« Lauréline n'a pas manqué de le mentionner hier soir au palais. » Isaline laissa échapper un petit rire, tandis que les yeux de Vidalia s'écarquillaient, mi-amusés, mi-horrifiés.
« Heureusement que personne n'a pu entendre… » soupira-t-elle, « mais il faut bien admettre que ce n'est pas tout à fait faux. »
Vidalia hocha légèrement la tête, vida sa tasse et posa la vaisselle avec une délicatesse presque cérémoniale. Son regard se posa sur l'horloge murale.
« Il est temps de partir », dit-elle, la voix teintée d'une nervosité à peine contenue.
Isaline jeta un coup d'œil à l'heure et esquissa un sourire à la fois malicieux et encourageant.
« Tout ira bien. Tu dois juste suivre ton cœur… ou du moins faire semblant », ajouta-t-elle en se levant, prête à soutenir sa cousine.
Vidalia sourit, glissa sa main dans celle de sa cousine et se leva avec une grâce étudiée. Elle lissa sa jupe de la paume de sa main pour effacer d'éventuels plis imaginaires – ou peut-être pour se donner l'illusion d'une assurance qu'elle ne possédait pas encore.
« Et si, par malheur, vous avez envie de vous enfuir… n'hésitez pas à lui donner un coup de pied et à revenir en courant vers moi », lança Isaline avec un rictus, une pointe de sarcasme dans la voix.
Elles rirent toutes les deux, d'un rire léger mais complice, avant que Vidalia ne se dirige vers la porte. Les domestiques se tenaient prêtes dans le couloir, vigilantes et attentives au moindre bruit. Descendant l'escalier, le cœur battant d'un mélange d'appréhension et d'espoir, Vidalia savait qu'à chaque marche, elle s'enfonçait un peu plus dans une journée qui pourrait soit changer sa vie à jamais… soit confirmer, avec une ironie presque cruelle, la chaîne invisible qui la retenait prisonnière.
Vidalia descendit l'escalier, ralentissant le pas lorsqu'elle aperçut Arzhel dans le couloir. Il discutait calmement avec le majordome, les mains dans les poches, comme si le monde entier pouvait s'effondrer sans qu'il s'en émeuve.
Il avait troqué son manteau sombre et son uniforme austère de la tour contre une tenue plus décontractée : une chemise blanche élégamment froissée, rehaussée d'un ruban noir noué en cravate ; son pantalon de laine sombre, parfaitement coupé, allongeait encore sa silhouette déjà élancée, tandis que sa veste retombait nonchalamment sur ses épaules. À ses pieds, des chaussures impeccablement cirées brillaient dans la lumière du hall. Ses cheveux blond cendré, encore ébouriffés comme s'il sortait d'un duel ou d'une courte sieste, encadraient son visage, où pendait son indémodable boucle d'oreille en argent, sertie de la pierre d'Aelyras.
Vidalia se figea, le souffle légèrement coupé. Son visage s'empourpra instantanément.
Vraiment… comment suis-je censée ne pas succomber à son charme ? pensa-t-elle, désespérée. Il est séduisant, élégant, même quand il a l'air de s'être habillé en cinq minutes – ce qui, connaissant Arzhel, est probablement le cas. Et moi ? Je dois lutter contre mon cœur comme une héroïne tragique… sauf que j'ai l'impression d'avoir déjà perdu la bataille.
Son regard s'attarda involontairement sur sa posture détendue, sa démarche lente et délibérée, l'aura sombre qui le précédait et qu'aucun vêtement ne pouvait dissimuler.
Il est trop beau. Trop calme. Trop sûr de lui. Franchement, qui a décidé qu'un mage obsédé par le feu devait aussi ressembler à un prince déchu ?
She took a deep breath, promising herself she would keep her composure. But deep down, she already knew she was going to spend the afternoon waging a fierce battle… against her own heartbeat.
Naya, sparkling with joy, abruptly pulled Vidalia from her thoughts. The little fairy, drunk with enthusiasm, fluttered her butterfly wings in a crystalline vibration, then darted straight into the hall like a luminous arrow. Without the slightest hesitation, she collided with the draconic spirit that was floating lazily beside Arzhel. The poor ethereal being, usually so nonchalant, immediately found himself embraced in a veritable vise of tenderness, a prisoner of an embrace as fierce as it was unexpected.
Arzhel interrupted his conversation, his red-tinged gaze resting with an amused glint on the spirits locked in the unequal duel: on one side, Naya's irrepressible vivacity, on the other, the wounded dignity of a dragon reduced to struggling in vain.
Then his eyes shifted, drawn to a far more captivating presence. He saw her. Vidalia crossed the hall with a shy grace, each step measured, each movement imbued with an almost ethereal gentleness. When she stopped before him, Arzhel felt something stir within him. His gaze traveled slowly over her, from the delicate hat that softened her fine features to the subtle fold of her dress.
A raw, savage desire erupted from the depths of his being: to seize her, to tear her from this place, to conceal her from prying eyes, to jealously guard her for himself alone. A desire so intense that he had to turn his thoughts away from it so as not to betray his own obsession.
Arzhel immediately regained his composure, muselating the ardor that devoured him. Vidalia had to come to him on her own, guided by her own will. Only then would she no longer be able to escape.
A crooked smile touched his lips, subtle and full of unspoken promises.
Vidalia felt her breath catch. There was something both dangerous and reassuring about that smile, like an impossible riddle to solve. A confused warmth spread in her chest, so disturbing that she lowered her eyes, pretending to arrange the fold of her dress to hide her confusion. Naya, still clinging to the dragon, beat her wings with the joyful innocence of a child, and Vidalia clung to this comical scene to chase away the strange thrill that had just run through her.
"Are you sure I can accompany you? » Arzhel simpered, approaching her with a theatrically dramatic air. "I fear I will eclipse your light and appear very dull next to you. »
Vidalia burst out laughing and, in a spontaneous gesture, gave him a little pat on the arm.
"Ah… I am blessed," he sighed in wonder, bringing his hand to the spot she had struck, as if it were a treasure. His eyes, suddenly more serious, fixed on her. "You look beautiful, Lia. »
Le rire de Vidalia se mua en un sourire timide ; ses joues s'empourprèrent. Elle voulut détourner le regard, mais la profondeur écarlate des yeux d'Arzhel la retint, vibrant d'émerveillement, d'amour et d'une possessivité brûlante qui lui fit parcourir un délicieux frisson.
« Êtes-vous prêt ? » demanda-t-il en tendant sa main gantée avec une élégance presque cérémoniale.
Vidalia hocha la tête et posa gracieusement sa main dans la sienne.
« Je vous en prie, Lord Arzhel, faites revenir Mlle Vidalia à une heure convenable, et surtout, veillez à son bien-être… sinon… », déclara le majordome Briar d'une voix égale et polie, mais empreinte d'une gravité tranchante qui n'avait rien à envier aux plus fines lames.
Vidalia lui adressa un sourire ému. Elle savait pertinemment que c'étaient les souhaits de son oncle et de sa tante, mais elle reconnut, derrière cette façade imperturbable, la sincérité de l'inquiétude de Briar.
Arzhel inclina légèrement la tête, son regard s'assombrissant de gravité. Toute malice avait disparu de ses traits, ce qui surprit Vidalia.
« Elle est entre de bonnes mains », répondit-il, un étrange éclat brillant dans ses yeux, une promesse à la fois protectrice et possessive.
Arrivés devant le portail du manoir, Arzhel sortit de sa poche une grande pierre d'Aelyras, gravée de runes délicates.
« Nous allons nous téléporter », annonça-t-il en le tenant dans sa paume.
« Ah oui, c'est vrai ! » s'exclama Vidalia avec une pointe d'excitation enfantine. Elle adorait cette sensation. Dans sa vie d'avant, elle en rêvait en regardant des films et des dessins animés de super-héros. Et ce léger chatouillement au moment du passage était toujours amusant.
« Pourquoi ne pas le faire à l'intérieur ? » demanda-t-elle, se souvenant qu'il apparaissait souvent directement dans le hall… ou même sur son balcon, pour ces soirées qu'elle chérissait tant. À cette seule pensée, Vidalia sentit ses joues rosir : ces instants volés sous les étoiles faisaient battre son cœur plus fort.
« Il y a maintenant des barrières de protection autour du domaine, de ce portail jusqu'à la lisière de la forêt », expliqua Arzhel, insufflant sa magie dans la pierre.
Vidalia inclina légèrement la tête, ce qui lui donnait un air adorable et innocent.
« Mais il n'y en avait pas avant. Les Reinhart n'en avaient pas les moyens », remarqua-t-elle pensivement en fronçant les sourcils. « Et les pierres des mines ne sont pas encore sur le marché… d'où vient cet argent ? »
Arzhel ne put s'empêcher de sourire. Elle était si vive, si perspicace. Sa Lia… belle jusque dans sa façon de penser.
« Je les ai installés », dit-il simplement en resserrant son emprise sur sa main. « Vous vivez dans cette maison. Votre sécurité est ma priorité, et celle de votre famille est presque aussi importante pour moi. »
« Mais ça coûte une fortune ! » Je... je vous rembourserai ! » s'écria Vidalia, les yeux écarquillés, ses pupilles émeraude brillant d'une reconnaissance mêlée d'une tendre confusion qu'elle ne pouvait dissimuler.
« Inutile », ricana Arzhel tandis que les runes s'illuminaient, projetant une lumière vibrante autour d'eux. Ses yeux brûlaient d'amour et de possessivité. « Je ferais n'importe quoi pour toi. »
Dès que les runes s'illuminèrent, une lueur irisée les enveloppa. Vidalia sentit l'air vibrer autour d'eux, comme si le monde retenait son souffle. Son cœur s'emballa ; cette sensation unique avait toujours quelque chose de miraculeux.
Un frisson lui parcourut la nuque, puis se répandit dans tout son corps, une sensation à la fois étrange et exaltante. C'était comme si ses pieds quittaient le sol sans qu'elle ne tombe, comme si elle flottait dans un espace qui n'existait pas.
It didn't exist. She felt as if she were both light as a feather and swept away by an invisible current.
Vidalia let out a small, involuntary laugh, her lips stretching into a childlike smile of wonder. Her fingers tightened around Arzhel's gloved hand, instinctively, as if to anchor themselves to him amidst this luminous flow.
Arzhel was watching her—not the scenery dissolving around them, nor the bursts of light dancing like thousands of stars, but only her. Her scarlet eyes were filled with such intensity that, as Vidalia met his gaze, she almost forgot the vertigo of the crossing.
Then, with a barely perceptible breath, the world reformed around them. The ground regained its substance, the air its familiar scent, and the light dissipated in a final burst.
Vidalia's eyes widened, her cheeks flushed, her brown hair slightly disheveled. She inhaled deeply, as if waking from a dream.
"It was... wonderful," she murmured, still giddy.
Arzhel smiled slightly, his gaze still fixed on her.
"Not as wonderful as you," he replied softly, his voice thick with possessive tenderness.
Vidalia blushed, unable to tear her gaze away from his scarlet eyes. The words he had spoken earlier still echoed in her mind, vibrating like a sweet burn she dared not extinguish.
"So... what do we do now?" she asked lightly, trying to dispel the overly romantic atmosphere that threatened to engulf her. But deep down, a hint of excitement betrayed her impatience.
After all, in her old life, she'd never had a real date. People stood her up, or the rare encounters always ended abruptly, without any follow-up. Even though she tried to convince herself it wasn't a romantic date, her heart raced at the thought of spending this time with Arzhel.
"I thought you might enjoy going to your favorite place," he replied with that knowing smile that made her heart beat faster than she intended. His deep voice sounded like a promise, a secret he was whispering in her ear.
Vidalia tilted her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. Arzhel gently tightened his grip on her hand and led her out of the alley. They walked side by side, their fingers still intertwined, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
When they emerged from the alley, Vidalia felt as if she had entered another world. The capital's grand central square opened before her, flooded with light and life.
The facades with their ornate balconies, adorned with garlands of midnight blue and gold ribbons, shone brightly as if to rival the sky where luminous spheres of magical origin floated. Enchanted lanterns, suspended from delicate arches, diffused a shifting glow that changed from soft pink to sapphire blue, as if the very air itself were dancing to the rhythm of the celebration.
In the middle of the square, a monumental fountain murmured, transformed for the occasion: jets of water sparkled with silver stardust, each splash creating tiny sparks before vanishing. Children laughed joyfully, trying to catch these fleeting lights, their faces flushed with effort and delight.
All around, commoners' stalls vied with one another in creativity. The stalls groaned under the weight of pastries covered in gold sugar, glistening candied apples, and colorful sweets wrapped in translucent paper. Artisans offered small, magical trinkets: color-changing fans, pocket mirrors that flattered the gaze of the person looking into them, and wooden figurines that came to life in a clumsy dance.
The women of the common people, in their Victorian-inspired dresses, had traded heavy fabrics for brighter materials, embellished with simple yet elegant lace. The men wore fitted jackets, top hats, or caps adorned with ribbons. All, nobles and commoners alike, seemed united in a shared burst of jubilation.
A popular orchestra, set up on a platform decorated with crimson draperies, played violins, horns, and drums. The music leaped through the air, infectious, making even the most hesitant want to dance. A few couples tried out some impromptu steps, laughing when they stumbled, before joining the general revelry.
Vidalia stood frozen, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open in childlike wonder. Her heart pounded: it was far more magnificent than anything she had imagined in her books or dreams.
"It's... it's magnificent..." she breathed, almost speechless. Her emerald eyes reflected a thousand glimmers of light, as if she had absorbed it all.
a part of this ambient magic.
Arzhel, motionless at her side, never took his eyes off her. The crowd, the decorations, the music—none of it mattered: for him, the true beauty that eclipsed the entire celebration was right there, beside her.
Astonished and awestruck glances turned toward them as they crossed the square. Every pair of eyes seemed captivated by Vidalia, as if she had absorbed all the light of the festivities, radiating an involuntary grace. Some men, without the slightest modesty, devoured her with their eyes, their pupils gleaming with greed and barely suppressed desire.
Arzhel felt his jaw tighten. His red eyes hardened with a murderous glint, flashing at the crowd, promising a slow and painful death to anyone who dared approach. With somber steps, he approached Vidalia, his suffocating and menacing aura enough to deter even the most daring.
Ignorant of the men's stares, Vidalia was not blind to the women's. Many of them openly ogled Arzhel, their charming smiles following one another like a ridiculous parade. Some even dared to brush against him with their fingertips, one hand grazing his arm, another his broad shoulder, as if testing the limits of his patience. Vidalia felt her heart clench painfully, a bitter burning in her chest. Her fingers tightened against her bodice, as if to contain this new unease, this feeling she dared not name.
"Come!" Arzhel said in a deep voice, abruptly pulling her from her thoughts. His hand closed over hers and led her toward the row of stalls, the gesture firm and possessive.
Vidalia followed him without resisting, still giddy from the festive atmosphere, her eyes shining with wonder at each new discovery. Suddenly, an irresistible aroma tickled her nostrils: the scent of grilled meat, steaming and juicy. Her pupils lit up instantly, like those of a child discovering a treasure. She searched for the source of the fragrance, almost impatiently, her excitement etched on her delicate features.
Arzhel, who was watching her surreptitiously, let out a satisfied smile. Of course. Nothing in the world could more surely distract Vidalia than the smell of roasting meat. He was convinced that even in the deepest sleep, simply grilling a piece of beef under her nose would be enough to wake her.
"Oh! If it isn't little Vida!" exclaimed a gruff voice suddenly, echoing behind them.
Vidalia blinked in surprise. She recognized that deep, warm voice almost immediately, her heart leaping with curiosity.