WHISPERS IN THE NIGHT
The castle at night was a different world. Stone corridors that had once seemed grand and imposing now felt like a prison, every shadow a sentinel of duty and expectation. Alaric lay awake in his chambers, staring at the darkened ceiling. The council's discussions, the political marriages, the constant reminders of his crown—all of it paled against one thought: Liora.
Her scent lingered in his memory, the faint traces of jasmine from the garden, the warmth of her hand brushing against his. He cursed the world that bound them, that painted desire as rebellion. Yet the fire she ignited in him was impossible to deny.
Hours later, cloaked in darkness, he slipped from his chambers. The servants and guards were asleep; the halls were silent. Only the moon and stars bore witness as he made his way to the garden, heart hammering in anticipation.
Liora was already there, the basket of herbs set aside. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, catching the moonlight like liquid night. She looked up, startled, but relief softened her gaze when she saw him.
"You came," she whispered, her voice a mixture of awe and fear.
"I could not stay away," he admitted, stepping closer. His hand found hers, and she did not pull away this time. "Every moment without you…" He trailed off, the words heavy with longing he had no right to express.
Her breath hitched. "Alaric… you mustn't—"
"Mustn't what?" he cut in sharply, the frustration, the hunger in his voice undeniable. "Say what? That I want you? That I'm tired of being a prince in chains?" His hand cupped her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. "Gods, Liora… I've never wanted anything so badly in my life."
She trembled, torn between fear and desire. "This… us… it's forbidden. If anyone—"
"I don't care!" His lips claimed hers with a desperate hunger, a kiss that burned and demanded, leaving them both gasping. The world narrowed until it was only them—the prince and the slave, the stolen warmth in the cold night air.
Liora's hands trembled against his chest, feeling the rigid muscles, the pulse that matched her own. "Alaric… we can't… we'll be ruined—"
"Shut up," he growled against her lips, his voice raw and urgent. "I don't want excuses. I don't want rules. I want you, here, now, and no one else matters."
Her body responded before her mind could reason. She leaned into him, surrendering to the overwhelming need, the magnetic pull that had haunted both of them since the garden. Fingers tangled in hair, hearts pounding, breaths mingling. Every touch, every whispered curse and gasp, defied the world outside.
Minutes—or hours—passed in a blur of desperate desire. When at last they broke apart, they clung to each other, foreheads pressed together, chests heaving. Neither spoke; words were inadequate. The danger of discovery was ever-present, but in that stolen moment, it felt like nothing could touch them.
"I… I can't stop thinking about you," Alaric admitted, voice trembling, almost pained. "Every time I see you… every time you speak… I'm consumed, Liora. I feel like I'm on fire, and you're the only thing keeping me alive and sane."
Her eyes glimmered with tears—fear, longing, and something else, something forbidden. "And I… I shouldn't feel this, but I do. I've always survived, Alaric, but… with you, it feels like I could die and still want more."
They remained there until the moon was high and the castle silent around them, two hearts entwined in secret, two souls bound by desire and despair. Outside, the world demanded obedience. Inside the garden, they were free—for now.