Although Camilla had seen Aurelia and Tenebrarum together before—and had heard whispers of what happened between them—she didn't care much. The prince was the crowned heir; he could have whatever he desired. Yet something twisted in her chest. Seeing Aurelia again, taking so much of Tenebrarum's attention, stirred a fury she couldn't ignore.
Her body began to change. Hair crept over her skin, her nails lengthened into sharp talons, and her posture shifted as if she were no longer fully human. Her form darkened, monstrous, every movement radiating her anger.
"Camilla, control yourself!" Tenebrarum's voice rang out, calm yet commanding, cutting through the rising tension.
But she was beyond reason. Her anger pulsed visibly, almost alive, distorting the shadows around her.
Aurelia froze, clutching Tenebrarum's arm, torn between fear and fascination. She had known him as powerful and terrifying—but this… this was raw, untamed, a creature unleashed.
"Haaaaaaaa!" Camilla lunged at Aurelia, her speed almost a blur.
Aurelia barely had time to react, and a scratch grazed her arm as Camilla's claws flashed past—stopped only by Tenebrarum's swift intervention. With a single, controlled movement, he blocked Camilla before she could do any real harm.
"Take her out," he ordered, his voice calm but iron-strong.
The attendants moved quickly, guiding Aurelia away from the chaos.
Her heart pounded in her chest, every step echoing the fear and adrenaline of what just happened. Behind her, Tenebrarum remained, a shadow of authority and power, containing the storm that was Camilla.
"Control yourself!" Tenebrarum's voice cut through the chaos as he struck Camilla lightly against the wall, forcing her to halt her transformation and regain some composure.
"Why would you do this to me?!" she cried, her voice raw, trembling. "I'm—soon I'm going to be yours! I love you!"
Her form wavered, her beastly features flickering as she struggled to shift back, unable to fully control the fury and hurt inside her.
"Leave," Tenebrarum commanded, his tone absolute. One by one, the others departed the hall, leaving only him and Camilla in the shadowed space.
Camilla's hand moved deliberately, her fingers brushing against the edge of his mask. With a swift motion, she removed it completely.
Even though she had seen his face countless times, Camilla couldn't restrain herself.
Her eyes drank in his red irises, the sharp curve of his lips, the perfect angles of his face. Too perfect. Too intoxicating.
Forgiveness surged through her, sudden and uncontrollable. Her hands gripped his head, holding him tight, as if she could anchor him to her.
Then her lips pressed against his—fierce, urgent, wild. A kiss that was equal parts anger and desire.
Her tongue traced his, testing, teasing, claiming. Every brush of her lips carried fury, desire, and a desperate need to assert herself. Tenebrarum's head moved against hers, matching the rhythm of her passion, yet restrained by the calm, unyielding authority that had always commanded her attention.
She pressed closer, tilting her head, letting her hands roam over the sides of his face, memorizing every ridge, every line. His lips parted slightly under hers, allowing her to explore further, her tongue slipping in to meet his, tasting him, claiming him in a way she had denied herself for so long.
Tenebrarum's hands, usually so deliberate and precise, hesitated for the briefest moment before gripping her waist, anchoring her against him. The restraint in his movements made the heat between them thrum louder—like a storm held back by a fragile dam.
Her kisses grew more urgent, teeth grazing, lips sucking, tongues tangling.
Every motion was a question, a challenge, a confession of the chaos swirling inside her. She wanted to consume him, to leave a mark that was hers and hers alone.
He exhaled sharply against her mouth, the sound vibrating through her, and for a heartbeat, the calm mask he wore shattered. His restraint faltered, and she could feel the tension, the power, the control he usually wielded over everyone, now bending under the intensity of her assault.
She raised her gown slightly, the motion deliberate, drawing the shadows of the hall to emphasize every curve of her figure. The dim light caught the silk and lace, tracing lines that seemed almost painted by the dark, flickering flames.
The air between them crackled, thick with the tension of unspoken words, simmering jealousy, and raw desire.
Every glance, every breath, every heartbeat carried weight. Camilla's eyes sparkled with triumph—this was her moment. She had twisted the attention, pulling it from Aurelia and claiming it for herself, savoring the subtle victory.
Her thoughts raced. He is mine.
Her heart pounded as he drew close, the heat of his presence filling the space between them. She could feel his intent, his focus entirely on her, and her chest tightened with a mix of triumph, fear, and longing.
The hall echoed with her screams...
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Aurelia's steps were slow, heavy, every inch of the palace floor echoing beneath her. Her mind was still tangled in memories of Tenebrarum, and every shadow seemed to whisper his presence.
Just a few steps before her room, a familiar voice stopped her.
"My lady," Sorana's tone was formal, restrained, though the tension between them lingered like a thick fog.
Aurelia paused, her hand brushing the edge of her gown. Sorana stepped closer, careful to keep a respectful distance. In her hands, she held a folded piece of parchment, delicate but deliberate in presentation.
"It's… a letter," Sorana said quietly, her voice almost too soft to hear. "From Prince Kaelen."
Sorana held out a letter.
Aurelia's eyes flicked to it, her fingers brushing against the parchment. She hated that Sorana was still here—wished she could send her away—but she had no choice.
Taking the letter, she walked into her room and sat on the edge of the bed.
Her fingers trembled slightly as they touched the envelope. The handwriting was elegant, deliberate, carrying the unmistakable weight of Prince Kaelen's intent.
Aurelia hesitated, then opened it. Her heart thumped at the thought of the words inside, of what he might have written, of the unknown waiting for her in that neat, precise script.
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To be continued...