-The NARRATOR'S POV-
Here we go!
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A thick silence settled over the northern wing of the Chirosan royal palace, the snow outside dimly glowing in the moonlight like a sea of spilt silver. The heavy velvet curtains of Prince Agnirasva's private quarters swayed gently in the breeze from the high, arched windows. Their dark maroon fabric—embroidered with faded emblems of forgotten victories—barely muffled the cold winds that rattled against the glass like the ghosts of wars past.
The chamber was dimly lit, bathed in a golden-orange hue from a series of floating lanterns, each enchanted to mimic the warmth of firelight without the heat. The scent of sandalwood incense burned quietly near the far wall, mixing with the faint floral trace of lavender tucked in silk pouches hidden beneath the prince's pillow. But despite the soothing atmosphere, the room felt far from peaceful.
Laid across the carved obsidian bed frame was Agira himself—pale, unconscious, and still wrapped in bandages soaked through with silver-tinged blood. His skin, once luminous with his otherworldly nature, was now marred by deep welts. Every inch of him bore the cruel poetry of punishment—the whip lines that ran down his back, the faint bruises along his jaw, and the lingering silver burns near his ribs.
Charvi stood by his bedside, unmoving.
The girl—hooded, veiled in divine enchantments—no longer resembled the confident envoy of the Temple. Her eyes were wide, raw with guilt and disbelief. She hadn't spoken since the punishment. Not when he was dragged back unconscious. Not when Mevira had begun the slow, methodical treatment of his wounds. She had simply stood there, hands clenched into fists, lips trembling.
Kael had not lingered.
He'd helped bring Agira back to his chambers but vanished soon after. No doubt retreating to one of the silent towers, where grief could swallow him whole in peace. He hadn't spoken, either—couldn't. Not after watching Agira smile through one hundred silver lashes just to keep his brother from breaking.
Mevira worked in silence, her pale hands glowing with faint green healing light as she applied salves to the prince's broken skin.
"You should return to your quarters, my lady," she said gently, without looking up. "This is not a place for you to linger."
Charvi didn't answer.
Mevira glanced up. Her gaze softened slightly. "It's unseemly for someone of your station to remain here—alone, at night, in a prince's bedchamber."
Still, silence.
Finally, Charvi spoke, her voice cracked but firm. "I'm not leaving."
"You'll fall ill."
"I don't care."
"He wouldn't want—"
"I don't care what people think. He's like this because of me. He saved me when he didn't have to. The least I can do... is make sure he survives."
The royal physician's apprentice said nothing more. She only bowed her head and resumed her work, eventually taking her leave with a sigh and a single lingering look of respect.
The doors closed.
Charvi remained.
Two weeks passed.
The world outside the chamber continued to turn—new court politics were whispered in the halls, assassins plotted and failed, nobles gossiped and drank—but Charvi didn't care. She bathed Agira's wounds. She changed the bloodied linens. Furthermore, she fed him the sacred tonics blessed by her Temple. She whispered prayers to Lumen's Will, even when her faith faltered.
Each day that passed, the dark palace around her felt colder. And yet the chamber—this place of pain and silent resolve—became the one space she could breathe.
And slowly, his face began to look familiar again.
Not just from memory—but from somewhere far deeper, a place long buried in her heart.
It hit her one evening when the snow fell thick beyond the balcony and the lanterns flickered in the draft.
A memory stirred.
She had been five years old—just before her Ceremony of Awakening.
She had wandered away from the Temple gardens, hiding among the tall white lilies, her laughter swallowed by the rustling leaves. The maids called for her, their panicked voices echoing across the sacred halls. But she had hidden, grinning, thinking it was a game.
And then... he had found her.
"If I were you, I wouldn't do that."
Startled, she stumbled and fell into the flowers, her face lifting to see the most curious pair of blue-green eyes watching her.
"He's beautiful," she thought.
"I wouldn't say that I'm beautiful," the boy had replied, smiling.
"Huh—wait... did you just—?"
"Hear that? Yeah. I can read minds."
"You can read my mind?!"
"Of course. I'm a vampire, you know."
"Do all of you read minds?"
"No," he'd said teasingly, "I'm a special case."
He'd knelt like a gentleman, giving a playful bow. "Would you do me the honour of telling me your name?"
The little girl had grinned and bowed back. "I'm Charuvisha Amrayana. Second princess of the Suralis Empire!"
"So you're the famous one. It's an honour, Princess."
"Are you here for my ceremony?"
"I'm not allowed to attend," he'd said, voice low. "Our entourage is leaving soon."
"Then... will you come visit again?"
"When you grow as tall as me," he laughed.
"I'm a girl! I'll never be as tall as you."
"Then at least reach my shoulder. When that happens, I promise—we'll meet again."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He'd taken her hand and escorted her back to the palace before vanishing like a dream.
Now, as she looked at the prince before her—the same beautiful eyes, the same haunting calm even in pain—Charvi realized the truth.
It was him.
And now, as she stared at him—older, yet unchanged—Charvi finally understood.
He had kept that promise.
And after all these years, she had grown enough to reach his shoulder.
Tears slipped quietly down her cheek as she brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead.
"If I told you I came here to meet you," she whispered, "would you believe me?"
There was no reply. Only the soft hum of wind against the glass and the faintest twitch of his fingers under her hand.
She smiled faintly, resting her head on his arm.
"I hope you do. Because I've waited... a long time."
He didn't respond. But something shifted in his expression—a flicker beneath his lids, a twitch of his fingers, a faint breath that was just a little deeper than the one before.
-To Be Continued-
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See you in the Comments.
— P.S. CONSTRUCTIVE ADVICE WOULD BE APPRECIATED. REFRAIN FROM SPREADING HATE.-