The Shack
Aurora found me in the corridor the next evening, her expression playful, conspiratorial.
"Come," she whispered, tugging at my hand before I could ask a question. "Not as nobles. Not as guests. Just as ourselves."
I raised a brow. "And where exactly are we going?"
"You'll see," she teased, eyes glinting with mischief.
The village bar was nothing like the grand halls of the de Martel estate. Its roof sagged with age, the wooden sign creaked in the wind, and inside the air was thick with smoke and sweat. A handful of villagers nursed drinks at battered tables, a bard half-drunk on his own ale plucking a lute in the corner.
Aurora twirled once on the uneven floorboards as if it were a ballroom. "Charming, isn't it?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Charming is not the word I would use."
She grinned, leaning closer. "That's because you've spent too long brooding in castles. Here, no one cares about titles. No one bows or whispers. They live. They laugh. They drink."
We sat at a small table by the window, mugs of sour wine pushed into our hands. The drink was sharp, bitter — nothing like the refined vintages upstairs. Aurora downed hers without hesitation, wincing and laughing all at once.
"I used to sneak down here with Tristan when we were children," she admitted. "Though he hated it. Said it was beneath us. But I…" She shrugged, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "I loved it. I still do."
I studied her across the flickering candlelight, the way her fire-red hair caught the glow, the way her smile softened when she wasn't performing for anyone.
"You wanted freedom," I said quietly. "This place… it gives you a taste of it."
Aurora's eyes met mine. "And what about you, Niklaus? What do you want, when no one else is watching?"
The question lingered. I could have told her about power, about protecting my family, about tearing down every chain my mother sought to bind me with. But here, in this rundown shack with Aurora's laughter echoing in my ears, the words that came were different.
"Peace," I said finally. "A chance to live without fear, without lies. To live as I choose, not as others decide."
Aurora reached across the table, her fingers brushing mine. "Then maybe we're not so different, you and I."
The bard struck up a clumsy tune, and villagers began to dance. Aurora stood, tugging at my hand again with that same mischievous grin.
"Dance with me," she said.
I smirked, letting her pull me to my feet. "Here? With these drunkards as witness?"
She leaned close, her breath warm against my ear. "Exactly."
And so we danced — not the practiced waltzes of nobility, but clumsy, laughing steps on creaking floorboards, mugs clattering as the villagers cheered. For the first time in what felt like centuries, I forgot the weight of destiny, the shadow of Esther, the fury of Mikael.
For the first time, I simply lived.
With Aurora.