“You look as though you’ve seen a monster. I’m hurt.”
Kael watched her clap her hands over her mouth and lose all composure, and offered the reprimand in a tone that managed to sound both dry and vaguely wounded.
‘It’s him. The man from this morning.’
“How — how did you — I mean, how did you find this place—”
“I doubt you’re asking because you genuinely don’t know.”
The sweat was running freely down her palms and the back of her neck. Her jaw had come unhinged. This could not possibly be happening.
“I’m — I’m so sorry! It was wrong of me!”
“Was it.”
“Yes, I — wait, pardon?”
“I asked what, precisely, you did wrong.”
‘That’s a fair question. What did I do wrong?’
She had no memory of last night — none at all. She couldn’t even recall how she had met this man.
“I’m not — I’m not entirely sure what I did wrong, to be honest. I don’t remember any of it—”
“Then why are you apologizing.”
“Because you were looking at me like you were about to run me through—”
“This is my normal expression.”
Kael lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug.
That face had looked like it was actively planning violence, and that was just his ‘default’?
‘Wait. Oh no. Oh, this is a disaster.’
‘That enormous — and its owner is the sociopathic villain of the piece? I saw everything. I saw all of him. What do I do.’
She had once watched a horror film. A psychological thriller. The kind where an emotionless man kills the woman who spends the night with him without a second thought, for the simple reason that she had seen him without his clothes.
“Stop hovering in the doorway and sit down.”
“Yes!”
She hurried over and sat down on the sofa across from him. Her mouth was dry. Her breathing was shallow.
“May I — could I have a sip of tea first.”
“Should I pour it for you?”
The missing end of that sentence — ‘are you incapable of doing it yourself’ — hung in the air between them, politely unspoken.
“No! I was just asking permission. I can manage perfectly well.”
She steadied herself, lifted the cup, and drank. Her hands shook, but she straightened her posture and did her best to look composed.
“F-first of all — how did you find this house? Did you already know my name?”
“I spent all night saying your name. Do you really think I’d forget it by morning?”
‘Oh.’
She needed to change the subject. Immediately.
“Right — of course. So. Why did you come—”
“You ran off while I was asleep. I found it offensive. So I came to find you.”
Her hand flew to her chest.
His half-lidded eyes were trained on her with the lazy precision of an animal that has already decided what it intends to do.
This man had made careers of punishing people for offending him. The window for self-defense was right now, and it was closing fast.
“I didn’t — it wasn’t running away, exactly—”
Kael said nothing. He tilted his head almost imperceptibly — ‘go on.’
“What happened last night — I genuinely don’t remember any of it. And it was a one-night — a single evening, so—”
“A single evening.”
The perfectly blank expression shifted. One eyebrow rose by a fraction.
‘Choose the next words with great care.’
“A — a single evening of… mutual comfort?”
“Comfort.” He repeated the word flatly. “With your—”
“Oh—”
She had not expected that word to follow, spoken so plainly in that composed, unhurried voice. He hadn’t even blinked.
He settled deeper into the sofa cushions and crossed his legs. Something about the set of his jaw suggested he was not pleased.
The tip of his foot moved in a slow, rhythmic tap.
“You drink yourself senseless, take what you want, and then discard the person as if putting out the rubbish.”
Her ears rang. Her heart hammered. Her pulse was so loud she could feel it in her temples, and a wave of heat rolled up to the crown of her head.
“Sweet words to draw someone in, strip them bare, take your fill — and then the moment it’s over, walk away without a backward glance.”
‘Tsk.’ His tongue clicked against his teeth.
“What kind of behavior is that?”
“…”
‘Was slipping out without waking him really that bad? Isn’t that just… what one does in this situation?’
‘Should I have stayed and offered to share breakfast? A nice tomato stew to help him recover?’
“That — well, I don’t know the details, but surely it wasn’t entirely one-sided. I was — I was unclothed too. And there are marks on me as well—”
Kael went very still.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She apologized immediately.
He shook his head in disbelief. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled something out, dropping it on the table between them.
Her note. And five silver coins.
“And what exactly is this pittance.”
‘Pittance?’
Those five coins had been her entire fortune.
“I thought it was an expensive hotel. I wanted to help cover the room—”
He let out a short, quiet sound that might have been a laugh, and added:
“Unbelievable.”
At the sharp edge in his voice, she twisted her hands in her lap.
“I — I don’t have any money on me right now. My savings and my allowance have both been confiscated. That was… genuinely everything I had. I was saving it to buy a birthday gift for a friend—”
“Which friend.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Male?”
“Oh — no. A girl.”
The cool sharpness in his expression dissolved, just slightly. He gave a brief nod.
He was using polite speech, technically — but nothing about it felt polite. She felt as though she was the one who should be prostrating herself.
‘Please don’t let this end the way that horror film did. The one where the woman dies for seeing what she saw.’
She drew a slow breath and pressed on.
“I truly am sorry. I’ll forget everything that happened yesterday — you don’t need to give it another thought. I won’t speak of it to anyone. I’ll take it to my grave.”
“…”
He leaned back once more, his voice dropping to something quieter and more dangerous.
“I see. So having had your fill, you find it was nothing much after all.”
A single crease appeared in his otherwise smooth brow.
She waved her hands rapidly.
“No — no, that’s not it at all! It was — the experience was — the, um — I enjoyed it!”
She clapped her hands over her mouth.
‘What is wrong with me. What did I just say.’
Although — he was the one who had framed it that way first. He had used that word.
“You… enjoyed it.”
“…Yes.”
“And yet you still ran.”
“…I’m — I’m sorry.”
She pressed her lips together, looking at nothing in particular.
So — was he here demanding an apology for her lack of manners? For leaving without a word?
Or had he come to warn her: stay silent, or face consequences? He was famously, congenitally allergic to scandal — particularly anything involving women.
“Your Grace.”
“Yes.”
“About yesterday — please don’t feel any sense of obligation on my account.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“I don’t want you to feel responsible, or as though you owe me something. I was a willing participant. Whatever happened, I agreed to it.”
Even if she couldn’t remember it.
She looked away self-consciously and gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. He looked back at her in silence.
“…”
“…”
He blinked slowly, and then, as though something had genuinely surprised him, let out a quiet, disbelieving breath of laughter.
That reaction was strange.
“Hmm. Funny you should say that. I think the question of responsibility rather falls on your side.”
“…I’m sorry?”
“Surely you know — a man’s first time is something precious.”
“…!”
“What is that expression. You look like a startled raccoon.”
‘I was his first?’
‘How is that possible.’
The novel had never addressed his experience one way or another — she simply hadn’t known. All she remembered was that he had been described as deeply skilled, and with tendencies that ran toward the darker side of things.
‘Oh no. Does that mean the reason my body feels like it’s been taken apart and put back together wrong is because—’
She was mid-thought, mid-horror, when —
“Why do you keep making that raccoon face?”
He was watching her with sharp, irritable eyes.
The air in the room felt thick. A wave of faint dizziness passed through her.
She was sitting there with her mouth hanging open, and he pressed the point again.
“I had kept that for the woman who was to become my wife. And I gave it to you.”
“So — you’re really saying — it really was your first time?”
“Yes.”
“But — that can’t — “
“Ah. You assumed I must have been well-used by now. Some worn-down rake.”
“That’s not — that’s not what I meant—”
“I’m hurt, frankly. You said you enjoyed it.”
“…?”
“And that you’d take responsibility.”
A fragment surfaced — torn from the void where her memory used to be.
‘…P-please… don’t stop…’
‘…I’ll — I’ll take responsibility…’
A hazy, half-lit scene from the night before, playing out in pieces.
‘Oh no. What have I done? What have I done—’
“You acted as though you’d give me everything. And now you want to take it back?”
She waved her hands frantically. There was absolutely no way she could simply pretend this conversation wasn’t happening.
“No — no! I’ll — I’ll make it up to you!”
“Make it up to me?”
“Yes! I made a mistake, I know that, so — if there’s something you want from me — anything—”
One eyebrow arched upward at a deeply unsettling angle.
Was that the wrong thing to say? Why did he look like that?
“I — or if you want some kind of… compensation—”
“Compensation. For a lost innocence. What form of compensation would that even take?”
“I — I can’t produce a large sum of money immediately, I’m afraid. If you could give me a little time — a reasonable extension—”
‘Right. That’s it.’
She had promised herself she wouldn’t interfere with anything from the original story — but there was clearly no avoiding this. She would have to find a way to sell information to someone, scrape together a real sum of money, and settle this.
“Ivelina.”
“…Yes?”
“I have considerably more money than you.”
“Then — then what am I supposed to—”
She shot a quick glance at his face and tried her most winning smile. ‘You can’t throw a stone at a smiling face’, the saying went.
“Your Grace, perhaps, in the spirit of your extraordinary magnanimity — we could agree to bury the whole matter and remember it fondly as a—”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
* * *
