I barely knew myself why the words spilled out so fast — maybe because every time he moved away, the room turned colder… or maybe because waking alone in this strange, guarded place was suddenly something I just could not stand.
"Stay," I breathed — thin, weak as thread.
Draven glanced first down at my fingers twisted tight round his sleeve… then straight into my heavy, fever‑blurred eyes.
"I promise you," he said flat, "you'll survive three whole minutes fine without me."
"Not if I have a choice."
Short silence stretched… then at last came a long, rough, bone‑tired sigh.
"You are nothing but trouble."
But for all the grumbling — he sat down anyway. Not going back to that far‑off chair by the window… but right here, on the very edge of my bed.
Just that shift alone loosened half the tight panic knotted in my chest. Before I thought twice I reached up again — burning‑hot hand catching fast round his arm like something I needed to hold onto.
He glanced down at the grip… never tried to shake me loose or pull away.
"Talk to me," I mumbled thick and heavy against the pillow.
One dark eyebrow lifted slow. "About what exactly?"
"Anything. Doesn't matter."
He leaned back slow and unwilling against the carved headboard — every line of him saying this is not how I do things — sighed again, and started in plain, rough tone:
"Once upon a time… there was one stubborn woman who kept ignoring every sensible warning given to keep her safe."
Even half‑buried in fever‑fog… I managed a faint, weak frown. "You're talking straight about me."
"Never said that."
"And you sound already fed up just thinking of her."
"Naturally. She was an absolute nuisance."
Small sound of protest rumbled low in my throat against linen. He went on steady and unhurried:
"Wandered off where she was told never to go. Stopped to chat with strangers she knew nothing about. And nearly dropped dead — not once… but twice in one single day."
"That description hits way too close."
"Gets worse," he said grim.
Head throbbing, limbs heavy as lead… a tiny smile fought its way through. My fingers curled tighter round his sleeve while deep exhaustion dragged harder through every bone.
He glanced down again… kept going calm and blunt: "Same woman had another terrible habit: made messes all by herself… then expected others to run and fix it for her."
"That's not true at all!" I mumbled, fighting to defend myself through sleepiness.
"It is true enough."
"Is not."
"And you want to argue this point while barely awake?"
"…I can do two things at once," came my slow, heavy reply.
Short, dry huff escaped him… then quiet fell again. When he spoke next — his voice dropped lower, slower, rougher round the edges.
"And in that story… there was also a fairy princess."
Lids dragged heavy open again. "A fairy princess? Really?"
"Just so."
"Now you're making rubbish up just to fill time."
"Obviously."
I stared sleep‑blind toward the dim shape of his face. "Bet she was far nicer and prettier than your stubborn woman."
"Not even close," he answered fast — way too quick for just telling tales.
Faint curve touched my lips. Slowly everything went soft and blurry: fever‑heat under skin… that deep, rough steady voice… the solid weight of his arm still pinned under my hand… all wrapping thick and warm round me.
Eyes began slipping shut on their own. Draven caught it instantly — one finger tapped light and sharp against my cheek to rouse me.
"Don't you dare sleep while I'm speaking."
I dragged heavy lids halfway open again. "Right now… you aren't any Duke at all."
"Wrong answer," was his short correction.
Another firm little tap fell against my skin. I tried to glare back properly… but the effort dissolved straight into weakness. Room swung slow and dizzy… and my hold on his sleeve loosened bit‑by‑bit as sleep pulled harder than anything.
He watched quiet and still… until I gave up completely. Head rolled sideways, sinking deep into soft pillow.
Another rough sigh sounded above me. "Truly impossible creature."
Through the haze I felt the bed shift slow — he propped my pillows higher and softer so I breathed easier… pulled covers tight right up round my shoulders… and then a low rough murmur brushed close by my ear:
"Stubborn little cub."
Words reached me faint and far away… but stuck fast in my head even while sleep rushed in to swallow everything else.
A moment later… the bed dipped soft behind me. And for the first time since crossing into these dangerous Northern lands… I finally drifted off wrapped in one plain, sure feeling: safe.
Some small noise woke me later — faint, barely there: soft creak of wood moving careful just outside the closed door.
Eyes dragged open through leftover fever‑fog… and right away I saw the change hit Draven hard.
In one breath — all easy stillness gone. Cold set in sharp as a blade: hard, watchful, deadly. Already he sat every sense stretched tight toward the entrance.
Then — second sound: footstep… hurrying fast away down stone corridor.
Heart thudded heavy and loud inside ribs.
Slow… terrifyingly calm… Draven rose from beside the bed. The look fixed on his face belonged to a man who already knew exactly what came next.
And only then — through fading sickness‑fog — cold truth hit sharp:
Last night… half‑asleep and soft‑minded… I'd slipped and spoken his real name aloud.
Not Raphael — the careful disguise.
Draven.
Silence filled the room now — thick, heavy… heavy with quiet killing intent.
Without turning back even once… his voice dropped low and absolute: "Stay right here. Do not step outside."
Door swung open.
Last thing I caught before he vanished into dark beyond — was his eyes. Whoever had been listening… had just run straight into bad trouble.
Latch clicked shut. Quiet came back… but nothing like the soft peace from earlier. This silence was built… planned… like some decision already sealed and done.
I sat still on the bed‑edge for ages… staring where he'd stood… strange tight ache caught deep inside — not fear exactly… just heavy, uneasy weight I couldn't name.
In the end… tiredness won again… and I slipped back down into deep, dreamless sleep.
***
Morning came soft and still.
Not the thick, suffocating quiet of illness… but controlled silence — familiar, ordered, guarded.
First thing clear: fever was gone completely.
I sat up slow… waiting for ache or weakness… but found only lightness left. Room already swept neat and straight… almost too perfect.
My eyes turned naturally toward the place by the window: Draven lay there.
Stretched out full… still in every piece of clothes from the night before… one arm thrown up over his eyes… looking as if he'd never moved or left that spot since dark hours.
For moments I just watched… odd wrong‑feeling pricking me: far too still for a man like him — who never sleeps deep.
I stood careful… stepped soft across floorboards until close enough… called low: "Draven?"
No answer.
Frown pulled faint worry lines. I reached hand out slow to touch…
Reaction struck like lightning: fingers snapped fast and hard round my wrist — strong, iron‑tight… but no rough harm in it.
Breath caught sharp in throat.
His eyes opened only halfway — no shock, no jump… only cold clear look saying I knew exactly you were coming.
"You play dangerous games," he said short and rough. "Walk too close to death for your own good." Short pause stretched… until gaze shifted fully heavy onto me. "…Seraphina."
And the second he spoke my real name — grip fell loose instantly… gone like it never was iron‑strong at all.
He sat slow upright… smoothed collar, settled back fast into that closed‑off, unreadable mask he always wore. But I knew now plain truth: he never slept one wink all night. Only waited… listened… watched.
Memory rushed back clear: creak… running step… sense of eyes pressed right up against walls.
I swallowed round dry throat. "…Someone really stood listening outside last night… didn't they?"
He gave no shift or sign at all — and that silence itself was answer enough.
After a beat… he spoke calm: "They never dared come closer than what they planned."
Fingers curled tight at my side. "So it wasn't just my head?"
"Real enough."
I hesitated… then asked soft and careful: "Yet… you didn't go after them?"
Dark eyes flicked one short sharp glance my way. "No."
That answer froze me still. "…Why let them just walk away free?"
He leaned back easy again… voice steady and hard: "Because their aim was never to break in… only to be seen leaving afterwards."
Whole weight shifted heavy in air — meaning of the night changed in one breath.
"Then it wasn't any real break‑in try…" I breathed slow as cold understanding grew.
"It was a test," he corrected plain.
Quiet pressed heavy again… truth laying itself bare: Someone tested this room… tested voices… tested what names might slip… and Draven let them go on purpose — carrying exactly the answer they came hunting for.
Voice dropped softer. "…And what does that test tell us now?"
He stood slow and deliberate — clear sign: this conversation is finished.
"It tells us," he said grim, "that from now on… those grounds and gardens you thought safe to walk? They aren't safe like you believe anymore."
Warning hung sharp and heavy long after spoken.
Your morning walks outside… done for now.
I lifted eyes fast to him. "…You think they heard enough last night to guess… or know for sure?"
"They learned patterns… movements… where we stay… and how we act," he answered — plain, cold, certain.
Chest drew tight. "Learned… exactly what?"
Short pause… then words fell stripped right down: "They learned: you yourself… are already marked and watched every step."
Cold sick drop settled deep in gut. "So eyes follow me everywhere now?"
"Yes." One word — blunt, absolute… heavier than shouting ever could be.
I swallowed hard… set jaw firm against chill. "Fine. Then I'm going outside anyway."
Instant shift: gaze sharpened straight to knife‑edge. "No." Short. Final. No room to push.
Frown deepened. "I'm not asking to run off the grounds — just walk the open yards. I need to see what changes: servants turning faces away… guards shifting their rounds… who ducks my path… or who stares too long."
"You'll see nothing useful wandering alone," he cut across steady.
I waited only a heartbeat… then stepped small bit closer into the space between us. "Then you come with me."
That request landed different — heavy, clear. Silence stretched long… his eyes searching mine hard… before at last:
"Still… no."
Small spark of irritation flared hot even through fear. "Then what exactly do you expect me to do? Lock myself between four walls forever?"
"To spot a trap… watch it from outside first. Never step blind straight inside," he said like teaching a lesson he'd had to repeat too many times.
I breathed slow and heavy out. "I won't rush or run. Promise. I only mean to look… learn… notice things."
Face stayed carved stone‑hard. "And you will misread every single thing you see."
I blinked real surprise. "…Beg pardon?"
He moved one step nearer — not threatening… but close enough to fill air fully with his presence and heavy pressure.
"Because wherever you go… you react," he said low and rough‑precise. "Every shift in your face… pause… glance… or step — they watch exactly for those little signs. That is how they read whatever truth you try hiding."
Quiet fell heavier than before. Truth hit harder than I wanted to admit.
Voice went small and tight: "So I just sit still… and do absolutely nothing at all?"
"Not nothing."
Another long, deliberate pause.
Then — final order, every word short, hard, and absolute:
"Whatever gets done… it gets done… my way only."