Beneath the ghastly moon, piercing crystalline blue eyes with a golden tint gazed upward, shimmering like the scattered starlight.
Under the dim glow, the silken black, well-groomed hair cascaded freely, over a sculpted face with delicate precision. High cheekbones, a softly defined jawline, and full lips that carried an effortless allure, warmed by an expression that was both regal and inviting.
A lone strand drifted across her forehead, swayed gently by the teasing monsoon breeze. Her skin, kissed by moonlight, held a porcelain glow—flawless yet alive.
She was Selene of House Meryl, Jewel of The East, and Wife of Dantes.
The night air whispered through the open balcony, carrying the fragrance of the moonshade orchids. Selene stood still, her gaze lost in the vastness of the moonlit sky.
Then, the soft creak of a door.
A presence entered the chamber—a faint musk lingered in the air from the man who had just arrived.
Dantes.
His footsteps were unhurried, the sound of polished leather against marble filling the silence. The moonlight cast his tall frame in shifting shadows as he approached.
Without a word, he stopped beside her. A moment passed in silence, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
Then, at last, he spoke.
"Lost in thought again, Selene?"
Selene finally turned, her golden-tinted blue eyes settling on him. "You returned late," she murmured. There was no accusation in her tone, only quiet observation.
Dantes barely glanced at her. "I had matters to attend to."
Selene lowered her gaze, smoothing the delicate fabric of her night robe. "Do you ever tire of it?"
Dantes arched a brow. "Of what?"
"Of always being elsewhere."
Her words were gentle, but they struck deeper than he expected. He studied her, as if truly seeing her for the first time in months.
He let out a dry chuckle, running a hand through his hair. But something about her question lingered. His fingers paused for a fraction of a second. Then, as if shaking off an unwanted thought, he turned away.
"You should have been a poet instead, perhaps then, someone would appreciate your words" he said over his shoulder before disappearing into his study.
Being left alone in the room, a sad smile was crafted by her lips as she glanced away at the waxing moon. "Someone has to."
.....
Dantes slumped in the chair by the fireplace, a glass of wine in his hands. The lit candles illuminated the papers scattered over the desk.
The aroma of dark cherries and spiced oak curled into the air, mingling with the lingering scent of aged parchment.
Lifting the glass to his lips, he took a slow sip. A burst of rich nightshade berries and blackcurrant spread across his tongue, with lingering notes of cinnamon and pepper, sharp yet intoxicating.
The familiar burn traced down his throat, but tonight, it did little to settle his mind.
"Do you ever tire of it?"
Selene's voice echoed back to him.
Dantes scoffed under his breath, setting the glass down with a dull thud. Tiresome.
He should have ignored the question entirely. But now, in the solitude of his study, it gnawed at him.
Dantes forced himself to focus on the papers before him, but the words blurred together. Frustrated, he leaned back, his hand over his face covering the eyes. The night stretched on, with him awaiting the sleep to take over.
.....
The scent of sweat and blood lingered in the air as the warriors clad in armors returned after capturing the last of the ships that traveled in their waters.
Luca stood at the helm, his posture unwavering despite the salt-laden wind biting at his skin. His presence was commanding—sharpened by the years spent waging war at sea.
One of his commanders approached him. Captain Elias, an old veteran whose family had served the nation with loyalty, strode up with a respectful bow. In his hands, he carried something— a box made of young and tender green stems, wrapped in worn clothes.
"Your Highness," Elias said, his voice a low murmur. He knelt before Luca, presenting the box before him.
Luca turned, his gaze locking onto the captain, his face an unreadable mask. "What is this, Elias?"
Elias didn't meet his eyes, instead holding the box lower, as though presenting an offering. "A gift for you, my lord."
A soft, shuddering breath escaped the cloth-wrapped box, and Luca's gaze darkened as he saw the silhouette of what appeared to be a child—a young girl, no older than fourteen, her face hidden beneath the fabric. Her skin was bruised, raw, and her reddish brown hair, smudged.
"Is this what you call a gift, Elias?" Luca's voice was ice, his gaze unwavering. He felt the fear nestled in the little soul without having to look into her eyes.
The captain shifted uncomfortably. "A slave. Captured from one of the Western trade vessels. A young one, still untouched. We thought you'd find her… agreeable, my lord."
Luca's jaw tightened, but his eyes flickered over to the girl. The silence between them grew thick.
Luca didn't respond at first. He simply stared at the girl, as though weighing the significance of this offering.
"A gift," Luca repeated softly. He stepped forward, lifting his hand to the girl's chin, lifting her face slightly to study the features. The little girl winced, but didn't dare to pull away. Her skin was warm against his fingers, too thin from starvation. A pair of wide, dark eyes flickered beneath the shadow of her tangled hair—watchful yet empty.
"This is what the Eastern Lands of Monsters had to offer for the West, then?" Luca mused aloud, his voice growing colder. "I think, Elias.... You've misjudged me."
Elias remained silent, clearly uncomfortable.
Luca's lips curled into a thin smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. With a swift motion, Luca dropped his hand from the girl's chin and turned to leave, motioning for Elias to follow.
"You are dismissed."
Elias hesitated for a moment, but obeyed, stepping back without another word.
As Luca walked away, he glanced at the girl one last time. Something in his chest twisted—he had no room for weakness, no space for empathy. But in the girl's eyes, he saw something else.
A quiet hope. Leaving one to wonder what she had faced, to end up in such a situation.
Luca would keep her alive, for now. But not out of kindness, nor pity.
The girl would be useful.