Zareth's fingers moved with unhurried precision, undoing the last strap of Serenya's corset. Each tug of the ties echoed in the silence like the toll of a warning bell, and Serenya felt as though her own heartbeat was beating against his hands instead of her ribs.
Her throat tightened as she clutched the front of her dress desperately, trying to keep the fabric from slipping off. The air between them was thick—far too close, far too heated.
"All this wouldn't be happening," Zareth drawled, his tone laced with mockery, "if you hadn't stayed in an enclosed room with that boy."
His words fell sharp, like shards of obsidian, and Serenya flinched though she tried to steady herself.
Her voice came small, barely above a whisper. "I hadn't stayed there because of him. It was for my sister…" Her chest rose and fell, each breath unsteady as if she were confessing some crime.
Zareth stepped back a fraction, his crimson eyes devouring the pale curve of her spine now bared. The lamplight painted her skin in gold, smooth as silk, unblemished save for the quickened rise and fall of her breathing. His lips curved, slow and deliberate, into a smile that promised danger.
"You have the most perfect skin I've ever seen," he muttered, voice low as velvet but threaded with hunger. His thumb brushed down the ridge of her spine—light, almost lazy, but enough to make a violent shiver course through her.
Serenya's knees weakened. Heat surged up her neck and into her cheeks, blooming so fiercely she thought she might faint. She took a step forward as if to escape, but before she could, Zareth's hand snaked around her waist, pinning her back against the iron wall of his body.
"Why are you always trying to run from me?" His voice teased, yet carried a dark weight. His lips grazed the curve of her shoulder, pressing kisses like brands on her skin. "Tell me… did he hug you?"
Her breath hitched, the air catching painfully in her throat.
"I—I said nothing inappropriate happened!" The words tumbled out too fast, her cheeks aflame. She bit her lip, but it did nothing to hide the soft sounds threatening to escape her mouth under his closeness.
Zareth's hand tightened around her waist, dragging her even closer. His fangs grazed her shoulder—not a bite, just the faint scrape of power. His voice was a knife disguised as silk. "Are you trying to protect him?"
Before she could answer, his hand slipped into the opened back of her dress , gliding across the curve of her mounds and pressing against her breast . Serenya gasped, eyes wide as her fingers gripped the front of her dress tighter, desperate to cover herself.
"W-what are you doing?!" Her voice broke, trembling, her face flooding crimson.
Zareth's hand didn't falter. Instead, he pulled her closer, fingers tightening on her waist as the other boldly cupped her breast, thumb brushing over the delicate curve. His lips brushed her ear as he murmured, "Loving you."
The simple words set fire to her veins. Her pulse thundered, ragged and out of control, her body betraying her innocence even as she wanted to shove him away.
"I-I think I should change quickly—" she whispered, voice cracking as she tried to wriggle forward.
But Zareth's voice, sharp and low, cut across hers. "Try to run again, little dove, and my hand will wander… lower."
Serenya froze. The threat wasn't even a threat—it was a promise, and the weight of it made her heart slam so hard she thought it might burst. Her body stiffened, heat pooling in places she didn't dare acknowledge.
Zareth chuckled darkly against her silence. His hand shifted, cupping her other breast, thumb flicking against her nipple . Serenya's lips parted in a breathless gasp she couldn't swallow back, shame painting her skin redder than fire.
"Don't ever let another man touch you," he muttered, every word heavy with command. "Anyone that's not me."
Her lips trembled. She bit down hard, unable to form words, her entire body shaking with the force of her own mortification.
"Words, Serenya," Zareth demanded, his mouth against her throat, leaving kisses that felt more like a brand than tenderness.
"O-okay," she whispered at last, her voice small, breaking under the weight of him.
Satisfied, Zareth finally pulled his hand free from the loose folds of her dress. Her body sagged forward slightly, but she held the fabric tighter over her chest, clutching it like a shield. Beneath her grip, the old scars on her chest burned with remembered shame.
He swept her into his arms with sudden ease, ignoring her startled gasp, and carried her toward the adjoining bathroom. The marble walls echoed with the sound of his boots as he set her down before the small polished bath.
"Look at you," he drawled, his crimson eyes glittering as he watched her cheeks flame, her lips tremble, her entire body shiver with the memory of his touch. "Scarlet with just one caress. I think we should be doing this more often."
Her lips parted to argue, to deny, to retort—but nothing came out. She closed her mouth quickly, her breath ragged, eyes looking away.
Zareth's chuckle filled the air, rich and merciless. He tilted her chin up with a single finger, studying the fire in her cheeks. Then, smirking, he released her.
"Freshen up," he said, turning toward the door. "I'll have the servants bring you new clothes."
And then, without waiting for her reply, he left.
The silence that followed was deafening. Serenya stood frozen, her heart still galloping against her ribs. Slowly, she slid to the edge of the bath, burying her face in her hands as the memories replayed in her mind—the warmth of his touch, the press of his lips, the low command in his voice.
"Did he just…" she whispered to herself, her cheeks flaming even redder.
She puffed her cheeks out in frustration, glaring at the bathwater as though it might answer her. "He's one jealous Emperor! Who even forces someone to bathe after talking to another man?!"
Her voice cracked into a squeak at the ridiculousness of it. But still, her heart pounded, every beat betraying her.
With hurried hands, she stripped from the loosened dress, cheeks hot, terrified Zareth might barge in again at any moment. The cool air of the chamber met her flushed skin, making her shiver. She ducked into the water, trying to hide her face even from herself.
And still, no matter how she tried to drown the thought—his words, his touch, his possessive command—echoed inside her chest, louder than her own heartbeat.
When Zareth returned, Serenya was wrapped in one of the soft white towels provided in the Thompson mansion's guest chambers. Clearly meant for travelers or visiting nobles, the cloth clung damply to her delicate frame, droplets of water tracing trails down her bare shoulders.
Zareth's crimson gaze slid over her, leisurely and unhurried, like a predator savoring his claim. His lips curved in an arrogant, satisfied grin.
"You," he drawled, voice edged with that deep, mocking dominance only he could wield, "are one of the best decisions I've ever made. Imagine if I hadn't bothered with that random celebration. What a waste it would've been—never discovering you."
Serenya flushed furiously, clutching the towel tighter against her chest. "You make it sound like I'm a prize you won at a game…"
"Prize?" Zareth chuckled, the sound sharp and indulgent, as though she'd said something amusingly naïve. He stepped closer, forcing her to tilt her chin up. "Little dove, you're not a prize. You're a possession. Mine."
Her lips parted to retort, but before she could form words, he turned and stepped back out of the bathroom. His absence left the space feeling larger, emptier, though the heat of his presence clung stubbornly to the air.
This was the first time Serenya had been forced to dress herself without the help of Zelda or the palace servants. She hurried into the undergarments, her fingers fumbling clumsily at the ties and straps. The pale silk felt cool against her still-damp skin, but the looseness of the gown made her panic. She had no idea how to secure it properly.
Her eyes darted to the spare straps hanging uselessly at her waist. With a small, nervous sigh, she clumsily wrapped them around her stomach, tightening the knot in the wrong place but making do. Damp strands of her dark hair clung to her flushed cheeks as she padded barefoot across the room, hoping she looked at least somewhat presentable.
The door creaked.
Zareth leaned against the frame, his eyes burning with quiet amusement. His crimson irises flicked over her, lingering on the way her wet hair dripped onto the fabric.
"Now you smell perfect," he murmured, the low timbre of his voice brushing over her skin like velvet and steel. "Just like you."
Serenya froze, mortified by the way he was staring. His grin widened, sharp and narcissistic.
"My, you truly are a pampered princess." He circled behind her, the heat of his body brushing against her damp back. His gaze lingered on the haphazard knot she had tied. With an exaggerated sigh, he loosened it with a single pull, the fabric sagging precariously.
"W-wait—!" she gasped, clutching the neckline desperately.
"Relax." Zareth's voice was a taunt, smooth and commanding as his deft fingers redid the straps with effortless precision. He secured them at her waist properly, tugging the cloth snug against her curves. "If you walked out like that, the servants would faint before you even reached the corridor."
She puffed her cheeks indignantly. " I'm not pampered. I'm just… not used to wearing clothes like this."
Zareth leaned down, lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Not used to dressing yourself at all, you mean. Don't worry—I'll happily undress you whenever the need arises."
Her blush deepened, and before she could scold him, he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. He returned moments later with a fresh towel in hand. Without asking, he guided her to the mirror and pressed her into the cushioned stool before it.
Serenya blinked at her reflection, startled. The sight of the Emperor—the Emperor himself—standing behind her, carefully dabbing at her wet hair with the towel, made her chest soften. The action was so intimate, so gentle, that her heart stumbled in its rhythm.
His red eyes caught hers in the mirror, blazing yet strangely warm. Serenya's lips curved into the smallest, involuntary smile. For all his shamelessness, his suffocating possessiveness, and his unbearable arrogance… he was also unyieldingly attentive to her, as though every detail mattered.
Zareth's lips twisted into a crooked smirk at her expression. "Keep staring at me with that gaze, little dove, and we might just pick up where I left off."
Her face flamed crimson. "Y-you don't always have to sound so shameless!"
"Oh, but I do." His tone dripped with narcissistic delight. "Your breasts, for example… felt very soft. I wonder if they taste as sweet as they felt."
Serenya's eyes went wide. With a scandalized squeak, she snatched the comb from the vanity and hurled it at him. He dodged effortlessly, his laughter low and maddening, as though she had entertained him rather than scolded him.
"That's so crude!" she cried, mortified. "You shouldn't speak like that!"
Zareth's hand continued towel-drying her hair, unfazed by her outrage. His smile sharpened as he murmured, "Tell me, though… didn't you like it?"
Serenya's mouth opened, words catching on her tongue. She wanted to protest, to deny it—but her silence betrayed her. Her blush burned hotter, and she looked away.
Then her gaze shifted—and her heart stopped.
Her hand flew to her throat.
"My birth necklace!"
Her neck was bare. The chain—her only treasured piece from home, her only talisman—was gone.
Panic surged through her veins. She twisted in the chair, eyes frantic.
Zareth straightened, his smile fading into a small frown. "Don't worry about it. I'll get you a better one."
"No!" Serenya shook her head vehemently, tears prickling her eyes. "I need that one. I have to find it."
The sincerity, the desperation in her voice, silenced him. For once, the arrogant smirk slipped.
"Give me your hand," he commanded quietly.
Without hesitation, she placed her trembling hand in his. A rush of power surged through her as his grip tightened. In an instant, the chamber melted away. Shadows curled, and with a snap of reality, they reappeared in the room she had been in earlier.
Candles flickered to life around them, Zareth's will bending even the daylight into submission. The warm glow painted the room in trembling light.
Serenya dropped to her knees, her fingers sweeping frantically under the bed, behind the desk, over the carpet. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts.
Zareth watched her, his crimson gaze sharp. "Is it that important?" His tone carried that unbearable mix of curiosity and sarcasm, though softer than usual.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling. She paused, her chest tightening as a memory surfaced. The last time she had touched the necklace… was when Kael had hugged her.
Her eyes widened, horror dawning.
"Kael…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Kael had taken it."
The panic in her tone ignited something primal in Zareth's gaze. His crimson eyes burned brighter, his jaw tightening as fury laced through his aura.