The next morning
The soft light of dawn had crept into the room, filtered through the thick curtains. It danced in pale halos on the sheets, caressing Lyssandra's still-sleeping face.
She opened her eyes slowly, momentarily confused by the calm atmosphere. Her gaze fell on the blanket pulled up to her shoulders. She remembered: Kael had come, had read... then she had fallen asleep.
A simple gesture. And yet...
She lay there for a few minutes, her thoughts clouded by the silent presence he had left behind. Then she got up, dressed slowly, and went downstairs.
In the corridors of the manor, all was silent. A few ghostly servants passed by, never breaking the solemn calm of the place. One of them bowed before her.
“Lady Lyssandra. The master awaits you in the winter garden.”
She was surprised and shocked to hear one of the servants speak.
Did Kael lie to me? she wondered.
Nodding simply, she followed him through the corridors to the hall.
Kael was already there, sitting at a dark wooden table. A cup steamed between his fingers. The morning light played with the stained glass windows and hanging plants. It was almost unreal.
He looked up when she entered, without saying anything.
“Good morning,” she said softly.
He nodded.
“Did you sleep well?”
She approached, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She kept her eyes on him.
“Better than expected.”
A silence fell. Then she added,
“Did you stay last night?”
He stared at the dark liquid in his cup before replying in a neutral tone.
“No, even though you wouldn't have minded if I stayed the whole night,” he said with a sly smile.
“Um... What about the book?” asked Lyssandra, trying to ignore his teasing.
“An old habit.”
She looked at him for a long moment, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“You're strange, Kael.”
He shrugged imperceptibly.
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn't meant as one.”
A slight smile crossed his lips. Brief. Fleeting. But real.
“Tell me,” she continued, a little more seriously. “This ball... Are you really planning on taking me?”
He finally put down the cup, his gaze sliding toward her, calculated but calm.
“Yes. And no refusal will be accepted.”
She crossed her arms, watching him.
“I suppose that's what's expected of me. That I dress up, smile, and dance.”
“You'll play that role very well.”
“And you? What's your role in this masquerade?”
He stared at her a little too long.
"That of a man who has to put on a brave face."
A silence fell between them.
She tilted her head slightly, curious, almost provocative.
"You're hiding something. You always seem distracted."
“And you always try too hard to understand people.”
“Especially those who refuse to say anything...” she continued.
She smiled, but her gaze sought something beyond words.
Kael stood up and walked toward the glass wall, his back to her.
“It's better that you don't understand everything, Lyssandra.”
This sentence, uttered with a strange calmness, left a chill in the air.
She looked at him for a long time, then got up in turn. As she passed by him, she stopped.
“You can't control everything, Kael. One day, it will come back to haunt you.”
He turned his head slightly, without answering.
She left without another word, her silhouette disappearing into the corridors. But her perfume lingered for a moment.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Kael closed his eyes briefly, then murmured to himself:
“I know.”
Breakfast was served in the manor's large dining room. The sun, still low in the sky, filtered through the tall windows and cast golden glints on the black onyx table. Clink. The porcelain clinked with every discreet movement.
Lyssandra sat opposite Kael, her face lightly made up, her hair carefully styled. She wore a simple dress, but the way she leaned forward, slowly smoothing the fabric against her hips or playing innocently with her spoon, betrayed a certain intention.
Kael, impassive, ate silently. Clack. The blade of his knife slid against the plate. He didn't look up, as if he were alone in the world.
“You're not eating much,” Lyssandra remarked, her voice soft, almost coaxing.
“I'm eating enough.”
She let out a quiet, forced laugh, tinged with nervousness.
“You could at least make conversation with me.” We're having dinner together, after all."
“This isn't dinner. It's breakfast. And you spend more time staring at me than eating.”
Fff. Caught red-handed, Lyssandra blushed slightly but kept smiling.
“It's just that I enjoy the company. Especially that of a man as... intriguing, cold, and annoying as you.”
Kael finally looked up, slowly. Just for a moment. Long enough for her to feel a brief icy sting in her stomach. A cold stare. Unfathomable. Then he returned his attention to his plate.
“You're far too expressive to be credible, Lyssandra.”
“Hey!” she protested, puffing out her cheeks. “I'm doing my best...”
“Exactly, don’t do anything. You don't need to try.”
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with a diffuse tension. She stared at him, frustrated, her fork suspended halfway to her lips. He seemed to be reading her. No, dissecting her.
Then he stood up, with a fluid movement, too fluid to be insignificant.
“I have business to attend to. See you tonight.”
His footsteps receded, steady, tap... tap... tap..., echoing in the room. He didn't look back.
Lyssandra was left alone with her cup of tea... and a burning sensation in her chest.
After finishing her breakfast, Lyssandra went for a walk in the manor's garden. It was a vast space at the back of the house, dotted with ancient statues and strange flowers, some with bluish petals, others giving off a slight metallic scent, almost iron-like with a hint of cinnamon. Shhhh. The wind brushed against the bushes, carrying with it a scent of mystery.
She walked slowly, her hands clasped behind her back. Her thoughts fluttered like black butterflies.
I have to make an impression tomorrow... but not too much. Just enough to get noticed. To get him to notice me. So that people will respect my closeness to him.
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply of the fragrant air. The dress he had given her was perfect. Suggestive without being vulgar. Mesmerizing. It would turn heads. And Kael...
Kael couldn't ignore me forever.
She imagined the room, the stares, the music, and the whispers. And him, by her side, distant, cold... but hers.
A shiver ran down her spine.
I'll shine just enough to outshine the others. But not him. Never him.
A smile touched her lips, laden with sweet revenge.
Noon arrived. The dining room was silent, too vast for a single presence. Clink. The dishes echoed in the emptiness.
Lyssandra ate alone, picking at her plate without any real appetite. Kael was absent. No note. No word. Nothing. She feigned indifference, but every second of his absence hammered at her pride. Her gaze slipped involuntarily toward the entrance with every creak of wood or passing shadow.
At the end of the meal, she rose abruptly.
“Butler?”
Shff. Miguel appeared in the doorway, an impeccable specter in his dark suit, as always.
“Lady Lyssandra?”
I hadn't been hallucinating; they can talk all they want. Kael really lied to me, but why?
“Can you take me to the big library? I feel like reading.”
“Any particular genre, perhaps?”
She hesitated. Her fingers intertwined nervously.
“Romance. Something intense... And if you have any titles... useful for learning how to... please, I'll take them.”
Miguel tilted his head, flashing a rare, almost knowing smile.
“I see. Follow me, Lady Lyssandra.”
The library was a silent cathedral. Shelves rose up to a vaulted ceiling painted with astral frescoes. Mobile staircases glided softly, creeeak, on their rails. An old chandelier swayed, creaking with every breath of air.
Miguel guided her to a more secluded section.
“Here are the books you're looking for. ‘The Thrill of Forbidden Nights,’ 'Under the Tears of the Scarlet Lover'... and this one: ‘The Art of Insinuation.’”
Lyssandra took them between her gloved fingers, her cheeks slightly flushed.
“Thank you... that's very... kind.”
“It's my duty, Lady Lyssandra. It's my pleasure.”
She lost herself in the pages, sitting in a worn leather armchair near a large bay window. The light caressed the books, her crossed thighs, and the soft rustling of the pages punctuated her daydreams.
How do you seduce a man who seems to have seen everything and experienced everything?
At the end of the afternoon, as she descended the stairs of the great hall, Lyssandra stopped short.
CLACK. The front door closed with a whisper. Kael had just entered. His boots left dark footprints on the marble. He was covered in splatters—blood, no doubt—and yet... not a scratch. Not a breathless gasp. Not even a frown of pain.
Just his stained clothes. And that look. Cold. Unchanging.
“Kael?!” she gasped, the echo of her voice bouncing off the walls.
He looked up at her. A moment's hesitation. Then he continued walking.
Lyssandra descended one step, her voice trembling.
“It's not... your blood?”
He shook his head slowly.
“No. Nothing serious. You don't have to worry.”
“Could you at least explain? Where were you?”
He smiled. A discreet smile. A wicked smile. An enigmatic smile.
“Your sudden concern is very sweet. But unnecessary.”
He climbed the steps without slowing down. Brushing past her. Shhh. She smelled the metallic scent of blood. And something else... something dark.
He passed her without another word. His shadow slid over her like an icy veil.
Lyssandra stood frozen. Her heartbeat quickened. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Not from fear.
But from curiosity. And concern.
