The Dark Prince's Lover

The dance ended with a final, graceful spin. Lord Greyson released Dydra with a courteous smile, his admiration lingering in his eyes as he gave a slight bow. “A pleasure, as always,” he said lightly. Dydra returned the smile out of habit, though her thoughts were already elsewhere. She gave a small excuse and stepped away, her gaze drifting across the ballroom as if searching for something—someone. But whatever she sought, she did not find. A faint frown creased her brows. Without another word, she turned and slipped out of the ballroom, heading toward the quiet of the garden. The cool night air should have calmed her. It didn’t. “You’re letting other men touch you?” The voice came from behind her—low, unhurried… almost lazy. But Dydra’s entire body reacted instantly. A sharp shiver ran through her. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. That voice carried something unmistakable beneath its calm surface—something restrained. Something dangerous. “I—it’s not—” Her voice broke mid-sentence. Panic tightened her throat as cold sweat formed along her skin. “Need I remind you,” he continued evenly, each word measured, “who you belong to?” The calmness was the most terrifying part. Not anger. Not shouting. Just control—tight, absolute control. Dydra parted her trembling lips again, but no sound came. Her mind went blank. Then suddenly— A hand closed around her waist. Firm. Possessive. Her breath caught as her eyes squeezed shut on instinct, her body going still. “Dydra,” his voice dropped to a whisper, closer now. “Who do you belong to?”