The hot spring was thick with steam that slled like eggs. Christopher sank deeper into the water, letting the heat soak into his sore muscles. Sunlight broke through the mist, painting the old stone walls gold. Normally, this place was quiet—just for royals and their inner circle. But today, the quiet didn’t last.
Silk rustled. The sharp sweetness of night jasmine cut through the earthy steam. Christopher didn’t turn, but he felt her—the way you feel a storm coming. Then she stepped into view.
"Fancy eting you here, *Your Highness*." Delilah’s voice was smooth, like honey poured over a blade. Her robe clung to her, sheer as cobwebs, the color of a fresh bruise. It strained over her chest, dipped low between her thighs. She was built like a temptation, the kind the Velmoran elite loved to flaunt.
Christopher lifted a hand toward the water. "This place is for thinking. Alone."
Her laugh was dark, ripe. "Thinking’s overrated." The sash of her robe ca loose. Silk pooled at her feet. She stood there, naked, skin shining with sweat. Her body was a weapon—full breasts, narrow waist, hips that swayed as she stepped into the spring. The water licked up her thighs, her stomach .
"You’re tense," she murmured, wading closer. Her fingertips grazed his arm.
Chris pulled back. "You’re your father’s daughter. Always angling."
Annoyance flashed, then vanished behind a smirk. "Can’t a woman admire beauty?" Her leg brushed his under the water. "I’m offering you a break from that hassle. Sothing real."
He looked at her—really looked. Past the curves, the act. "Real? This?" He gestured at her body. "Flesh rots, Delilah. Ti grinds it down to bones. What’s left then? Your father’s sches? Your charms?" His voice softened, but it cut deeper. "When the outside’s gone, all that’s left is what you built inside. The rest is just... dust."
The jasmine scent soured. For the first ti, Delilah had no coback. The mask slipped. Under the steam, she wasn’t a seductress—just a woman, stripped bare in more ways than one.
Aric sat alone on the wooden chair in his room, a thick old book resting on his lap.
For nearly three hours, he had not moved much. His eyes kept reading the sa lines again and again, but his mind was far away. He was not reading to learn. He was reading to forget.
Finally, his fingers loosened. The book closed with a soft thud.
"I am tired," Aric whispered.
He stood up and walked toward the large glass window. Such windows were rare for commoners, but his family now was a noble one even though low level nobel but still .
Outside, the evening sun painted the gardens in gold. Flowers swayed gently in the wind, and stone houses stood quietly beyond the walls.
That was when he saw them.
A mother and her young child were playing near the fountain. The child ran forward with small, quick steps, laughing loudly. The mother followed him, pretending to chase him, her dress lifted slightly so she would not trip.
The child fell onto the grass, laughing even more, and the mother quickly reached him, pulling him into a warm embrace.
Aric’s chest tightened.
The laughter echoed in his ears, but it felt distant, like a dream he once had and then lost.
His thoughts drifted without permission.
I never thought about my parents, Aric realized.
The mory of his mother ca to him suddenly. Her gentle smile. Her warm hands when she brushed his hair. The way she used to scold him softly when he stayed out too late with wooden swords and childish dreams of glory.
"What about them?" Aric muttered under his breath. "They had a life too... damn it."
His father’s voice followed next—deep, calm, always telling him to stand straight and face the world without fear. A man of honor, a man who believed in duty more than comfort.
Aric clenched his fists.
"I miss them," he said quietly.
The laughter outside continued, bright and full of life.
Aric turned his gaze away from the window, unable to watch any longer. The room felt colder now, even though the sun still shone.
He returned to his chair but did not open the book again.
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