Chapter 179: Spoiled Like a Huntress
The music from the party faded behind them, dissolving into a dreamy thrum of laughter, soft jazz, and the faint clink of glasses. But out here, the world was quieter. Only the steady hush of waves brushing against the rocky cliffs and the soft trill of crickets echoed from the terraced gardens below.
Eva followed Aristea down a long corridor, each step cushioned by the luxury beneath them — suede runners stitched into the marble floor, silk-paneled walls catching the amber light of recessed sconces. The glow spilled out in gentle pools, casting flickers of gold across the smooth surface of the hall. It smelled faintly of candied lemon and polished wood, a scent that felt more like memory than perfume.
Behind them, voices lingered — curious and sharp - edged, like glass catching light.
"…did you see the way she looked at her?"
"— that ambassador's girl —"
"Is she even allowed —?"
Eva didn't need to turn around to know they were watching. She knew how they whispered. Knew the politics laced through every glance. But she didn't look back. She didn't flinch.
Because Aristea hadn't let go of her hand once.
Her grip was firm but relaxed, threaded through Eva's fingers like a promise. She didn't lead Eva like a possession. She walked beside her, claiming space with every step, radiating the kind of untouchable confidence that silenced even the boldest gossip.
They passed through an archway, the energy shifting as they entered the private wing. The air cooled, and the walls whispered with opulence — cream tones, heavy drapery pulled back with gold rings, rooms veiled in velvet privacy. Every door they passed felt like a secret.
At the end of the hall, Aristea stopped in front of an ornate lacquered door and typed something into the smooth glass panel embedded in the wall. A click. A soft hiss. The door opened inward.
She turned her head slightly, a quiet smile touching her lips. "Inside. Just us."
The moment the door shut behind them, the rest of the world fell away.
The suite was nothing short of breathtaking — elegant and expansive, a starlit dream suspended between sea and sky. The far wall opened into a curved terrace, where sheer curtains stirred gently in the breeze. Beyond them, the ocean stretched into velvet darkness, glittering with stardust and salt. Inside, sculptural light fixtures spilled golden warmth across a sunken lounge pit layered in sapphire, ivory, and dusk - toned cushions. Polished floors, arched mirrors, the faint scent of gardenia and citrus drifting through the air — it was all too perfect. Too still.
Aristea finally let go of Eva's hand — only to step closer, looping an arm gently around her waist, pulling her in.
"You're shaking," she whispered, brushing a finger along the inside of Eva's wrist. "You don't have to be nervous."
"I'm not," Eva lied.
Aristea's smile deepened. "You want to be here?"
Eva nodded, slow and certain. "I do."
"Then sit," Aristea said gently. "Tonight, you're mine."
Eva hesitated for half a heartbeat, then let herself be guided down into the cushions. The softness cradled her limbs like she'd been here a hundred times. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but she tried to play it off, brushing imaginary lint from her dress. "Shouldn't we go back soon?"
Aristea sat beside her with feline grace. "No. Let them wonder."
She picked up a small remote and dimmed the lights until only stars and scattered candles remained. The room bloomed into warmth and shadow, everything else falling away.
"You called me Celeste out there," Aristea said, amusement flickering in her voice. "That was bold."
Eva's eyes widened. "I didn't mean — I just —"
"I liked it," Aristea interrupted, crouching beside a low lacquered table. "But now that we're alone, you can call me Arry."
Eva blinked. "Arry?"
Aristea glanced over her shoulder. "Just Arry. No titles. No masks. Just me. And you."
The name felt intimate on her tongue. Like an invitation to something she didn't fully understand yet.
"…Yes, Arry."
Aristea smiled, pleased, and lifted the dome from a silver tray. Beneath it, delicate porcelain dishes revealed an elegant late - night spread: chilled melon slices, rosemary lamb skewers, thin crackers with black truffle cream, glazed pear slivers, and a bowl of lavender custard with candied violet resting on top.
Aristea pinched a slice of fruit between her fingers and brought it to Eva's lips. "Open."
Eva blinked, but obeyed.
The fruit was cold, soft, and dripping with sweetness. Aristea's fingers lingered just a moment too long against her skin.
"Why are you doing this?" Eva asked quietly, licking the juice from her lips. "You don't even know me."
Aristea tilted her head. "Maybe I do."
Eva frowned. "You're spoiling me."
"That's the idea," Aristea said, offering her another bite. "You're always so careful. So polished. But I see the wild in you. You pretend you don't belong here. But you do. You've got the eyes of someone who sees everything."
Eva flushed.
"And you're brave. Even when they whisper."
"They always whisper," Eva said, softer now.
"Let them." Aristea's voice was silk-wrapped steel. "You were the only one out there who didn't try to impress anyone. You were just…you. That's rare."
Eva looked down. "I'm not special."
"You are to me."
The words slipped out so easily, they almost didn't register. But the look on Aristea's face when she said it made Eva's breath catch.
"I —" she started, but Aristea cut her off with a smile.
"No overthinking. Just eat."
She brought bite after bite to Eva's mouth: warm lamb kissed with rosemary, sharp cheese drizzled with honey, flaky pastry that melted on the tongue. Between each offering, their fingers brushed. Between each glance, something pulled tighter in the air.
"You're staring," Eva whispered, eyes darting away.
"I know."
"Stop."
"I won't."
Eva tried to hide her blush behind her hands, but Aristea gently pulled them away.
"I like this part of you. The part that blushes but doesn't back down."
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Eva's fingers. Then her palm. Then the inside of her wrist.
Eva's breath stuttered. "Do you — do you think your lips are soft?"
Aristea grinned. "Would you like to find out?"
"I didn't mean to say that —"
"But you did."
Eva's pulse was wild.
"I think about you more than I should," Aristea admitted, voice low now. "Ever since that first day. You were standing in line, glaring at the flowers like they personally offended you."
Eva snorted. "They did. They smelled like sadness."
Aristea laughed, the sound soft and unguarded. "Exactly."
They talked for what felt like hours. About traditions. The training to come. How neither of them really fit in with the old bloodlines and rules. Aristea confessed that, if it weren't for her family name, she'd rather be living in a tent somewhere, tracking wolves and building fires.
"You want to be in the wild?" Eva asked, curious.
"I want to be free," Aristea answered. "But freedom doesn't mean alone. I think I'd want someone with me. Someone like you."
Eva stilled. "You barely know me."
"But I want to," Aristea whispered. "That counts for something, doesn't it?"
Eva's voice was almost a breath. "It counts for everything."
They ate. They laughed. Eva leaned into Aristea's side, head resting against her shoulder. Aristea wrapped an arm around her easily, like it had always been there.
"I've never had a friend like you," Eva murmured.
Aristea kissed the top of her head. "I've never wanted one like this. But I do now."
"Even when this ends?"
"It won't," Aristea said. "We'll meet again. Hunt together. Maybe I'll show up at your door and demand to be fed."
"I'll make you tea."
"I hate tea."
Eva laughed. "I'll change your mind."
"You already are."
The quiet deepened. The waves kept whispering against the cliffside.
Then, just as the candle nearest them flickered low, Aristea tilted Eva's chin up with two fingers.
She kissed her.
Soft. Slow. Warm.
A kiss without pressure, but full of promise.
Eva's fingers curled into the fabric of Aristea's coat, holding her there.
When Aristea pulled back, her smile was faint, breath warm against Eva's cheek.
"Was it soft?"
Eva's cheeks were burning. Her heart was louder than the sea.
She nodded. "Very."
Aristea's gaze shimmered like moonlight through water. "Good."
Because tonight, even with the weight of legacy pressing at the door, they'd carved out something real — something tender and unspoken, held between whispers and starlight.
And Eva, spoiled like a huntress, didn't want to let go.