Maelis POV.....
So now the novel's Deuteragonist, Theron Ashveil, is finally here.
I stare at him for a second longer than necessary, my thoughts colliding messily in my head.
This is wrong. He was not supposed to appear like this. Not here. Not now.
Theron Ashveil was meant to enter the story during my engagement ceremony with the female lead. That was where he first saw her. Where he fell for her at first sight. Where the triangle truly began.
But instead, he is standing in front of me in a remote village, dust on his boots, sword still warm from battle, his hand wrapped firmly around my injured arm like he has every right to be there.
Something in the plot is slipping.
Or maybe I already broke it beyond repair.
Strange.
Maybe the story is no longer following its original path. Too many things have changed over the years. Too many threads pulled, too many outcomes delayed or diverted.
"What are you thinking about?" Theron's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
I blink and look at him. He is still holding my injured arm, his grip firm but careful, like he is afraid to hurt me further. His brows are slightly furrowed, silver eyes sharp and observant as always. He looks older than I remember him being in the novel. Taller. Broader. His presence alone carries a strange pressure, like standing near a blade that has not decided whether it wants to cut yet.
"Nothing," I reply bluntly. "What are you doing here alone?"
He tilts his head slightly, studying my face as if weighing how honest to be.
"I sneaked out of the palace," he says casually. "I heard about the bandits terrorizing this village, so I came to see for myself. And look," he adds with a faint smile, tightening his hold on my arm just a little, "I found you here."
I glance down at his hand on my arm, then back at his face.
So direct. So shameless.
Typical Theron Ashveil.
"It is almost late," he continues suddenly, looking around the village. Smoke still lingers faintly in the air from extinguished fires. Groans of injured people echo softly as villagers are treated nearby. "Why do not you all stay here? Everyone looks injured and exhausted. And," he pauses, eyes flicking back to me, "I also wanted to talk to you."
He is right.
As much as I dislike admitting it, pushing everyone to march back now would be reckless.
I sigh internally. I guess we have to stay here.
I quickly issue orders, sending guards to escort the captured bandits back to the capital. The mission is officially completed here. Once everything settles, the villagers begin approaching us hesitantly, gratitude written all over their tired faces.
Some bow deeply. Some press their hands together in prayer-like gestures. Others simply stare at us with wide, relieved eyes.
The village head, an elderly man with deep wrinkles carved by years of hardship, steps forward.
"Crown Prince," he says, bowing so deeply I almost worry he might fall. "We are forever in your debt. Thank you for saving us. Please stay here until you all heal. And two days later, we are holding a festival. Please attend. You will not be disappointed."
I hesitate for a brief moment.
Then I nod.
"Sure," I say simply.
Relief spreads across his face instantly. He bows again and retreats, barking orders for food, shelter, and medical supplies.
Only then do I realize someone is standing very close to me.
I did not even notice when Riven came.
He is staring at my arm.
His gaze is locked onto the blood-stained fabric, his lips pressed tightly together. Slowly, carefully, he lifts my sleeve just enough to examine the wound. His fingers tremble slightly as he does so.
"This is my fault," he says quietly.
I turn to him, surprised by the weight in his voice.
"If I were strong enough," he continues, not meeting my eyes, "this would not have happened to you."
I immediately shake my head.
"It is nothing," I say, trying to sound casual. "Do not overthink it."
But Riven does not look convinced.
His shoulders slump. His eyes lose their usual sharpness, replaced by something soft and miserable. He looks exactly like a dejected puppy who thinks it has disappointed its owner.
The comparison makes me sigh internally.
"Can I stay beside you?" he asks suddenly, lifting his head just enough to look at me through his lashes. "I want to take care of you."
Those eyes. Absolutely shameless.
I smile despite myself and nod.
Soon food arrives, delivered by the villagers themselves. The meal is simple but warm, and exhaustion dulls my appetite quickly. Not long after we finish eating, the door suddenly swings open.
Theron barges in without knocking.
"Who is this kid?" he asks bluntly, pointing directly at Riven.
Riven stiffens instantly. His posture straightens, jaw tightening. Offended does not even begin to cover it.
"He is Riven," I reply calmly. Then I glance at Theron. "By the way, why are you here?"
"Oh," Theron says lightly, leaning against the doorframe. "I just wanted to tell you there is a very beautiful lake nearby. If you want to take a bath, you can go there."
I smile faintly.
"Okay. Thank you for telling me."
He is not that bad, I think.
Then I hear a sharp crack.
I look down just in time to see Riven snap his spoon clean in half.
He stands up abruptly. The chair scrapes loudly against the floor. I cannot see his face clearly from this angle, but I can feel it.
He is pissed.
Geez. Puberty is hitting him hard.
"Thanks for the information," Riven says coldly. "I will take the Crown Prince to that lake myself. Do not worry."
Theron raises an eyebrow.
"And one more thing," Riven adds, his voice dropping dangerously low. "I am not a kid."
He slams the door shut behind Theron.
Silence fills the room.
Riven walks back to me without a word. He sits down and gently takes my injured arm again, carefully applying herbs with practiced precision. His movements are slow, controlled, almost reverent.
The next thing I know, exhaustion overtakes me.
When I wake up, the room is dimly lit. My arm feels warm and supported.
I glance down.
Riven is sleeping at the edge of my bed.
Only his head rests on the mattress. The rest of his body lies awkwardly on the floor. One arm is still wrapped around mine, holding it protectively even in sleep.
I stare at him for a long moment. This kid is supposed to kill me. According to the novel.
And now look at him. A clingy puppy who refuses to leave his injured owner alone for even a moment.
I carefully slip my arm free and stand quietly.
I make my way to the lake.
I remove my outer clothes, leaving only a plain white silk long shirt. The fabric clings to me as I step into the water. It is cold, sharp enough to send a shiver through my body.
The moon reflects on the surface. Stars scatter across the water like fragments of light. It is peaceful. Too peaceful.
I close my eyes. Then I feel it. A presence.
I open my eyes abruptly and turn around.
Theron is standing there.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, confused. And a little panicked.
"Nothing," he replies calmly. "I saw you here, so I came."
He is leaning against a tree, just three steps away from the lake.
His gaze feels strange. Too focused.
Like he is scanning every visible inch of my body.
"It is called stalking," I say, turning my back to him. I know we are both male, but I do not like the way he is looking at me while I am soaked. The wet fabric clings to my skin, leaving nothing to imagination.
"Stalking?" he repeats, genuinely confused. "What is that?"
"I mean shadowing me," I snap, turning back with an annoyed look. "Why are you doing this? Can I not have a moment of peace?"
He scoffs.
"I am not shadowing you. You used to follow me when we were kids. Did you forget, little Crown Prince?"
"I am not little Crown Prince, okay?" I snap back. "And look at you, you are only one year older than me."
"Fine, fine," he says, raising his hands in surrender.
One of my guards arrives with fresh clothes.
Theron finally turns away.
I glare at him just to be sure. He chuckles.
I ignore him, change quickly, and walk back to my room. He calls after me, but I do not respond.
As I approach my room, I see a familiar figure standing in the darkness.
Riven.
His head is hung low. I cannot see his face clearly.
"Why are you here?" I ask.
He does not answer. He walks past me.
"Hey," I say, grabbing his arm. "I am talking to you."
He stops but does not look at me.
"I am going to my room, Crown Prince," he says quietly. His voice is cold. Distant. "You should rest."
Then he leaves.
I watch his back disappear into the darkness.
Geez.
Why is it so hard to deal with this teenager? His mood swings are worse than my sister whenever she was on her period.
I sigh and enter my room.
I dry my hair and hiss when my arm throbs painfully.
God, why am I stuck in this era?
No internet. No cars. No modern medicine. I wish the real novel was set in the modern world.
I lie down on the bed. It is nowhere near as soft as my palace bed. As I am about to close my eyes, I see it again.
The small red ball of light.
Hovering. Watching.
I have seen it since the beginning.
Just like the blue one that guided me to the library.
But this one feels different. Like eyes.
Always watching me. I do not understand it.
Even though I am used to seeing it now, it still sends a chill down my spine.
Something about it feels wrong.