You’re wrong.”
His voice dropped.
“When he stepped in front of that blade, he wasn’t thinking about the curse.”
Elaine’s fingers tightened slightly.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve followed him for eight hundred years.”
A pause.
“I’ve seen him kill. Judge. Survive everything without blinking.”
Another pause.
“But I have never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you.”
“What way?”
“Fear.”
Elaine stilled.
“He’s afraid of you,” Drake continued softly. “Not because you’re dangerous. But because of what you make him feel.”
He stepped closer.
“I’m not here to tell you to love him.”
He leaned in slightly.
“I’m here to warn you.”
Elaine met his gaze.
“He is more fragile than you think.”
A beat.
“And more dangerous.”
His voice lowered further.
“If you plan to hurt him, do it before he falls in love with you.”
Silence.
“Because after that,” Drake said quietly, “your blade will cut deeper than any enemy’s.”
He straightened.
The smile returned.
“Have a pleasant day, Your Majesty.”
Then he left.
The door closed.
Elaine heard him outside.
“Strengthen the guard. No one enters without orders.”
Footsteps faded.
She remained by the window.
Still gripping her skirt.
“He warned you,” the pendant said.
“I know.”
“And reminded you.”
“I know.”
“Will you listen?”
Elaine was silent for a long time.
Then she walked to the table, picked up her book, and opened it.
“No,” she said.
The next three days were quiet.
Too quiet.
No assassins.
No politics.
No Cain.
Nothing.
Her routine became mechanical.
Wake.
Eat.
Walk.
Sit in the garden.
Read.
Sleep.
A still surface.
Like dead water.
But Elaine knew better.
Stillness always came before a storm.
She used the time.
She mapped the palace.
Not a simple sketch.
A precise, strategic blueprint.
Guard rotations down to the minute.
Corridor lengths counted in steps.
Hidden doors marked down to the cracks in stone.
She read everything about the curse.
Every failed attempt.
Every death.
Every pattern.
And then.
She found someone.
That night, she waited in the garden.
A book in her hands.
But her attention elsewhere.
The old oak tree.
Huge.
Ancient.
A hollow hidden behind vines.
She waited.
Cold wind cut through her.
Her fingers went numb.
Still, she did not move.
Finally.
A figure emerged.
Small.
Thin.
A girl.
Twelve or thirteen.
Sharp eyes.
Scars on her face.
“You came,” Elaine said.
“You called,” the girl replied.
“I need a message delivered.”
“To whom?”
“The resistance.”
The girl extended her hand.
“Ten gold.”
Elaine paid.
“Three days,” the girl said.
Then she vanished.
Like a shadow.
That night, Cain returned.
Through the window.
Moonlight spilled into the room.
He stood there.
Silent.
Watching her.
“You prefer windows?” she asked.
“I can fly.”
She paused.
Right.
He was not human.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said.
“I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.”
He sat beside her.
“I’m afraid of myself.”
She studied him.
“What are you afraid of?”
“You.”
His voice was quiet.
“I’m afraid of wanting you.”
He touched his chest.
“It started beating again.”
She didn’t stop him.
Didn’t move away.
“Then just do one thing,” she said softly.
“What?”
“Live.”
He smiled.
Soft.
Fragile.
“Because you’re here,” he said.
Three days later.
The council.
Crowded.
Cold.
Hostile.
Elaine walked in.
Every eye on her.
She did not falter.
She stood before them.
“You want to send me away,” she said calmly.
Silence.
Cain stood.
“She stays.”
Arguments rose.
Tension snapped.
Then silence again.
Until—
The elder leaned close.
And whispered:
“Your mother said your name when she died.”
Elaine froze.
“Run, Elaine.”
He left.
And something inside her broke.
That night, she collapsed behind the door.
Crying.
Not from fear.
From truth.
Her mother had been murdered.
Not by chance.
But by design.
Her blood burned.
Her fists clenched.
“I will kill them,” she whispered.
Every last one.
The pendant stayed silent.
Warm.
Waiting.
Outside, the wind howled through the endless night.
Inside the cold palace, a woman wept.
But she was not breaking.
She was sharpening the blade.
- Writer
