Page 17

I close my eyes, willing my mind to calm.

The manor’s stillness settles over me like a second skin.

Sleep doesn’t come easily, not when her voice echoes in my thoughts, not when the shape of her face lingers behind my eyelids.

I can almost feel her presence, as though she stands in the corner, watching me with those wide eyes that hold both caution and reluctant trust.

The night drags on, and at last I slip into uneasy slumber. I dream of coiling vines wrapped around my arms, dragging me deeper into a jungle where I can’t see the path. In that dream, her voice calls out, urging me to break free. I wake with a start, chest heaving, the lamp’s flame flickering low.

The next day dawns with a strange clarity.

Sahrine informs me that Mira continues to carry out her assigned tasks swiftly and efficiently.

There’s no sign of her trying to flee again, at least for now.

I sense the staff’s relief. They must fear another confrontation if she repeats her attempt.

Instead, it appears she’s settling into the daily routines with a kind of cautious acceptance.

I keep my distance for most of the morning, dealing with routine matters: checking on Rahlazen’s status.

He has recovered from my venom, though he’s still locked within the estate pending a final decision.

I suspect he’s eager to slither back to the council, but I won’t release him yet.

That conflict lurks on the horizon, but for the moment I choose not to engage.

Midday finds me in the central courtyard, overseeing a small group of guards who practice drills with wooden staves.

The air is hot, the sun beating down through a break in the overhead canopy.

My scales glimmer with perspiration as I correct a guard’s stance, demonstrating how to pivot in defense.

My tail rests coiled behind me for balance.

From across the courtyard, I spot Mira carrying a basket of linens to a line strung between two columns.

The midday light reveals her figure more clearly: slender limbs, hair pinned neatly with the jade comb.

She doesn’t glance my way, but I notice her movements are calm, no trace of panic in her posture.

The image draws me in, luring my focus away from the guards.

One of the soldiers notices my distraction and nearly fumbles a strike.

I snap back to attention, brow furrowing.

“Concentrate!” I hiss, stepping forward to position the soldier’s arms correctly.

A faint scowl crosses my face. I shouldn’t allow her presence to affect me so strongly. Yet my pulse remains elevated.

By the time we conclude the drill, Mira has finished hanging the linens.

She heads inside with the empty basket, shadow flickering across the courtyard flagstones.

A whisper of longing stirs at the thought of speaking to her again.

I can’t recall the last time a single presence occupied my mind so completely.

It irritates me, this sense of being lured by what should be inconsequential.

I dismiss the guards and linger alone. The courtyard fountain splashes in the silence, carrying the scent of water and damp stone.

Another memory arises: that day by the fountain, when I found her creeping near the archway.

We exchanged few words, but the tension was palpable. I shake off the recollection.

Eventually, I move indoors, prowling through shadowed halls until I reach one of the manor’s smaller balconies.

The vantage point overlooks the jungle canopy, where red-barked trees and serpentine vines sprawl in an unbroken expanse.

If I peer over the balustrade, I can see the winding path that leads toward the capital, though it remains distant.

Exile has become my fortress and my burden.

This is the domain I control, and I will not see it undermined—by the council, by rival nobles, or by my own conflicted feelings.

A soft shuffle of footsteps alerts me to Mira’s presence. She steps onto the balcony, half-hidden by a column. Surprise flickers in her features. Maybe she didn’t expect anyone here. For an instant, it seems she might retreat, but she steels herself and remains, clasping her hands in front of her.

I arch a brow. “Exploring the manor further?” I ask, injecting calm into my voice.

She nods. “Sahrine said the balcony needed sweeping. I thought I’d see how bad it is.”

My gaze drops to the broom in her grasp. “Then by all means, carry on.”

I shift to the side, letting her pass. She crosses the balcony, gaze skimming the view of the jungle. “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs under her breath, so quiet I almost miss it.

“Yes,” I agree softly. The expanse of Kaynvu’s forest is a sight that once filled me with pride. Now it feels tinted with the isolation of exile.

She steps toward the railing, leaning out to catch the breeze. A few leaves flutter across the stone tiles. She raises the broom, begins sweeping in practiced strokes. Her posture is relaxed, though I sense a hint of self-consciousness at my presence.

An inexplicable urge compels me forward.

I stand near the edge, leaving just enough space so she doesn’t feel cornered.

My arms fold behind my back. The hush is surprisingly tranquil, aside from the faint rustling of leaves.

Neither of us speaks for a while—she sweeps, I watch the distant treetops sway.

When she pauses, I say in a measured tone, “I rarely see humans admire the jungle. They usually fear it.”

She sets the broom against the rail, gaze lingering on the forest. “I was afraid when I tried to escape,” she admits. “But it’s also... vast, full of possibility. If I wasn’t so certain it would kill me, I’d probably find it inspiring.” A dry laugh escapes her, tinged with resignation.

My chest tightens. “At least you acknowledge it’s dangerous,” I say, not unkindly.

She glances at me, expression uncertain. “I’m aware. I also see something majestic in it.”

A strange feeling wells in me—admiration for her willingness to see past the immediate threat. “Then maybe you understand how I feel about this domain.”

She tilts her head slightly, curiosity igniting in her eyes. “Is that why you built your estate here, so far from the capital?”

A pang of memory hits: betrayal from the council, the betrothed who tried to end my life for sparing a human servant. I close my eyes momentarily, swallowing bitterness. “It suited me at the time,” I say curtly, refusing to elaborate.

She opens her mouth as though to press further, then thinks better of it. “All right,” she murmurs, turning her attention back to the sweeping.

The silence that settles between us crackles with tension, though not entirely unpleasant. I notice the subtle lines of her face, the determined set of her jaw, how she handles the broom with methodical care. My gaze drifts to the jade comb glinting in her hair, and warmth ripples through me.

Without warning, a small gust of wind gusts across the balcony, sending stray leaves dancing around us.

She laughs, startled, batting at a leaf that lands on her shoulder.

My tail shifts reflexively, coiling a fraction in response to that sudden sound of genuine amusement.

She quickly calms, as if remembering where she is, and straightens.

“I’ll finish quickly,” she says apologetically, returning to sweeping. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

A faint smile tugs at my lips. “It’s no bother.”

She sweeps the leaves into a neat pile, then leans the broom against the wall. Her gaze slips back to the jungle, flicking from tree to tree as though memorizing the horizon. “Thank you,” she finally says, voice hushed, “for letting me see more of the manor. It’s... better than feeling caged.”

I nod, silently acknowledging her gratitude. Perhaps allowing her this freedom is a small step toward easing the tension that’s plagued us since the night of her escape.

My tail flicks gently. “You’ve shown no sign of repeating your attempt. I trust you’re wise enough to realize how dangerous it would be.”

She turns, crossing her arms as if bracing herself. “I’m aware,” she answers. “I have no wish to court more harm.”

Satisfaction hums in my chest, though I keep my face impassive. “Good.”

A subtle shift in the air occurs, as though we stand on the edge of a conversation neither of us knows how to begin.

I sense her curiosity, the way her expression flickers with hesitant questions.

My own mind burns with half-formed inquiries: about her past, her thoughts, her dreams. Yet I squash those impulses. We aren’t equals sharing confidences.

She breaks the silence first, voice quiet. “Do you regret defending me against Rahlazen?”

I inhale sharply, memories of venom and anger resurging. “I regret nothing,” I say, tone firm. “He insulted what is mine.”

She flinches slightly at the word “mine,” and her lips tighten, but she holds my gaze. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I... never expected anyone to intervene like that.”

The weight of her statement sinks in. I consider telling her that she shouldn’t thank me for violence. But my words catch in my throat. Instead, I turn, letting the wind ruffle my hair. “Return to your chores,” I say quietly. “I won’t keep you further.”

She seems ready to speak, but the moment passes.

She simply inclines her head and walks inside, broom in hand.

The swirl of her scent—soap and a faint trace of lavender—lingers.

My tail curls once more, and I press a palm against the stone balustrade to steady myself.

A storm of emotions brews, both fierce and confusing.

I remain on the balcony, gaze drifting over the jungle.

The sense that something in my domain is shifting hangs in the warm air.

No matter how much I try to frame it as simple curiosity, I cannot deny how her presence moves me, or how giving her that jade-and-gold comb felt like a tether tying her to me.

The distance I once found comforting now chafes whenever I see her tense or uncertain.

Stepping inside, I pass an old mirror on the hallway wall.

My reflection stares back—amber eyes, proud bearing, black scales glinting faintly.

For years, I’ve been alone in this fortress of silence, content to rule from a place of calculated distance.

Now, an uninvited tension crackles in my life, wearing down my solitude like a steady drip of water on stone.

Though I refuse to name it anything else, a small part of me suspects it might be the stirrings of something dangerously close to longing.

If I allow it to flourish unchecked, there is no telling what chaos it might invite.

The council’s ire, the staff’s gossip, my own sense of purpose shaken to the core.

I press a claw to my palm, letting the slight pain ground me. She’s a servant. No matter the moments we share or the fragile warmth that flickers in her expression whenever our eyes meet, I must maintain control—over her, over my domain, and most of all, over myself.

For now, granting her limited freedom is enough.

She’s within my walls, under my watch. If that subtle need to see her again arises, I can find her easily, feigning a routine inspection or trivial inquiry.

But if these undercurrents grow stronger, I’ll have to remind myself that I’m the master here, not a fool enthralled by his own servant.

I pivot and head deeper into the corridor, robe swishing around my legs, tail gliding behind me.

The hush in the manor thickens as the sun climbs higher, washing the stone floors with warm light.

I have far more urgent concerns demanding my attention—like ensuring Rahlazen’s silence, thwarting the council’s potential interference, and maintaining the discipline that once defined me.

Yet as I make my way through the next archway, I catch myself lingering on how the sunlight might hit the jade comb in her hair at certain angles, how her eyes might shift from caution to curiosity when she notices me.

A grimace twists my lips at the realization that she occupies too much of my mind.

I force my focus onto more pressing matters, ignoring the swirl of disquiet in my chest.

Even so, the memory of her standing on that balcony remains lodged in my thoughts well into the afternoon, refusing to dissolve.

And a new, unspoken truth settles in my bones: no matter how much I deny it, the equilibrium I once guarded so fiercely has begun to slip, and I am no longer certain I want to reclaim it.