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Jules
The Eyrie—The Bedroom
I wake up alone.
The deep midnight-colored sheets are tangled around my feet, but I’m not cold.
Nope. I’m still warm. Still humming in all the right places.
My body is deliciously sore, like I’ve just danced through a storm and survived with fire in my veins and kisses pressed into my skin like secret spells.
Alaric.
The Demon Lord.
The one who wrecked me.
The one who stole me away from everything I knew.
And even crazier? He makes me want to stay.
It feels silly, maybe even dangerous, but— gods —I miss him.
Is that insane?
I mean, sure, the whole abducted by a seven-foot-tall fantasy man with wings situation might raise a few red flags.
Wings? Can you believe it?
And horns.
My face burns as I remember the way he came apart when I stroked his horns.
Who knew that was a Demon’s sexy place?
I bite my lip and sigh.
Any good book girl will tell you that last night? That was the stuff of fantasy.
That was the moment the heroine falls hard and fast, and suddenly, the world tilted on its axis and everything— I mean, everything —starts to make sense.
And yeah, I know what you're thinking.
I shouldn't be so complacent. I shouldn’t be swooning.
But no one— no one —has ever made me feel the way Alaric does.
Like I’m more than a body.
More than a nuisance.
Like I matter.
Growing up, I was never anyone’s priority.
My parents were always too busy with each other, their problems, their affairs, their wine glasses.
I was the afterthought.
The responsibility neither of them asked for.
The one who made her own lunches, who walked herself to school in too-small shoes and came home to an empty house.
No bedtime stories. No hugs. No warmth.
So yeah, maybe that’s why I’m clinging so hard to this impossible thing now.
To this dark-eyed, too-handsome man who looks at me like I’m the fucking magic even though he’s the one who’s magical.
This is my chance— maybe my only chance —to believe in something more.
To live the dream I only ever thought I’d read about.
And heck no, I’m not going to let it slip through my fingers just because it feels too good to be true.
I grin like a lunatic and sit up, grabbing the sheet to clutch it around my chest, when I hear soft footsteps outside the door.
“Alaric—?” I call, hopeful.
But it’s not him.
“Good morning, Lady Jules,” Shade greets me with her usual melodic voice, stepping into the room like she belongs in a painting.
My grin softens, and yeah, I’m a little disappointed, but I like her.
“Just Jules remember?”
“I am afraid not, my lady,” she says, and offers me a knowing grin.
I bite my lip, and I nod.
What can I say?
But I refuse to be embarrassed.
Besides, Shade feels like the cool, unflappable BFF I never had.
She carries a silver tray and a folded bundle of what looks like more impossibly soft clothes.
“Lord Alaric bids you to break your fast, refresh yourself, and dress for the day.”
I snort. “‘Bids me’? Really?”
Shade’s lips twitch. “Yes. He is waiting for you. He is taking you on a tour of Nightfall.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“He is?”
She nods, and for the first time in ages, I feel this sense of, I don’t know what to call it, giddiness? Maybe.
Like a girl with a crush.
Like someone who might actually be someone else’s crush.
And isn’t that amazing?
For someone like Alaric to want me? Not for my utility. Not for convenience. But simply because I’m me.
Well, it’s just too good to be true.
Definitely too good to waste on all the what ifs .
And honestly, I am so curious.
About him.
About this world.
About where this path might lead.
Even if it’s all smoke and mirrors.
Even though I wonder if he’ll get bored. If I’ll be going home soon.
I think I’m ready to follow it just a little farther.
I grip the sheet tighter around me and rise from the bed, the silky fabric whispering against my skin.
“Okay then,” I say, voice a little wobbly but getting stronger. “I guess I’d better get ready. Um, one question?”
Shade, ever composed, gives me a knowing grin. “Yes, Lady Jules?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Her grin widens. “Ah. Right this way.”
She doesn’t walk toward a door—because there isn’t one.
Not until she lifts a graceful hand and gestures toward the solid stone wall to my left.
Magic hums in the air. A low, living thrum.
And just like that, the wall shifts .
The bricks don’t crumble or collapse—they glide , sliding apart in perfect precision, forming an elegant archway that glows faintly around the edges.
On the other side is, well , not just a bathroom.
It’s a dream.
My jaw drops as I step inside, barefoot, sheet still clutched to my chest like armor.
The floor is a warm, pearlescent stone. It’s smooth under my feet, but I can see it’s etched with faint, glowing runes that pulse like a heartbeat.
To the right, an enormous sunken bath is built into the floor itself, filled by a cascading waterfall that flows from an opening high above in the arched ceiling.
But the water isn’t just water.
It’s light .
Shimmering like molten moonstone, scented faintly with something sweet.
Like jasmine and clove and magic.
Steam curls lazily in the air, sparkling as if it’s laced with stars.
The room glows, but softly, without a single visible source of light. The stone walls breathe warmth, and everywhere I look, I see touches of beauty.
Flowers suspended mid-air in glass orbs, mirrors edged in silver that ripple like water, shelves stacked with thick, plush towels and glass bottles in every hue.
Shade gestures toward a smaller alcove with a discreet curtain.
“I trust you know what to do with these,” she says, pointing to the very human toilet and— oh God, yes —a bidet.
My cheeks flare as I nod quickly.
“There is a new brush for your teeth,” she continues, her voice gentle, “and this gel is our version of toothpaste. As for the bath, simply step inside. The waters of the Eyrie are enchanted—they will cleanse you thoroughly, without need for soaps or scrubbing. When you are finished, stand here.” She points to a golden grate beside the tub.
“The vent will warm and dry you instantly.”
I blink at her. “Like a full-body hair dryer?”
“Something like that,” she replies with a twinkle in her eye. “Oh, and here.”
She walks to an elegant armoire that blooms open like a flower when she touches it.
Inside are lotions, oils, perfumes, ribbons, and even brushes made from bristles that shimmer like spun starlight.
“Are these for me?” I ask, my voice soft.
“Yes, Lady Jules. The Eyrie recognizes you now as Lord Alaric’s viyella and will attend your needs and desires.”
“Wow, this place is incredible,” I whisper, my mind full of wonder.
She bows slightly, eyes suddenly more serious. “Magic lives in everything here. And you may find that it responds to you more than most, but I beg you, be careful, my lady. Not everything is as it seems in Nightfall.”
I swallow and nod.
My fingers tighten around the edge of the sheet.
What did she say before her warning? The Eyrie recognizes me?
The idea of this ancient place having a cognition is frightening and wondrous. I make a mental note to ask Alaric about it.
“Take your time,” Shade says, heading back toward the doorway. “When you are ready, you’ll find your gown waiting by the mirror and a tray with some pastries and tea.”
“Oh, where will I find Alaric?”
“Do not worry, I will take you to him when you are ready.”
And just like that, she disappears, the doorway sealing behind her with a gentle click that isn’t mechanical—it’s sentient somehow.
Like maybe the castle really is watching. Listening.
Maybe even welcoming me.
I turn back to the tub, the water glittering like moonlight melted into silk.
My heart thuds, loud in the quiet. But not afraid. Just awake.
I step forward, let the sheet fall, and descend into the warmth.
As I sink beneath the surface, something inside me unfurls.
It feels pleasant and alarmingly content.
Everyone I’ve met, Alaric, Shade, and everything I’ve seen so far , mainly the Eyrie , makes me feel like Nightfall is special.
Like I’m destined to be here.
Like it might be the home I’ve always yearned for.
And maybe, just maybe, I really do belong here.