Chapter 6
1563 Words
On the fifth day, an unexpected visitor arrived.
“Your Majesty.”
Elaine looked up.
A man stood at the entrance of the side chamber.
He was tall. Not much shorter than Cain. But younger. At least, he looked younger.
Dark brown hair. Deep gray eyes.
And a smile.
The kind of smile that made people uncomfortable.
Elaine had seen it before.
In the human court. On nobles who bowed in front of the king and plotted behind his back.
“Who are you?” she asked, closing her book and standing.
“Drake.” He inclined his head slightly. “His Majesty's adjutant.”
Elaine studied him.
She had heard that name.
The maids whispered about him. Said he was the king's most trusted man. The only one who dared speak honestly in front of him.
“Did he send you?”
“No.” Drake's smile deepened. “I came on my own.”
“Why?”
“To see you.”
Elaine said nothing.
She simply watched him.
Waiting.
Drake lingered at the door for a moment, then walked in and took a seat across from her.
Casual.
Relaxed.
As if this were his own room.
But Elaine noticed.
He chose a position where he could see both the door and the window.
A habit.
Someone who always observed.
Like her.
“You're not afraid?” he asked.
“Of what?”
“Of His Majesty. Of this palace. Of everyone in it.”
Elaine thought for a moment.
“Would it help if I were?”
Drake paused.
Then laughed.
This time, the smile reached his eyes.
“You're interesting, Your Majesty.”
“I try.”
“His Majesty won't come to see you,” Drake said, his tone turning serious. “At least not anytime soon. He is not… good at dealing with this.”
“With what?”
“Fate.”
Elaine lowered her gaze.
“I know,” she said softly. “He doesn't want me.”
“Not exactly.” Drake shook his head. “He's afraid of wanting you.”
Elaine looked up.
Drake's expression was complicated.
Pity.
Resignation.
And something else she could not quite read.
Respect.
Or warning.
“Do you know how his parents died?” Drake asked.
“I've heard a little.”
“His mother was human,” Drake said quietly. “His father gave up the throne for her. The pureblood faction revolted. His father died by the blade. His mother burned at the stake.”
Elaine's fingers tightened slightly.
“He was ten,” Drake continued. “He watched everything.”
Silence.
“He never swore to love,” Drake said, standing and walking toward the window. “For twelve hundred years, he has never cared for anyone. Not because he is heartless. Because he is afraid.”
He turned back.
“Afraid of becoming his father. Afraid of destroying his entire clan.”
His gaze settled on Elaine.
“So if you are waiting for him to love you… you will be waiting a long time.”
A pause.
“Maybe forever.”
Elaine was silent for a long time.
Then she smiled.
The smile made Drake freeze.
Not because it was beautiful.
Because it was empty.
No sadness.
No disappointment.
No emotion.
Just a mask.
“I don't need his love,” Elaine said calmly. “That's not why I came here.”
Drake stared at her, searching her face.
“Then why did you come?”
Elaine lifted her chin and met his gaze.
“To survive.”
It was not a lie.
She needed to live.
To return.
To kill the human king.
To watch his blood spill across the ground.
Drake watched her for a long moment.
Then nodded.
“I understand,” he said. “Then I wish you a long life, Your Majesty.”
He turned to leave.
At the door, he paused.
Without looking back.
“There's something you should know.”
Elaine's eyes flickered.
“His Majesty may not come to see you,” Drake said, “but he will not allow anyone to harm you.”
A beat.
“At the council, someone suggested sending you back.”
Elaine's fingers stilled.
“And?”
“He said this.”
Drake's voice lowered.
“She is my queen. Whoever touches her stands against me.”
Then he left.
Elaine stood by the window.
Watching his figure disappear into the corridor.
Her hand rested on the windowsill.
Her fingers trembled.
Not from fear.
From something else.
“You are not allowed to soften,” she whispered to herself.
The pendant against her chest grew warm.
A voice rose again.
Soft.
Almost gentle.
“Too late.”
Day ten.
Elaine had drawn seven maps.
She knew every corner of the chamber.
Every stone in the corridor.
Every pattern of footsteps.
There was a door.
A strange one.
It opened at five in the morning.
A maid came out.
At eleven at night.
A guard went in.
She was waiting.
For the right moment.
To open it.
To see what lay beyond.
But she was not in a hurry.
She had waited ten years.
A few more days meant nothing.
That night, she sat by the window, reading.
The book was old.
History of the Eternal Night.
Written in ancient vampire script.
She could not fully understand it.
But the voice in the pendant translated for her.
“What are you reading?”
Elaine froze.
Then looked up.
Cain stood at the door.
Black robes.
Loose hair falling over his shoulders.
Crimson eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight.
His skin looked even paler than before.
Shadows lingered beneath his eyes.
Like a man who had not rested in a long time.
Her heart jumped.
Once.
Only once.
Then she steadied it.
“Your Majesty.” She stood and bowed slightly. “What brings you here?”
He did not answer.
He just looked at her.
His gaze was strange.
Not cold.
Not distant.
Like someone staring at something he should not be looking at.
“Are you injured?” she asked.
She noticed the blood.
His blood.
A deep cut across his palm.
It dripped steadily onto the floor.
Cain glanced down, as if he had forgotten.
“It's nothing.”
He walked in.
Slowly.
Sat across from her.
His movements were heavy.
His breathing was uneven.
Like someone who had run too far.
Elaine watched him.
She did not know what to say.
She should hate him.
Fear him.
Stay away.
But he sat there.
Bleeding.
Silent.
Like a wounded beast hiding in the dark.
She stood.
Walked toward him.
Knelt.
And took his hand.
Cain went rigid.
“You…”
“Don't move.”
She tore a strip from her dress.
Carefully wrapped his palm.
Her touch was light.
Barely there.
But his hand trembled.
Not from pain.
From her.
From the warmth of her skin.
Soft.
Alive.
It burned through him.
Through every wall he had built over twelve hundred years.
“Done,” she said quietly. “It's not deep. It will heal in a few days…”
She did not finish.
Cain suddenly stood.
Grabbed her wrist.
Hard.
Too hard.
Her bones protested under the pressure.
His eyes darkened.
Deep red.
Almost black.
His pupils contracted sharply.
Like something losing control.
“Your blood,” he said hoarsely. “It's calling me.”
Elaine’s pulse quickened.
She tried to pull back.
Failed.
“Let go.”
Her voice was steady.
Her body was not.
“I can't.”
His other hand lifted.
Brushed her cheek.
Cold.
Like winter water.
But it left fire behind.
“I can't,” he repeated.
Lower.
Almost to himself.
He leaned forward.
Rested his forehead against her shoulder.
Elaine froze.
She could feel his breath.
Warm.
Uneven.
Against her skin.
She could feel his body trembling.
Like something inside him was tearing him apart.
He was fighting.
Fighting fate.
Fighting himself.
Fighting something he thought had died long ago.
“You shouldn't have come here,” he murmured.
“You shouldn't have appeared in front of me.”
“I didn't choose to come,” Elaine said softly. “Your fate brought me.”
He said nothing.
Just stayed there.
Like a drowning man holding onto the only thing keeping him afloat.
After a long time, he let go.
Stepped back.
His eyes returned to crimson.
His face went cold again.
But his hands still trembled.
His breathing was still uneven.
“Don't think I'll fall in love with you,” he said coldly. “You're just a tool.”
Elaine looked at him.
At the struggle still hidden in his eyes.
At the vulnerability he had not fully buried.
“I know,” she said.
Cain turned and left.
Quick.
Almost like he was running.
The door closed behind him.
Heavy.
Final.
Like a coffin sealing shut.
Elaine stood there.
Staring at the door.
Her hand trembled.
Not from fear.
From something else.
When his forehead rested on her shoulder…
She felt it.
Not love.
Not desire.
Loneliness.
A loneliness that had lasted twelve hundred years.
The pendant burned against her chest.
The voice whispered again.
Soft.
“See? He is still human.”
Elaine closed her eyes.
“I don't care,” she said.
But her voice trembled.
- Writer
