Aiden felt the ember burning within him, not just burning but clawing upward like it wanted to split his chest open. It was thrilling, intoxicating—the ember so pure he received from Catherine. It hadn’t been a gradual absorption, no careful feeding as he was used to. It was sudden, violent, overwhelming.
He had felt like he was going to explode from the sheer essence of ember pouring into him through nothing but a kiss. Her lips had trembled, her body arching, and right as she shuddered, right as her release carved a sound from her throat she could never have made consciously—his ember bar was instantly filled within seconds.
A flood. A river bursting through fragile walls. For a breathless mont, he thought it would drown him instead of empower him.
But the aftermath wasn’t as clean. His veins still sang, his limbs too light, his pulse hamring harder than he liked to admit. And yet, the world had a way of poisoning monts that felt too close to perfection. It was never all happy and goody.
Because when he turned, he saw it—the red gnawing marks on Akidna’s neck.
He froze. Not in weakness, but in recognition. That small detail was a needle piercing the bubble of ecstasy, spilling out the dangerous reality that followed.
She had told him what had happened. And what had occurred.
Her voice trembled when she recounted it, and the mory burned behind her eyes even as she tried to mask it in obedience.
’...Luna.’
It was the balcony scene with Catherine all over again. A stolen mont becoming a dangerous liability.
Maybe his bold pounding towards Flora—while she pretended to sleep, her body stiff and her breath betraying her—had been too much, too risky.
Too loud in its daring. He rembered the heat of that mont too clearly, and though guilt never wrapped itself around him, awareness did. The awareness that every act planted seeds—seeds that could either bloom into power or rot into scandal.
But that wasn’t the true problem. The true problem was the shadow lurking beyond those acts: if she had seen him with Catherine.
If Luna had seen—
His chest tightened at the thought, not with fear of exposure but with irritation at timing. His bold approach with Flora was sothing most people in the household whispered of already, too cowardly to bring up to the lord’s face, but not blind. Nobody had the balls to confront him, because power bred silence. Silence he cultivated. Silence he owned.
But Catherine was different. Catherine was sacred ground. The bloom he had sought to cultivate for so long—patiently, ruthlessly—was at stake.
If Luna’s lips ever parted and voiced Catherine’s na...
Chaos.
The kind of chaos that couldn’t be smoothed with coin or wit.
And so, when they reached the servant quarters, his jaw had already set in decision. His stride carried the sharp certainty of soone who already knew where this night must lead.
At the corner, near the basent where he used to sleep, he found the shadows waiting. He stepped into the darkness, the faint sll of damp stone and old straw scratching his senses.
At the entry stood Conish, shoulders rigid, lantern glow licking across his anxious face.
"Brother..." Aiden’s voice softened, clasping Conish’s hand with that practiced warmth that always disard. He gave a soft shoulder tap. "...it’s been a while. I hope you received the raise in salary I planned for you."
Conish’s lips twitched into a smile, hesitant but real. "Never doubted you, Aiden. But..." His words caught, fear thickening his tongue. "...I think this ss got a little bit out of hand."
Aiden smiled. That smile—too confident, too untouchable, the kind of smile that made n follow him even when their gut scread otherwise. He placed both hands on Conish’s shoulders, grounding him, dominating him with gentleness.
"Worry not, Conish..." he muttered, voice dripping with reassurance.
It was always that fearless smile, that casual certainty, that made Conish place his bets on Aiden. As if the weight of his own worry could slide off his back and vanish into Aiden’s shadow. "...she’s inside," Conish finally said, stepping aside.
The lantern swayed as he guided them deeper into the dark. The basent slled of dust and sweat, faint traces of mold clinging to its stone walls.
Their steps echoed too loudly, until they reached the corner. There, John stood guard, a soldier’s rigidity cloaking his unease. His eyes flicked toward Aiden, then quickly away—as if staring too long into those golden irises might reveal judgnt he couldn’t bear.
And then Aiden saw her.
The twin-tailed red hair, unmistakable. The dirt smudging her pale cheeks. Her body slumped in deep slumber, drugged beyond resistance.
Aiden’s gaze sharpened. He inhaled, the air thick, too heavy. His pulse slowed—not calm, but calculating.
He turned to John, who stiffened, then nodded as if surrendering.
"...well," Aiden began, voice smooth but edged, "consider surprised. She is of rlin bloodline, guys. How in holy heavens did you ever manage this?"
Impressed. Not panicked. His tone was deliberate, tilting the air itself. John blinked, surprised by it, expecting anger but receiving sothing disarming. The darkness shifted lighter, just a fraction, as if his confidence had burned through the weight of dread.
John cleared his throat. "It was mistress Akidna. She lured her here, took her attention while we engulfed her to toxic sleep."
Aiden turned, eyes narrowing with curiosity. "...Akidna?"
She flushed, turning aside, her throat working as she tried to steady herself. "...anything for you, Aiden." Her voice barely carried, shyful glee threading through it, even as her guilt weighed on her.
Pat.
Pat.
Aiden’s hand landed on her head, deliberate, slow. "You took action, and did it in ti...controlled the chaos where it started... You did great. Very Very Great.."
The words struck her harder than any caress he had ever given. Complints from Aiden usually carved across her body, teasing, claiming, but rarely her work. Her hands trembled as she lifted one to her cheek, heat blooming uncontrollably beneath her skin.
"...I had to, Aiden," she whispered, heart fluttering, "she was after you..."
Aiden stepped closer, his eyes catching the raw red marks across her neck. His jaw clenched, the faintest flicker of wrath leaking through his composure.
"...yes. And you took the brunt of it as well, Akidna."
Her pupils widened, a madness stirring behind them.
He turned his gaze back to Luna—the red-haired flower, the liability—anger ringing quiet in his chest. Not for her beauty, not for her bloodline, but for daring to touch what was his. Even a mark on Akidna felt like theft.
Slowly, he drew three gold coins from his purse and tossed them toward Conish and John. The coins clinked sharply against the floor, a sound that echoed in the basent like a bell toll.
"Pass it to the chef as well," Aiden said evenly. "Don’t worry, I will manage this."
Both n stiffened, exchanging glances. Neither knew what he intended. Neither wanted to ask. But his words carried gravity; if Aiden said it, then it would be done. He would bend the outco with his will alone.
"...okay," Conish finally said, voice cautious. "We trust you, Aiden. Just tell us what to do..?"
"....Thank you," Aiden murmured, the corners of his lips curving faintly. Then, with gentle firmness: "But you two can go. You’re still on duty—people might grow suspicious."
"But—" Conish started, hesitation flickering.
"...it’s okay." Aiden turned his golden eyes on him, voice dipped in finality. "...everything’s gonna be okay."
The weight of those words crushed protest.
Conish and John nodded, silent, releasing breaths they didn’t know they held. They stepped out, their footsteps fading, leaving only Aiden, Luna’s slumbering body, and Akidna’s restless heart.
The lantern fla quivered. Shadows stretched like claws across the wall.
Akidna broke the silence, her voice fragile. "...what are you going to do to her...?"
Her guilt trembled beneath the words, and Aiden did not miss it. He never missed anything.
"...don’t worry, dear. I won’t kill her," he said softly.
"Then...?"
Aiden’s smile curled, too sharp, too slow. His thoughts slithered through darkness—nacing, gnawing, so petty it almost scared himself. A shiver kissed his spine, not of weakness but of excitent.
"...sothing worse."
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