He stood frozen, his chest tight, eyes locked onto her. Every instinct screamed: Run. Hide. Don't breathe. Yet his body refused to obey. He was anchored, as if the ground itself had tangled around his feet.
She moved with that same hypnotic grace he had seen in his nightly obsessions, her hips swaying, robes flowing, hands brushing lightly against the hilt of her sword. He noticed every detail, every little motion, every flicker of expression. The courtyard felt too bright, too alive, too full of life he wasn't part of.
The frozen maids and guards at the side only deepened the strangeness. They were tense, wide-eyed, almost afraid, but why? They seemed to know something. Marcus didn't understand. Could they see him? Could it be that they saw through him?
Who cares anyway?
Heat crept low in his stomach, crawling upward, twisting desire and terror together. She's real. She's here. She's alive… Every moan he had imagined in his apartment felt like it had been leading to this moment. Every obsession and every lonely fantasy, compressed into this instant.
His legs twitched. A hand rose slightly, almost of its own accord. He shook it back down, heart hammering. Don't move. Don't, just watch.
Her gaze swept the courtyard briefly, a little bit, but piercing. Marcus flinched. Did she know? Could she feel him? A cold shiver ran down his spine. The air thickened. He had to get away, but he couldn't. Not just yet.
....
Moments later, Marcus followed silently behind the princess, every step cautious but inevitable.
The princess moved ahead with effortless grace, her robes brushing the polished stone floors, her boots clicking lightly with each stride. Guards flanked the corridor, their hands near the hilts of their weapons, but Marcus barely noticed. His attention was anchored solely on her.
Sunlight slanted through tall windows and casting long shadows across the hallway. Tapestries hung along the walls, golden threads catching the light, but Marcus barely registered the grandeur. Every little motion of the princess—tilt of her head, sway of her hips, and the way her hand rested lightly on her sword-pulled his gaze, though he forced himself not to linger too long.
They reached a side doorway. Guards adjusted their pace, giving her room to pass, bowing slightly as they entered. Marcus paused in the shadow of the corridor, chest tight, heart hammering. Inside, sunlight flooded the room, reflecting off polished floors. Servants moved quietly, creating space for their presence.
The princess stood calm, commanding, and her aura of authority was almost tangible. Marcus's mind raced. This was real. She was real. Alive. And here, in front of him, every instinct told him to stop, to retreat; but fascination and terror held him fast.
He pressed against the wall, observing silently. Courtiers and servants gave her deference, bowing low or curtsying, their expressions cautious. The guards at the side shifted slightly, their weapons ready and alert to any disturbance.
Marcus could feel the tension in the room, the silent acknowledgment that something about her presence demanded attention.
A faint movement caught his eye, two maids flanked by guards froze, hands trembling, eyes wide. They didn't move as she approached, their hesitation marked by fear. Marcus noted the subtle unease, but he stayed hidden, his own chest tight, aware of the dangerous line he was crossing just by existing in this space.
Time slowed. Marcus's mind spun between awe and dread. Every little detail, the sweep of her robes, the angle of her stance, the way her gaze commanded obedience—etched itself into him. He remained invisible, a ghost in the corridor, anchored by both desire and fear, caught in the impossible gravity of her presence.
The princess's eyes shifted briefly, scanning the room, and Marcus froze. One heartbeat. One motion. One breath. He held it, aware that any movement could unravel everything.
He lingered at the doorway, and every muscle in his body coiled tight. The room beyond was bathed in sunlight, polished floors reflecting the grandeur of the castle's inner sanctum. Servants had stepped aside, leaving space for the princess to move with her usual composed grace.
She adjusted the robes around her shoulders, a subtle shift that revealed the curve of her form beneath the fabric. Marcus's chest tightened, a dangerous mix of awe, fear, and obsession twisting through him. Every instinct told him to retreat. Yet every part of his mind was drawn forward, magnetized to her presence.
A guard spoke softly, issuing a command she barely acknowledged. Her attention was elsewhere, surveying the room, but Marcus imagined she was aware of him, reading his every thought. He pressed against the wall, shadowed, his heart hammering. He didn't breathe, didn't move. Only eyes, only focus, only the impossible pull of her aura.
The maids and their guards lingered at the periphery, tense and hesitant. Marcus noticed the subtle shift in their posture: fear and something unspoken. They knew. Of what, he couldn't tell, but it added another layer of danger.
The princess moved closer to the center of the room, her hands brushing lightly along the hilt of her ceremonial sword. Marcus's mind spun. She's real. Alive. Here. Everything I imagined…
A faint glance from her eyes, sharp and piercing, caught him in shadow. For a heartbeat, he felt exposed. She could see him. Or at least he imagined she could. Every nerve in his body screamed. He was trapped, caught between the pull of desire and the risk of discovery.
"Your presence is… unexpected," she said softly, voice light but with a pinch of nervousness.
Marcus flinched at her words, misinterpreting the nervous tone entirely. His pulse raced, and his imagination began running wild. She knows me. She wants me…
The princess's gaze lingered, cool and assessing. "Strange… you carry yourself like a shadow. Were you taught to move unseen, or do you come here by instinct?"
Her words burned in his ears, twisting into something intimate, a secret. Marcus trembled, forcing breath into his lungs. She notices me… she's speaking only to me.
"I…" His voice cracked, almost a whisper. "I came… because I had to."
The maids shifted uneasily. One guard's hand slid closer to his hilt, eyes narrowing at Marcus. The princess, however, tilted her head ever so slightly, studying him like one might study an unfamiliar animal.
"You had to?" Her tone was measured, curious yet edged. "And who told you such compulsion was welcome in my halls?"
Marcus's heart lurched. The weight of her words pressed down, but his twisted hope clung desperately. He imagined the question not as rejection, but an invitation. A challenge. She wants to know why I'm here. She wants to hear me say it.
He took a tentative step forward, drawn as if by some irresistible gravity. The maids and their guards stiffened, hands hovering near hilts, tension coiling in the room like a drawn bowstring. Marcus's chest tightened, awareness clawing at him: he was playing a dangerous game, one misstep from catastrophe.
She turned slightly, robes shifting, sunlight catching the polished floors. Every motion, every sway, drew Marcus closer. Fear and obsession braided into a single dangerous thread, guiding his every step.
Her voice cut through the silence again, sharper this time. "Stop where you are. Not another step without my leave."
Marcus froze mid-step, his breath caught. The princess stiffened, eyes narrowing, her posture radiating command and warning. His mind spiraled: She's here. She's real. She wants…
Then, the silence that followed her command was suffocating. Marcus stood frozen, sweat dripping down his back, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The room seemed to lean in, the guards poised, the maids wide-eyed, waiting for her next word.
The princess's eyes held him, unblinking. Cold and sharp as a blade. "Answer me," she said, her tone low, each syllable measured. "Why are you here?"
Marcus swallowed hard. His throat felt raw, his voice barely able to escape. "I… I needed to see you. Just once."
The words struck the air like a crack of thunder. The guards reacted instantly, blades half-drawn, steel whispering against scabbards.
The princess raised her hand slightly, halting them. Her gaze never left Marcus. "See me?" she repeated, incredulous. "Do you mistake me for some common figure to be gazed upon?"
She's just testing him.
"No-no!" Marcus stumbled forward a step, then froze, remembering her command. His body trembled from the effort of restraint. "You don't understand. It's not like that. You… you're…" His voice faltered. He couldn't form the words without sounding mad. Divine. Perfect. Mine.
Her expression tightened. A flicker of disdain crossed her features. "You speak as though you know me. You do not."
"I do," Marcus whispered, desperate, eyes wide. "More than anyone else. I've watched… I've seen everything. The way you walk, the way you-"
"Enough." Her voice rang out, firm and final, echoing in the high-ceilinged chamber.
The guards shifted again, no longer restrained by patience but by her sheer will. Marcus felt their hostility like spears at his back. One of the maids smiled at him as if she knew what was going on.
Still, Marcus didn't back down. His obsession held him in place, chains of desire stronger than fear. His breath came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding. "You can't deny it," he murmured. "You felt it too. When you looked at me."
The princess stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Her lips parted as if to speak a command. Then, she hesitated. Something flickered in her eyes. Fear and memory.
And before she could stop herself, a name broke the silence.
"…Adrian?"
The sound of it cut through the room like lightning. The guards faltered, blades hovering mid-draw, their eyes darting toward her in confusion. The maids exchanged smiles, whispering behind their pale hands.
Marcus's heart lurched. His mind blanked, his body trembling as if the floor had vanished beneath him. Adrian. That name… it wasn't his. And yet it wrapped around him like a shackle, binding his breath, his pulse, his very skin.
The princess's expression hardened instantly, as though she realized her mistake. The moment of recognition vanished, smothered beneath the cold mask of royalty. She straightened her shoulders, her voice colder than steel.
"Remove him," she commanded at last.
The spell shattered. Armored boots scraped against stone as the guards advanced, their hesitation gone, blades gleaming. Marcus's blood turned to ice. The name still echoed in his ears, drowning out everything else.