The grand dining hall had never felt so suffocating.Massive crystal chandeliers blazed above, casting golden light over a table long enough to seat fifty.Tonight, it was just two.
Me.And her.
The empty chairs stood like silent witnesses to this farce.A private dinner, they called it.A chance for the betrothed couple to "grow closer."
Closer?If they only knew.Every step Evelyne took across that marble floor sounded like a dagger tapping against bone.
She sat at the far end of the table.I sat at the other.Too far for whispers.Too close for comfort.
The servants moved like ghosts.Silver trays.Wine poured like liquid rubies.Roasted meats, fruits carved into delicate shapes.
But neither of us reached for the food.Not yet.Not until the servants bowed and left us alone.
The doors clicked shut.
Silence.Thick. Choking.
Evelyne was the first to speak.
Her voice, cool as the ice in the silver goblet before her:"So… this is what they call a romantic dinner."
I leaned back, letting the chair creak."Romantic. Yes. Nothing says love like being paraded around like prize hounds and then locked in a gilded cage."
Her lips twitched.Almost a smile.But no — Evelyne didn't smile unless it was sharp enough to cut.
She picked up her goblet, swirling the wine."You seemed to enjoy it well enough. Bathing in their cheers. Soaking up their adoration."
I raised a brow."Jealous, princess? Or just bitter that they didn't cheer loud enough for you?"
Her eyes flicked up, meeting mine across the distance.Amber and storm clouds colliding.
"Bitter?" she echoed, voice low."No, Leonhart. I'm not bitter. I'm starving."
That word hung in the air.Heavy.Loaded.
I straightened, instincts prickling.
"Starving… for what?"
She set the goblet down with a soft clink.
"For power. For freedom. For the day I no longer have to play this role they've written for me."Her nails tapped against the polished wood."Unlike you, I don't find pleasure in their applause. I find it… nauseating."
I let out a slow breath.
"Then we're more alike than you think."
Her laugh was bitter."Don't flatter yourself. I see through your games, Leonhart. You gather soldiers. Whisper in the ears of the forgotten. You think I don't notice how every discarded piece suddenly flocks to you?"
I smiled, slow and dangerous.
"Ah, Evelyne. I always knew you were watching. I counted on it."
Her chair scraped back suddenly.She stood.Stalked down the long table, footsteps echoing in the hollow hall.
Closer.Closer.
Until she stood just a breath away from me.
Her scent hit me first — smoke and roses.Familiar.Dangerous.
Her hands slammed down on the table, caging me in without touching.Eyes blazing.
"Tell me the truth, Leonhart. Are you planning to use me? Use this engagement to fuel your little rebellion? To make me your pawn while you play king?"
My pulse thundered in my ears.Every instinct screamed to lie.To twist the truth.To charm her back into submission.
But something in her face—The raw hunger.The fury.The pain—
It cracked through my carefully built walls.
I stood too.Close enough now that our breaths tangled in the space between.
"No, Evelyne," I said, voice rough."I'm not using you. I'm surviving. And if you get in my way, I will tear down everything — even you — to escape this cage."
Her eyes narrowed."You always were selfish."
"And you always pretended you weren't."
For a long, long moment, we just stood there.Two storms colliding.Two blades pressed against each other's throats.
And then—
Her hand shot out—Grabbing my collar—Dragging me down—
Our mouths crashed together.Fierce. Brutal.Not love.No, never love.
It was a war.Teeth. Nails. Desperation.
I tasted wine and fury and something that might have been tears.Or maybe that was mine.
When we finally tore apart, gasping, her fist still clenched my shirt.
Her voice was wrecked.
"Don't you dare pity me, Leonhart."
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, chest heaving.
"Pity you? Evelyne, I think I might hate you too much to even try."
And yet, as we stood there—Breathing hard.Broken.
I knew.I knew.
We had crossed another line.One we couldn't uncross.
She let go first.Stepped back.Composed herself like nothing had happened.
"This changes nothing," she said, voice cool again.Mask back in place.
"Of course," I rasped."Nothing at all."
But both of us knew.Liar.Liar.
That night, after she left, I touched my lips.Still burning.Still raw.
I laughed.Quiet.Broken.
Because no matter how much we fought it—No matter how much we swore we'd never fall—
We were already tumbling.Spiraling down.
Not into love.No.Something darker.
Obsession.Madness.Need.
Let them call us lovers.Let them cheer.
But when we burned, we'd take the whole damn empire with us.