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Seraphina sat frozen, her back pressed lightly against the velvet seat, breath trembling in her chest. Her hands lay in her lap, fingers clenched together as if that might somehow hold her still. The chaos outside had ended, but the quiet in the carriage was no less terrifying. She could still hear the screams—fading now—haunting the edge of her thoughts.
Beside her, the stranger hadn't moved much. He simply sat there, watching her.
Not curiously. Not kindly.
But like a man watching a ripple in the water after tossing in a stone.
Soren tilted his head slightly, his pale eyes flickering over her features. In his mind, he thought, I think I've caught myself some new excitement.
She was beautiful—gracefully so, not loud like others he'd seen at court. A calm, clear sort of beauty that made her look older than she probably was, wiser perhaps. But still, when he'd found her sitting in the middle of a panicked crowd, her body trembling like a lost child's, something about it had amused him.
And now—he was curious.
Seraphina still hadn't spoken. Still hadn't even asked who he was. She sat there in stunned silence, lips parted slightly, eyes blinking slowly as though she was trying to wake herself from the nightmare.
The silence stretched between them like a pulled string.
Soren broke it—softly, slowly, like a whisper of smoke curling through the air.
"Where… do you live?"
His voice was deliberate. Each word slow and spaced, like he was rolling them in his mouth, tasting them before letting them out.
"I'll take you… home."
Seraphina's eyes flicked to him, narrowing ever so slightly. The tone—the weight behind his voice—felt off. Not threatening exactly. But dangerous in a way she couldn't place. A chill ran up her spine.
He smiled faintly. It wasn't kind.
Then, without warning, he reached forward and slid his hand around her waist, pulling her gently but firmly toward him. The movement was slow, unhurried—intimate without permission.
Seraphina's breath caught in her throat.
"Tell me where you live… beauty," he murmured.
The words fell like velvet and iron at once. Seraphina's heart thudded hard against her chest. Heat flushed under her skin, rising to her cheeks, her neck. He was too close, far too close—and yet, she didn't pull away.
She swallowed hard, forcing her voice out steady, even as her mind scattered.
"Edevan Manor," she said quietly. "Just past the east hill… near the stone well."
Soren gave a small nod, like he was pleased with her answer. He leaned back slowly, his arm slipping away from her waist as though he'd never touched her.
He tapped the roof of the carriage once, and his voice was smooth when he spoke next.
"Drive."
Only then did Seraphina realize they weren't alone. The carriage jolted gently forward, and she turned her head sharply toward the front.
There was someone else there. A coachman—tall, silent. She hadn't noticed him before.
She faced forward again, saying nothing. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to gather herself. From the corner of her eye, she could still feel Soren watching her.
And behind that stare… was something unreadable.
Something hungry.
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