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Dark Moon Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 403. Not Exactly Subtle
🕑 Added 2025-05-29 10:01:52 +0000 UTCThird Arc (Fallen Heart) - 403. Not Exactly Subtle
For a moment, they simply stood there in the courtyard.
Then Angel’s eyes flicked sideways, just past her shoulder.
His jaw tightened—not in alarm, but in something closer to dry amusement.
“Well,” he muttered, voice low. “Seems your ex-fiancé still hasn’t learned how to look away.”
Rose blinked. “What?”
Angel tilted his chin toward one of the second-story balconies overlooking the west wing. The torches up there had been recently lit, their flames catching on the polished iron railings—and just beyond them, standing a little too still, a little too long to be innocent, was a figure cloaked in deep burgundy and fur-lined sleeves.
Prince Artheur of Draconis.
Even from this distance, his posture was unmistakable. Too composed. Too studied. And his gaze? Not on Angel. Not on the courtyard.
On her.
Rose exhaled slowly, not quite a sigh. “He’s not exactly subtle.”
“No,” Angel agreed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But at least he’s consistent.”
She rolled her eyes. “Me and him. We were never engaged, you know. You said it yourself.”
Angel looked back down at her, that teasing glint flickering to life in his gaze. “I know. I’m just teasing.”
Rose gave him a narrowed look that didn’t quite hide her smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Only sometimes,” he said. “Other times, I’m very easy to deal with.”
She laughed, quiet but real, and nudged his arm. “Liar.”
The smirk faded into something gentler for a beat. He leaned in just a little closer, close enough that the heat still radiating off his skin from training brushed against her cheek. “But you deal with me anyway.”
“Every day,” she said. “Even when you disappear into the training yard and forget the castle exists.”
“I didn’t forget,” Angel murmured. “Just needed the noise to stop.”
He straightened then, running a hand down the back of his neck. A sheen of sweat still clung to his collarbone, catching the firelight in a soft gleam. His shirt clung damply to his spine, and his gloves were tucked into his belt now, fingers stained from the grip of his sword.
“I should go back,” he said, more to himself than her. “I need to look into that bracelet again.”
Her brows drew in slightly. “So what’s next?”
Angel’s eyes lingered on hers a beat longer before he answered, low and firm. “We're going to see that magic user you mentioned. Prepare yourself. I don’t want that old man dying before we meet him.”
She gave him a look. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s not meant to be,” Angel said, eyes flicking toward the edge of the courtyard again. “People who hold old knowledge tend to vanish before they can speak. Or someone makes sure they don’t speak at all.”
Rose’s gaze followed his, but Artheur had already stepped back into the shadows of the balcony, hidden behind the crimson curtains. Still watching, probably. Still waiting. The prince had always been more patient than bold—enough to linger, never enough to act.
“True,” she murmured, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Rest well then. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
Angel didn’t move right away. His hand lingered near his belt, fingers flexing once as he studied her face, like he was deciding whether to say something more. Then he asked, almost casually, “You’re going to talk to him?”
Rose blinked. “Artheur?”
He gave a slow nod.
“Maybe,” she replied. “If he comes to me. Other than that—no. I think it’s better he understands there’s nothing between us. No past. No maybe. False hope is worse than silence.”
Angel’s expression softened slightly—not in approval, but in quiet agreement. “Fine. I’ll be waiting in the chamber.”
He stepped past her, close enough that the edge of his tunic brushed her sleeve. His voice dropped low as he passed. “Maybe… you’ll tell me a bit about your day.”
Rose tilted her head to the side, watching his back as he walked. “You’ll regret saying that.”
Angel gave a tired chuckle without looking back. “Surprise me.”
With that, he vanished into the corridor—shoulders squared, steps steady, as if every hallway in this castle still bowed to his presence. He didn’t rush. He never did.
Rose stayed a moment longer in the courtyard, alone now, surrounded by stone and wind and the faint trace of steel on the air. Her hand tightened at her side.
