"You shouldn't be here."
My blood turned to ice.
I froze where I stood, my fingers still resting on the spine of the book. For a moment, I couldn't even breathe. The words echoed in the room, calm and controlled, but heavy with authority.
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Slowly—too slowly—I withdrew my hand and straightened. The air felt thicker now, charged, as if the room itself had reacted to his presence. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
I turned.
Santiago stood near the door, one hand resting against the dark wood as if he'd just pushed it open. He was dressed in dark robes, the kind he wore when he wasn't attending council or ceremonies. Simple. Dangerous. The faint glow of runes shimmered at his cuffs, responding to his mood.
His eyes were fixed on me.
Cold. Sharp. Unreadable.
"I—" My voice failed me. I swallowed and tried again. "I didn't mean to intrude."
Silence.
He stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounded far too final. The temperature seemed to drop another degree.
"This room is not open to guests," he said.
"I know," I whispered. "I just… I was exploring. I didn't realize—"
"You realized," he interrupted calmly. "You knew exactly whose room this was."
I flinched.
He wasn't wrong.
"I won't touch anything," I said quickly. "I swear. I was just looking."
His gaze flicked briefly to the shelves, then back to me. Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
"Books like these are not meant for curious hands," he said. "Some of them are dangerous."
"I didn't feel danger," I said before I could stop myself.
That earned me a pause.
Santiago studied me more carefully now, his head tilting slightly, as if reassessing something he'd already decided.
"What did you feel?" he asked.
I hesitated. Telling the truth felt risky. But lying felt worse.
"They… hummed," I said softly. "Like they were breathing. Listening."
The room went very still.
For the first time since I'd met him, Santiago's expression changed—not much, but enough for me to notice. Surprise flickered there, quickly buried beneath control.
"That is not something you should be able to sense," he said.
"I don't understand magic the way you do," I replied. "But I understand living things. And these books… they're not just objects."
A long silence followed.
I became painfully aware of how alone I was in the room with him. No maids. No witnesses. Just the heir of Rogan and the wife he hadn't chosen.
"You shouldn't be here," he repeated, quieter this time.
"I know," I said. "I'll leave."
I stepped toward the door, but as I passed him, something shifted in the air—subtle, invisible, but powerful. My breath caught.
"Angel."
Hearing my name from his mouth stopped me instantly.
"Yes?" I asked, my back still to him.
"Do not enter this room again," he said. "Not for any reason."
I nodded. "I won't."
I reached for the door.
"Especially at night," he added.
I turned slightly, unable to help myself. "Why?"
Our eyes met.
For a brief moment, the distance between us disappeared. I saw something behind the cold—something dark and dangerous and tightly controlled.
"Because the things sealed here," he said slowly, "do not care that you are my wife."
My chest tightened.
"I didn't know," I whispered.
"That," he replied, "is exactly the problem."
He opened the door for me, standing aside with rigid formality. I passed him, my shoulder brushing close enough that I felt warmth radiating from him. Not comfort. Power.
As I stepped into the corridor, a soft rustling echoed from somewhere above.
Storm, a bird whispered.
I didn't turn back.
I didn't wander again after that.
The rest of the day passed in a strange haze. Maids appeared whenever I stopped moving, offering tea, books, quiet guidance. The mansion felt less like a home and more like a carefully guarded maze designed to keep me from wandering too far.
I kept thinking about Santiago's eyes.
About the way he'd said my name.
He is afraid, my fox murmured later that evening as he curled beside me on a balcony hidden from view.
"Of me?" I whispered.
Of what might wake if you stay too close, he replied.
I hugged my knees to my chest and stared out at the sky. The empire stretched endlessly beyond the palace walls, powerful and beautiful and terrifying.
And I was its empress consort.
That night, as the palace settled into uneasy sleep, I heard it again.
Crying.
Faint. Broken.
Not from the walls.
From somewhere alive.
My heart clenched.
And without fully deciding.