Looming halls twisted and turned into an abyss of eternal darkness as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Shadows stretched long across the polished floors, flickering with the dim glow of candlelight. Beyond the winding corridors, the hushed murmurs of servants flitted like ghosts in the air, their whispers lost to the vast expanse of the manor.
A grand portrait loomed just outside the last illuminated room, its gilded frame encapsulating an almost imposing family. The mother, ethereal in her beauty, stood with an air of quiet grace. Long tendrils of white hair cascaded down her back, silver eyes holding an intensity that spoke of wisdom beyond years. To those who knew what to look for, the faint shimmer of fae wings could be seen, a delicate outline against the dusky hues of the painting. Her lips, painted a soft shade of rouge, curled into a knowing smile.
Beside her, the father towered—a figure of quiet authority. His long, midnight-black hair was pulled back into intricate braids, each one a silent testament to his victories. Crimson eyes, sharp and piercing, burned with something both dangerous and regal. A smirk ghosted his lips, one fang barely visible, a subtle reminder of the predator that lurked beneath the noble facade.
Between them stood their daughter, young and untouched by the weight of the world. Her periwinkle hair shimmered like spun moonlight, her crimson eyes alight with laughter as she clutched a small rabbit to her chest, a picture of innocence frozen in time.
And within the last glowing room, beneath the soft golden haze of flickering candlelight, this family remained—not within the confines of the portrait, but in the gentle stillness of the night.
The daughter lay nestled beneath the silken sheets of her bed, her voice breaking the quiet with a playful lilt. "Tell me a story, Papa."
From the doorway, the father chuckled, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame, watching his wife smooth back a strand of their daughter’s hair before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
"If you insist, my little star," he mused, stepping forward and settling on the edge of the bed.
"Dadddd, stop calling me that. I'm 14 now," she groaned, rolling her eyes as she sank deeper into the pillows.
Her father chuckled, the sound rich with amusement, though his crimson eyes held something deeper—a quiet mix of happiness and sorrow.
"Fine, fine," he relented with a dramatic sigh, lifting his hands in mock surrender.
He let silence linger for a moment, lost in thought. He had spun tales of warriors who braved the unknown, of nymphs and their gallant comrades, of kings and queens and their conquests. But tonight—what story should he weave?
His wife's touch was fleeting as she kissed his forehead in parting, her fingers trailing through the air in a graceful farewell as she exited the room.
His daughter’s soft chuckle pulled him back. She stretched an arm toward the dim corridor, her slender finger aimed at the ancient portrait across the hall.
"Tell me about them," she said, curiosity dancing in her crimson eyes.
His gaze followed hers, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. The painting was old—far older than the one of their own family. A tall man with silver hair and red eyes stood immortalized in brushstrokes, his features young yet bearing the weight of centuries. Beside him, a woman with long black locks coiled into a tight bun cradled an infant swathed in gold. At her feet sat two young boys, mirroring their mother’s likeness with quiet pride.
A sigh escaped him, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"Alright…" he murmured, his voice dipping into something more solemn. "But promise you won’t get scared?"
His daughter arched a brow, lips curling into a smirk as she held out her pinky, eyes gleaming with playful defiance.
"Promise," she replied, her voice full of intrigue, intertwining her finger with his.
He smirked, leaning close as if sharing a dangerous secret. "Don’t tell your mother," he whispered conspiratorially, "she scares me."
The girl let out a laugh, not the high-pitched giggle of a child, but something richer, more knowing—yet still full of warmth. The sound filled the room, like the chime of silver bells in the night.
And with a grin, he began.
“Once upon a time…”
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“Hooves pounded against the worn cobblestone path as a carriage rolled through the dense, whispering woods. The shadows of towering trees danced across the gilded frame of the carriage, their skeletal fingers clawing at the velvet-draped windows as if desperate to peer inside.
Within the lavish confines, Veylan sat in silence, his gaze drawn to the ever-shifting scenery beyond the glass. The scent of damp earth and autumn leaves curled into the carriage, carried on the crisp evening breeze.
"Sit up straight, Veylan. There's no need for slouching," his mother’s voice chimed, smooth as silk yet carrying the weight of unspoken expectation.
Veylan sighed but obeyed, straightening his posture before turning to meet her gaze. She was breathtaking—immortal beauty frozen in the bloom of her youth. Golden curls framed her face, cascading in gentle waves over her shoulders, shimmering beneath the glow of the dying sun. The light breeze that slipped through the open window toyed with the strands, making them dance like liquid gold.
"Your father is eager to see how much you've grown," she continued, her voice honeyed with warmth. "I can't have you slouching in front of him, my dear."
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Veylan's crimson eyes, but his lips curled into a practiced smile. His father. A pureblood, a noble figure, a king. The one who had turned his mother in her youth, binding her to his eternal rule, crafting a dynasty of indomitable power. Their legacy was long, stretching through the annals of history like an unbroken thread woven into the very fabric of Drakmire’s existence.
"I promise I won’t let you down," he said, the words carefully measured, an echo of the countless assurances he had given before.
His mother beamed, pride shimmering in her irises like molten gold. "Cross your heart?" she mused, amusement curling at the edges of her lips.
"And hope to die," Veylan finished with a smirk, a boyish grin slipping through his mask of composure.
She laughed gently, shaking her head, but her joy was interrupted by the rhythmic pounding of another set of hooves trailing their carriage. Veylan’s sharp senses caught the sound first, and his gaze was instinctively drawn to the source.
"What is it, dear?" his mother inquired, following his shifting attention.
They had been away from Drakmire for years—Veylan having spent his time at the esteemed academy in Grasigna, surrounded by scholars and swordsmen, by duty and expectation. But now, as his eyes landed on the rider beyond the carriage window, the weight of responsibility that had clung to him like a second skin seemed to loosen, if only for a fleeting moment.
A lone figure astride a black steed rode at a breakneck pace through the woodland path, dark locks whipping in the wind behind her. The sun bathed her in its dying glow, painting her pale skin with strokes of gold and crimson. She was young, perhaps near his age, dressed in fitted riding leathers that clung to her form with an effortless grace.
Veylan’s breath hitched. She was stunning. Ethereal. Untamed.
"A girl…" he murmured, almost in disbelief, as though the mere sight of her had fractured something within him.
His mother, ever observant, cocked an arched brow and followed his gaze. When her eyes landed upon the girl, an amused smile graced her lips.
"Oh dear… she’s going to get hurt riding at that speed," she chuckled, though there was no real concern in her tone, only the light amusement of a mother who had long learned to let reckless youth be.
But Veylan wasn’t listening. His crimson eyes remained locked onto the mysterious rider, drawn to the wild freedom in her form, the way she seemed to command the wind itself.
Who was she?
"Do you know who she is?" Veylan asked, his crimson eyes shimmering with a newfound curiosity.
His mother blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his interest before a chuckle escaped her lips. "If I’m correct, she hails from a noble family of Banshees. I don’t recall her name, but your father and I are well acquainted with them," she mused, amusement laced in her voice.
Veylan raised an eyebrow. "Banshees? I thought they were extinct," he stated, his intrigue deepening.
A smirk tugged at his mother’s lips as she folded her gloved hands neatly in her lap. "They are. Her family is the last to exist." A sigh followed, soft but laced with an air of finality.
Veylan turned his gaze back to the mysterious girl, drawn to her as though bewitched. But in the span of a breath, she was gone, vanished into the thick embrace of the woods. A frown tugged at his lips. Damn.
Before he could dwell on it further, the carriage slowed to a halt. His mother’s expression brightened, and she beamed as she smoothed out her gown. "We’re home~ And remember, no slouching," she teased, casting him a knowing glance as the door swung open.
A uniformed guard extended a hand to help her down, but Veylan recognized the figure immediately—his brother, Jin.
Veylan straightened instinctively before stepping out with ease, his boots landing softly against the aged cobblestone. He caught a glimpse of his mother embracing Jin in a warm, fleeting hug before his brother turned his gaze toward him.
"Brother~! Look at you! You look so… put together," Jin teased, his voice rich with laughter.
Veylan rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at his lips. The golden hues of the setting sun caught in his blonde hair, giving it an almost ethereal glow. "Four years at a boarding school will do that to you," he snorted, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat.
Jin chuckled, his own blonde locks tied back into a neat ponytail. "Father’s waiting inside. Come along," he invited, gesturing toward the grand estate looming ahead.
Veylan gave a small nod and followed them through the towering archways, stepping into the heart of his family’s legacy once more.
"Veylan!"
His father’s voice boomed through the grand hall, echoing against the high vaulted ceilings. From the veil of shadows, a tall figure emerged, his crimson eyes gleaming with delight. His golden hair billowed behind him like a lion’s mane, his cloak swirling in his wake.
A wide grin split his lips. "Welcome home, my son~"
Before Veylan could react, his father swept him into a firm embrace, arms wrapping around him in an uncharacteristic display of warmth. For a brief moment, Veylan allowed himself to sink into it, inhaling the familiar scent of leather, aged parchment, and a faint trace of iron. Home…
"You look dashing," his father mused as he pulled back, gripping Veylan’s shoulders to take a better look at him.
"Thank you, Father," Veylan replied, his voice steady but touched with fondness.
His father’s grin widened as he reached up to ruffle Veylan’s golden locks—a fleeting moment of playfulness before the noble mask returned. "Come, come, we have guests for dinner," he said, already turning on his heel.
His mother, ever poised, handed her cloak and hat to a waiting maid, smoothing out the fabric of her gown with delicate precision. She cast a glance toward Veylan, a knowing look passing between them before she followed after her husband, leaving Veylan to trail in their wake.
The scent of roasted meats and aged wine curled through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of wax and parchment. Guests. That meant politics. That meant careful words, measured smiles, and an endless game of power and prestige.
And yet, Veylan couldn't shake the lingering thought of the girl in the woods, her dark hair whipping like a banner behind her as she rode into the unknown.
"Careful~ this family might bite," Jin teased, his voice dripping with amusement.
Veylan shot his brother a knowing glare, a grin tugging at his lips before he shoved Jin lightly in the shoulder. Jin only laughed, his amusement echoing softly through the grand hall as they stepped into the vast dining room.
At the long, polished table sat an unfamiliar family—each member draped in the finest silks, their pale skin almost luminous under the soft golden glow of the chandeliers. Midnight-black hair cascaded over their shoulders, and their eyes—silver, like the moonlight on a frozen lake—turned toward the newcomers with polite curiosity.
His father gestured toward them with an easy smile. "Veylan, this is the Laurent family. A formidable lineage, to say the least. Your mother and I thought it was high time you met our closest friends."
There was something in his tone, something Veylan had learned to detect over the years. A formality, a transaction hidden beneath the warmth of his words. This wasn’t just a casual introduction—there was a deal here.
Still, he kept his expression smooth, his smile polite as he bowed slightly. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."
His father clapped a hand on his shoulder and added, "They’ll be staying with us for a while, so try to be nice." He winked.
Veylan snorted softly as he took his seat.
A gentle, lilting voice chimed in. "So, you’re the son he’s been talking about? You really are handsome."
Veylan blinked, caught off guard by the saccharine sweetness of the girl's voice. Across from him, one of the daughters smiled at him with a feline sort of amusement.
He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh—uh—thank you," he grinned sheepishly.
She winked, her amusement deepening.
Their mother, a regal woman with an air of quiet authority, spoke next. "It’s nice to finally meet you, Veylan. These are my daughters, Kora and Lia. Unfortunately, Selene is running a bit late."
He nodded politely at the girls just as the heavy dining room doors burst open.
"I’m here, Mother. You may stop complaining now."
The voice was smooth, rich like silk and honey, dripping with a confidence that commanded the room’s attention.
And then, she stepped into the light.
Veylan felt his breath catch.
It was her.
The girl from the woods.
Dressed in cascading ruffles of black and white, pearls and diamonds glittering against her pale throat, she moved with an effortless grace. And yet, there was something untamed about her, something wild beneath the delicate exterior.
She caught his gaze almost instantly, her cool silver eyes scanning him with quiet amusement. Then, a smirk tugged at her lips.
"You must be the one in that carriage," she mused. "You know, I had half a mind to rob you~"
Veylan choked on his drink.
His mother giggled behind her hand, while Selene’s mother shot her a sharp glare. "Selene!"
Selene only tilted her head innocently, but her gaze remained locked on Veylan.
Her mother sighed and turned to him apologetically. "I must apologize. She has a rather... twisted sense of humor."
Veylan coughed lightly, setting down his crystal glass. "Oh, no, no. It was funny," he admitted, flashing Selene a grin.
Something in her expression flickered, her lips twitching—almost a real smile. Then, she turned her attention elsewhere, her gaze drifting to Jin.
Veylan felt his face heat once more, though he couldn’t quite place why.
The dinner had been lively—full of laughter, chatter, and the clinking of fine crystal. Yet, throughout the evening, not once did Selene glance his way.
Veylan couldn’t help but feel... ignored. Or was it something else? Jealousy?
Kora, on the other hand, rambled endlessly about the rolling pastures of their family estate, her voice animated with excitement. He forced himself to listen, offering polite nods and occasional smiles, all the while suppressing the nagging sensation clawing at the back of his mind.
As the evening came to an end and they all dispersed to their rooms, Veylan found himself restless. The halls of his home were familiar, yet after years away, he felt the need to wander them again, reacquainting himself with every turn, every corridor.
Flicking open a small silver box, he plucked a cigarette from within and pressed it to his lips. As he descended the grand staircase, he struck a match, the tiny flame casting flickering light against his sharp features before the tip of the cigarette glowed red. Smoke curled from his lips as he stepped into the cool night air.
The moon bathed the garden in silver, its soft glow kissing the marble pathways and lush blooms. He smiled faintly, inhaling deeply as he relished the silence.
Then—
"Isn't it quite late for you?"
A voice, smooth as velvet, broke the quiet.
Veylan raised an eyebrow and turned, his breath catching for the second time that night.
Selene.
Dressed in a pale white nightgown, she sat gracefully on a bench, her dark locks cascading over her shoulders, a book resting in her delicate hands. The sight of her bathed in moonlight was something out of a dream.
He smirked slightly, exhaling smoke from his nose. "I feel I should be asking you the same," he drawled.
She lifted her gaze from the pages, a chuckle slipping past her lips. "That shit will kill you, you know?"
Veylan snorted. "I'm already dead. I doubt it’ll do much."
Her lips curled in amusement. In a single, fluid motion, she closed her book and stood, moving toward him with effortless grace.
Before he could react, she plucked the cigarette from his lips and, without hesitation, took a slow draw from it herself.
A whisper of smoke left her lips as she purred, "Touché~"
Veylan nodded toward the book resting on the bench. "What are you reading?" he asked, curiosity lacing his tone.
Selene raised an eyebrow and passed the cigarette back to him. "Nosy, aren’t we?" she teased.
Veylan blinked, caught off guard. "What?" His brows knitted slightly in confusion.
She let out a soft, melodic laugh, like silver bells ringing through the night. "I'm joking, Veylan. Your brother is the nosy one."
He let out a small chuckle, relaxing. "If you must know," she continued, "I'm reading about the history of the Seven Kingdoms."
Veylan raised an eyebrow. "Ah, interesting. So you're the smart one, then?" he teased.
Selene chuckled, her dark lashes lowering as she smirked. "If that's what you'd like to call it, then yes. Although, I believe you might be the smart one in your family as well."
He exhaled slowly, the smoke curling around his lips. If only she knew.
His family was anything but the picture they painted for others. His father, though powerful and feared, drowned himself in alcohol behind closed doors. His mother, ever the perfect queen, hid her sorrows behind delicate smiles and pristine manners. His brother? A reckless womanizer who sought refuge in pleasures of the flesh and substances that dulled the mind.
Smart? Perhaps. But intelligence did little when surrounded by madness.
Selene’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Do you always sneak out here at night?"
Veylan tilted his head slightly, gauging her expression. A simple question, yet one that held the promise of more if he chose to answer truthfully.
He took another drag from his cigarette before responding. "Oh. Uh, yeah… it's kind of an escape."
Selene studied him for a moment, her pale eyes searching his face. And then, she simply nodded. No further questions. No pressing for details.
Just quiet understanding.
Veylan watched as Selene disappeared into the darkness of the palace, her silhouette ghostly under the pale moonlight. She was unlike any woman he'd met before—sharp-witted, alluring, and completely unbothered by his usual charms. That alone intrigued him, but it was more than that.
She was beautiful, yes, but it was her presence that had captivated him. The way she spoke, the way she held herself with quiet confidence, and the way she had laughed—really laughed—without pretense. It was effortless.
A slow smirk curled onto his lips as he leaned back against the bench, exhaling a final breath of smoke before putting out his cigarette. His heart thrummed with a new kind of excitement, one that had nothing to do with court politics or family duty.
His father had unknowingly set a path before him, one he fully intended to walk.
Selene Laurent.
She would be his.
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24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmaAm2PsarP
