If any words remained in her throat, they clung to her lips—stuck there, refusing to come out, no matter how hard she tried to force them.
The voice had been cold. Deep. A quiet rumble that told her, even before she turned, it belonged to a man. But that didn't scare her. She'd faced worse threats than a stranger's voice in a small room.
She could fight. She could wield a sword. If he dared to move toward her, all she had to do was grab one of the clay vases and strike him hard in the head. He wouldn't scream—just blink, stagger, and fall. And she'd be gone.
But when she finally turned, she froze.
She hadn't expected to see the naked body of a man.
Especially not when she'd never seen one before.
The worst part? She couldn't look away.
Which, according to everything she'd ever been taught, was a sin.
She remembered sitting in the cathedral beside Uncle Josiah, listening to the priest's voice echo off stone walls. Indulging in any act of mating outside marriage is a sin, he'd said. Even looking upon a man's body—if he is not your husband or betrothed—is not traditionally accepted.
Then this had to count.
And yet… how was she supposed to look away from a body like his?
His skin was pale, almost luminous, which only made him more striking. The shadows beneath his eyes gave him a sharp, dangerous look—like a predator studying his prey. But that didn't scare her. It didn't stop her gaze from drifting over him.
God…
His hair was thick, black, and long—wet strands clinging to his face. A single droplet slid from his hairline, trailing down his sculpted cheek… falling onto his chest.
That chest—broad, firm, carved like stone.
She wanted to look lower. Her eyes begged her to.
But she forced herself to stop, scolding the urge—though it burned hotter than ever.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was icily cold, flat—each word cutting through the air. It made her toes curl and her body tremble. Oddly, no one had ever made her feel this kind of fear before.
She met his gaze—and suddenly, she was trapped. Words caught in her throat, unsure of what to say.
"I... I…"
"Princess Margaret."
His voice, smooth and commanding, sent a shock through her. Her eyes widened. He knew her name? How? She'd never seen him before. Who was he?
"Do you not know you are not supposed to be here?" His question was chilling. "Or are you just defying the rules?"
He didn't step closer—but he didn't need to. His voice alone made her legs weak, her body frozen.
But there was something else about him. His gaze held hers, unblinking, unreadable. No emotion. No hint of warmth or malice. Just... nothing. And that made it harder to breathe.
"I'm sorry... I must have... lost my way," she stammered. His eyes narrowed, and she swallowed hard. Every second felt like an eternity, standing there in his presence. She had to keep reminding herself that he was naked, but she couldn't look. She wouldn't.
"Did you?" His voice dropped lower, sharper.
"W-well…" How did he know? Was he some kind of mind reader?
Suddenly, he took a step forward, and she frowned. She didn't move back. Instead, she found herself rooted to the spot.
"There's a maiden right here," she said, her voice shaking. "I know I've intruded, but... it's wrong to stand..." She cleared her throat and looked away. "It is wrong to be naked. Please, put on a robe."
She shut her eyes as the words left her lips. Damnation. She wasn't the kind of maiden who gawked at men's naked bodies. So why? Why had she done it?
And where had he come from? The lake? Why hadn't he put on a robe before coming here?
"I should, but I won't," he said, his voice
disturbingly close. She knew he was standing just a few feet away, but instead of acknowledging him, she acted oblivious—focusing on the plants and the full moon.
"Why not?" she asked, skeptical.
"I don't see why I should. This is my room," he replied, his icy voice still cutting through the silence. She reminded herself—that was the tone from the start.
"Besides," he added, "if it makes you uncomfortable, you should leave."
"Should?" Her mind raced. Why did he speak as if she should have known this was his room? How would she? And how could this even be his room? There was no bed, no other door leading to quarters. It was empty, save for the settee and the plants. How could this possibly belong to anyone? How was this acceptable?
"There are more polite ways to say that," she said, frowning as she turned toward him. That was a mistake. He was too close. The scent of rose oil clung to his skin, and the sound of water dripping from him made her throat tighten. But the worst part was his deadpan expression.
"I don't know how to be polite," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "I need you to leave. You're not supposed to be here."
She mentally slapped herself, still lost in his gaze. He was chasing her out of his room, his rudeness like a slap in the face. She could have picked up her dress and stormed out, saving some of her pride. But instead, she stood there, upset that he had to kick her out.
"I need to get away from everyone," she blurted, feeling the frustration boil over. "I do not want to attend some ball and pick among suitors I don't even want to marry."
Why was she venting to him? She didn't know. All she knew was that she didn't want to go to that ball.
"It is your duty," he said, stepping away from her. His scent lingered in the air as he moved past her to pluck a rose from the plant.
She didn't mean to stare, but her gaze followed his naked body. "What do you do with all these plants?"
"For my skin," he replied, not sparing her a glance. "I am told plants make good oil for the skin."
Why wouldn't he even acknowledge her? And how could he walk around so casually, completely naked? But who was she to force a robe on him, especially when she was trespassing on his territory?
"Why do you not have a bed?" she asked carefully. He didn't seem offended by the question.
"I do not sleep," he answered, his tone flat. After gathering a bunch of flowers, he dropped them on a side table next to the settee.
"So many flowers for oil… or do you have someone you plan to give it to?" She laughed awkwardly, fanning herself with her hand. "A lover, maybe? I'm sorry, I should not have pried. You don't have to tell me." She paused, her curiosity getting the better of her. "But... how can you not sleep? I wonder."
She studied him. She could tell he was a vampire. But even vampires slept—well, at least sometimes. She, for one, never skipped a night of rest, even if she had dreamed of being an independent, sleepless vampire.
He glanced briefly at her before sitting on the settee. Her gaze remained fixed on his face. "You have many questions, Princess. But you never asked why you're not supposed to come to this wing."
"I did not because I have no interest in roaming such a lonesome place."
"Yet, you did?"
"You could say my situation forced me."
He stood up! and began walking toward her. This time, she did step back, her eyes darting around. "What are you doing?" she whispered.
Heavens! He was naked!!!
"I don't know," he replied, his deadpan expression never changing. "But I never get any visitors, so I wonder what to do with you."
"You don't have to do anything," she gulped. "I can leave right now, away from your face."
Shockingly, her back hit the wall, and she could only stare in horror as he closed the gap. She couldn't move away.
"You appear scared. Don't worry, I won't hurt you." One of his hands rested against the wall behind her. He didn't touch her, didn't move closer—but somehow, she wished he would. Ah, I've gone mad to think such things.
"I'm not scared," she lied.
"You don't have to lie. I can read negative vibes." His tone remained flat. "Don't worry, Princess. Unlike your duty, I was created to serve the crown and the realm... in the shadows."
In the shadows? Her brow furrowed as the pieces fell into place. Why no one was allowed here. Why his room was empty. Why he had such a deadpan face and spoke with no emotion…
No. It couldn't be.
He was… a Shadow Vampire?
One she had to stay away from?