"Who are you and do you think you're doing?"
The voice was cold. Sharp.
She froze mid-song, her breath catching. Then she jerked back, startled.
What?
It was the middle of the night. A time when wolves howled and the world slept. Who could be awake now?
And worse—someone had seen her.
Panic stirred in her chest.
She wasn't supposed to be seen in Blackenroot.
Karina shivered and drew the hood of her disguise tighter over her face. Fear clenched her chest. She didn't dare look toward the source of the voice. Her legs trembled; her hand fisted the fabric of her dress.
She had to escape.
But how could she, when she hadn't yet found the green rose for Granny? How could she return empty-handed—knowing she might lose her?
"I asked who you are," the voice came again, commanding, closer now. She heard the steady thud of approaching footsteps.
"And yet you hide from me?"
"No," she whispered. Her lips trembled.
But her body betrayed her words. She was already stepping back—slow, quiet steps away from the voice. Her head stayed bowed, and the cheetah's hood kept her face in shadow.
"You not only hide—but lie," he said, his dry and cutting like the harmattan wind.
She flinched. The voice was too cold, too real. It had been so long since she'd stood in the presence of another human—anyone besides old Granny.
And this wasn't just anyone. This was Blackenroot, the land that had cast her out.
The land she no longer belonged to.
Every bone in her body pulsed with dread.
gods..
There had to be a way out. She couldn't let him see her face. She wouldn't. Not now. Not ever.
"Take it off. Right now."
The words struck like flint—no request, just command. His voice was so firm, so final, it left no room for refusal. Disobedience didn't feel like an option; it felt like a sin that would be punished.
Maybe she wasn't the only one with a spell in her voice—because his made her fingers tremble as they reached for the edge of the hood. Slowly, she pulled it back. Her thick brown hair tumbled free, catching the moonlight. There was no use resisting. The graveyard—this strange garden—offered no path to flee.
"Raise your head."
The command came again, softer this time. It slipped over her skin like the night breeze—gentler, but no less powerful. And once more, she obeyed.
And she did as she was told. Slowly, she raised her head, her hair dancing around her shoulders.
Her smoky eyes lifted first to the sight of his sandals. Though partly hidden by the mossy ground, they gleamed under the moonlight—gold and shining.
Whoever he was, he was no ordinary man.
Only someone of noble blood could afford sandals made of gold.
Her gaze rose past the sandals, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
His trousers were white satin, patterned with threads of gold.
And then came the robe—
The one she didn't want to look at, but couldn't avoid.
It draped long, almost brushing his feet, but parted in the middle, exposing his bare torso.
His chest was sculpted, the muscles defined. Even his abdomen—taut and firm—made her breath catch.
Dear gods.
This is wrong. But she couldn't stop staring.
Still, her eyes returned to the robe.
Her mind whispered warnings she refused to heed.
No.
That couldn't be the prince's robe.
It couldn't be.
At this point, she should have fled—before even meeting his gaze.
But instead, she stood frozen, letting her eyes wander.
And then their eyes met.
When she saw the sharp contour of his jaw, the hard, deep amber eyes, and the thick brows drawn tightly together, she froze.
gods.
Had anyone ever made her heart leap like this? She couldn't recall.
Perhaps it was fear. That piercing, predatory gaze—it felt like standing before a lion.
Even his voice had been as cold as his stare.
"Now....now," he said.
His tone had shifted—no longer as cold or menacing, though the fear he stirred in her remained.
"Tell me," he continued, calm and steady, "why a maiden wanders here at the dead of night?"
He didn't move. He simply stared, unwavering, as if trying to pull the truth from her silence.
And though she stood right there, she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes again.
"I... I..." she faltered, her voice barely a whisper. What was she supposed to say? That she had come searching for a *green* rose? Absurd. He'd start asking questions—questions she couldn't answer. Then what? She'd be backed into a corner, forced to reveal who she really was. That wasn't an option. The only choice left was silence. Let him talk, say whatever he wanted. She would wait it out, then walk away.
He frowned, clearly unimpressed by her silence. The way his eyes locked onto hers—sharp,—it was as if he had never been ignored before. But who was he? And why did he feel so... familiar?
Where had she seen him?
Why couldn't she place it?
"You choose not to answer. I see," he said, his voice even, gaze drifting past her to the garden, then returning with quiet insistence.
Yes. She chose not to answer. That didn't mean she was ignoring him. He could just let her be and walk away. What business did a nobleman even have here at this hour?
"You do not understand the danger of ignoring me, do you?" he asked.
Karina's eyes flashed with confusion. He read it instantly, and his lips curved—just slightly, not enough to show his teeth.
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean," Karina said with a baffled laugh. His face might've been carved from stone, but that wasn't enough to scare her. He'd have to try harder. "I only came here for some peace, and yet you choose to interrupt it? Why must I suffer the... 'precaution'?" She rolled her eyes. Maybe she'd let his cold demeanor get to her for a moment. There was nothing to fear. She'd find the green rose, ignore this stranger, and go home.
"What?" His voice barely rose, but his expression shifted. Shock. A glare. Silent and sharp.
Good. Clearly, he wasn't used to being spoken to like that.
"You heard me," Karina said, her tone flat. "I need to be alone."
He stepped forward for the first time.
Her heart skipped. gods—she'd been wrong. He did carry fear with him. It clung to him like smoke.
"You sing in the dead of night, and you think I'm the one interrupting?" he said, lips pressed into a hard, narrow line.
What? Her mind stumbled.
What was he talking about?
She had been so drawn in by his deep, entrancing voice that she failed to notice when he moved closer—now standing just inches from her.
He smelled of lavender and honey, a strange but pleasant mix. Hard to explain. Unusual for a man. Most only carried the scent of sweat, if she remembered right. He had to be from a noble house—bathed in rosy water, skin touched by scented oils. No wonder he seemed to shimmer, even in the dark.
"I... d-don't know what you mean," she stammered.
He nodded slowly. "I was interrupted. By your voice," he said, a subtle edge in his tone.
Karina's eyes widened. "You've been here?"
Another brief nod.
How? she thought. How had he been here, and she hadn't sensed a thing? The graveyard garden was wide open. There was no way she should've missed him.
"I'm sorry." Her shoulders slumped. So she had been the interruption—not him? And she'd been rude on top of that. 'Control your emotions,' Granny's voice echoed in her head.
He shrugged, unbothered. "I was wondering who it was. No one comes here, you see—except for me."
Karina stared at him, lips parted. His next words made her close them.
"This is my vineyard. I never let anyone in," he said, his gaze fixed—intense, like a lion's, hard and penetrating.
A shiver crept up her spine. His vineyard? gods, this was a graveyard. Barely anything grew here.
As if reading her thoughts, he added, "It used to be a graveyard. Not until I bought the whole place."
"You… what?" Her eyes widened. The place was far too large for one person to own. How many shillings of gold had he spent to buy it? And why would anyone purchase somewhere so eerie—so lonely? What was his purpose?
"I wanted to give my mother a peaceful rest." His eyes wandered across the space, one hand folded behind his back. His face stayed hard, but his posture seemed relaxed. And why was he telling her this? They had only just met. "I don't want anyone disturbing her. That's why I chose this place."
"I'm sorry," Karina said quietly, her lips pressed into a frown. If what he said was true, then she was the one out of place.
"But then," he said, voice dropping cold again, "when you began singing—with your 'lovely' voice"—he added, dryly—"it did more harm than good."
She stared at him, stunned. Her voice 'was' good. That wasn't pride; it was fact. So why would he say that? Was he trying to provoke her? She wouldn't let him. Granny's words echoed again: control your emotions.
"Look around you," he said, sweeping a hand across the space. "See what damage it caused."
Her heart jolted. She had been so fixated on his face, she'd failed to notice her surroundings. And when she sang, her eyes had stayed closed the entire time—until he appeared.
But now, as she looked around, her breath caught. Horror crept in.
The plants she had seen earlier were withered—dry and lifeless. But now the garden looked even more desolate than before.
"See… what your voice has done. 'Karina'," he drawled her name, slow and deliberate.
She flinched, stepping back, and snapped her head toward him.
How… how did he know her name?