Chapter 4 : A Door Left Open

The ballroom gleamed like a jewel, alive with music and candlelight. Laughter swirled between pillars, gowns shimmered like waves of silk, and eyes turned—always—to her.

Lady Keahraa Seravelle.

She had only returned to the Kingdom of Virelia days ago, but already the noble courts had crowned her their reigning goddess of grace. Every suitor circled like moths to her flame. Every conversation felt like a performance. Perfect smile. Perfect poise. Perfect everything.

She danced twice with the Duke of Edevan. Three times with the Crown Regent’s youngest son. She had smiled through every toast and every well-meant compliment until her cheeks ached.

And now?

She wanted to disappear.

She didn’t run—but she didn’t linger, either. Slipping through one of the side doors draped in velvet, she made her way down the long, dim hall. The quiet was immediate. No chatter. No violin. Just the soft echo of her footsteps on stone.

She wasn’t even sure where she was going.

Anywhere away.

She climbed a staircase. Turned another corridor.

And found a door slightly ajar.

Something about it made her pause. The hallway was silent—too silent. But the door was there, waiting, lit by the pale glow of moonlight spilling in through the high windows.

Without knowing why, Keahraa stepped inside.

The air was cooler here. Still. The room was spacious, regal in its design. Heavy drapes, dark polished wood, bookshelves carved with lions and eagles. A royal chamber, clearly—but somehow… untouched.

She exhaled slowly, moving deeper in. The silence comforted her.

And then she heard the sound.

A shift of fabric. A breath behind her.

Keahraa turned sharply.

And froze.

There, standing near the balcony with the night wind stirring his dark hair, was a man.

He wasn’t dressed like a courtier. No insignia. No smile. Just cold eyes, sharp as steel, and a presence that made the entire room feel smaller.

They stared at each other.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said.

His voice was low. Smooth like velvet and cut like glass.

“I didn’t know,” she replied, chin lifting with grace. “I was only looking for some quiet.”

He studied her. Not like a man admiring beauty—but like someone trying to solve a puzzle. She felt it—the weight of his gaze, the sharp edge of it cutting beneath the surface.

Something passed between them. Unspoken. Uneasy.

She made a motion to leave. “I’ll go—”

“No.”

The word slipped from him before he could stop it.

She paused, startled.

He looked away quickly, jaw tightening. “I mean… you don’t have to. Not yet.”

Keahraa tilted her head slightly, watching him. “You live here?”

“I do.”

Something in his voice shifted. He didn’t explain. Didn’t name himself. And she didn’t ask. They stood there, suspended in something unfamiliar—two strangers, alone in the dark, bound by silence neither of them expected.

For a brief moment, the perfection faded.

And what remained was real.

She walked to the window, standing a few feet away from him, arms folded gently in front of her. The view from the balcony showed the entire capital bathed in moonlight.

Neither of them spoke.

And in that quiet, something bloomed.

Something neither of them understood.

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