AURELIA
They all look at me like I don't belong here.
Whispers swell and fade as I pass. Some hold curiosity in their eyes. Others—disgust. But the worst are the ones who think they know what I am. A girl in silk. Soft-spoken. Unaware of where she's wandered.
Let them think I'm prey.
The marble beneath my heels gleams black, cold as ice, and I glide over it like I was born here. Every movement is carefully measured. Shoulders lowered just enough. Chin tilted to suggest both fragility and curiosity. A little lost. A little afraid.
But none of it's real.
The chandeliers above flicker with soulflame. The room pulses with ancient power. Supernatural beings in velvet, bone, and silver circle each other like wolves around a carcass. I watch them with interest, but I'm not impressed. They all wear masks, and I've spent my entire life studying the cracks in other people's.
I came here for one reason.
And he's already watching me.
He stands above them all—literally and otherwise—on a dark platform draped in smoke and shadows. He's not trying to draw attention. It's effortless. The court flocks to him like birds to a storm, careful never to touch. His eyes burn like dying stars, gold rimmed in red. And they're fixed on me.
The half-blood Demon Prince.
Cursed royalty. A crown without mercy. Power coils around him like something alive. He isn't smiling. He doesn't blink. He looks like he's deciding whether I'm interesting enough to keep breathing.
I should look away.
Instead, I hold his gaze.
It's like standing at the edge of a cliff and leaning forward, waiting to see if the wind will push me. Every part of me tingles with the thrill of danger. Not fear—desire.
I want him to notice. I want him to chase. I want to know what happens when something that dark decides it wants to possess you.
He steps down.
The crowd parts around him like instinct, like fear. He doesn't look at anyone else. His gaze is locked on mine, and I feel it—feel him—pressing inside my head, my chest, my bones.
Closer.
My breath slows. I pretend I'm nervous. A small step back. Lower lashes, bitten lip.
He stops a hand's breadth from me.
"You're in the wrong place," he says. His voice is quiet, but it rips through me. Deep. Unyielding. Meant for command.
"I thought it was open court tonight." I lift my chin, keep my tone light. Harmless. Curious. "Or am I trespassing?"
He studies me. Not the dress. Not the hair. Me.
"You wear innocence like perfume," he says after a moment. "But it doesn't cover the rot."
My pulse skips.
He leans forward slightly, enough for me to catch the scent of smoke and something richer beneath. His voice lowers further.
"I see you. You enjoy being watched. You want to be followed. Hunted."
My skin prickles. He's not guessing. He knows.
But I can play too.
"You think you know me?"
"I don't need to think," he replies. "Your soul reeks of hunger."
He straightens again. The air between us buzzes. I feel unsteady, but not because I'm afraid. I feel exposed. Like I walked straight into a spotlight and forgot my lines.
Then he says it—soft and certain.
"You came here for me."
I don't answer.
Because he's right.
A smile touches the corner of his mouth. It's cruel and beautiful. "Run."
I frown. "What?"
His smile grows, just enough to show a hint of fang. "Run, little lamb. Run while you still want to."
Then he turns his back to me and walks into the crowd, leaving a silence in his wake.
I stay where I am.
My body burns with adrenaline and something darker. I should feel ashamed. But instead, I feel alive. I came here for him—and he's already decided I'm his next obsession.
And maybe I want to be.
Let the world believe I'm innocent.
Soon, they'll see what I really am.