The air rippled, bending to Malvor's will as if reality itself had to make room for his presence. And then, as if conjured from the depths of madness, a massive structure emerged before them. Part castle, part mansion, part outright insanity, the building loomed impossibly large, its architecture shifting between elegance and chaos, angles that shouldn't exist blending seamlessly into a masterpiece of disorder.
For the first time, Anastasia reacted. Nothing dramatic—just the slightest arch of her brow. Barely a flicker of acknowledgment.
Malvor smirked. Ah, so she does have opinions. "Welcome to my home."
With a flourish of his hand, the massive black doors swung open, revealing the grand foyer. Towering twenty-foot ceilings stretched above them, the walls composed of polished black onyx that reflected flickering candlelight. Candles floated freely overhead, their glow warm yet eerily untethered, like stars caught in orbit around a gravitational force of sheer chaos. The floor beneath them was smooth obsidian, inlaid with veins of shimmering gold that pulsed faintly, as if the mansion itself was alive.
Malvor strolled forward, hands in his pockets, utterly at ease. "Come, let me show you your room."
Anastasia followed, her gaze sweeping the space, taking in the details without unnecessary commentary. Finally, she glanced sideways at him. "I'm getting my own room?"
Malvor chuckled, tossing her a lazy grin. "Yes, my darling Annie, you get your own room."
She stopped walking.
Her eyes flicked toward him, cool and unimpressed.
He grinned wider. There it is. He didn't need much to get a reaction out of her, but he could tell this—this was going to be a game. He rolled the name around again in his head. Annie. It was too sweet, too personal, too… human for someone like her. Which was precisely why it amused him.
Anastasia exhaled through her nose but said nothing.
Malvor took that as a victory.
He rocked back on his heels, then leaned slightly toward her, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Unless, of course, you'd rather share my room?" He waggled his brows suggestively, milking the moment for all it was worth.
She didn't even blink. "If you want that."
The air between them shifted.
Malvor stopped walking.
That… was not the response he'd expected. A flirtatious retort? Maybe. An eye roll? Possibly. But this?
His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he caught himself. Did he want that?
She just stood there, watching him. No teasing. No seduction. Just an observation of fact. If you want that, fine.
Malvor let out a slow, exaggerated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, Annie," he drawled, voice dripping with mock exasperation. "You truly are something else."
Still, she said nothing.
He inhaled, then exhaled as if dismissing the moment entirely. "Come along, darling." He turned back toward the corridor, his usual swagger sliding back into place. "Let's at least pretend you have personal space before we start breaking boundaries, shall we?"
Anastasia followed, silent, unreadable.
But the thought lingered at the back of his mind.
Did he want that?
He had no idea.
And that was both infuriating and exhilarating.
Malvor couldn't deny she was gorgeous. Tall, curvy, the kind of beauty that could bring lesser beings to their knees. But where was the fun in that? No chase? No games? No fight?
Just…
Just what? Acceptance?
Psh, no. That wasn't nearly enough. He needed more—wanted more. Interactions. Tension. Reactions. Good or bad, it didn't matter. Attention was attention, and she was giving him none.
That, more than anything, was what bothered him.
With an exaggerated sigh, Malvor finally stopped in front of a set of grand double doors. He swung them open with a flourish, revealing a room fit for royalty. The bed alone was a masterpiece—massive, draped in deep red velvet, its frame carved from dark, polished wood that shimmered under the floating candlelight. A wardrobe big enough to house an entire kingdom's worth of clothing stood against the far wall, next to a grand fireplace flickering with blue and gold flames. The high ceilings were adorned with twisting designs that shifted and rearranged themselves if one looked too long.
It was luxurious. Comfortable. Beautiful.
And completely wasted on someone who didn't care.
Malvor turned back to Anastasia with a smirk, sweeping into a mock bow. "Here you are, Queen Annie. Your royal chambers."
If he was expecting an eye roll or a sharp remark, he was disappointed. Anastasia merely took a step forward, surveying the room without the slightest shift in expression.
"It'll do," she said simply.
Malvor straightened, his smirk faltering for just a second.
"That's it?" he pressed, watching her closely. "No clever retort? No dramatic sigh of Oh, Malvor, you're so extravagant!" He placed a hand over his chest as if wounded by her lack of enthusiasm. "You wound me, Annie."
She turned to face him, one brow raised ever so slightly. "I don't need extravagance. Just a place to sleep."
Malvor squinted at her. "You are unbelievably dull."
"And yet," she said, stepping past him into the room, "you're still here."
His lips parted, a retort ready to go, but—damn it—she was right.
He was still here.
Lingering in her doorway.
Watching her.
Why?
Anastasia walked over to the bed, running a hand along the fabric, testing its softness as though this were any other night, any other place.
Then, without looking at him, she spoke.
"Are you done, Malvor? Or would you like to watch me sleep too?"
That snapped him out of it.
Malvor scoffed, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "Tempting, Annie, truly. But I have far better things to do."
He turned on his heel, striding back toward the hall with an exaggerated swing in his step. But before he disappeared entirely, he called out over his shoulder, his voice teasing, but somehow softer than before.
"Sweet dreams, darling."
And with that, he was gone.
But even as Anastasia settled into the bed, one thought lingered in her mind.
She was still here.
And so was he.
The morning light—if one could even call it that in a realm like this—filtered through the darkened windows of her room, casting an eerie yet oddly warm glow. Anastasia stretched, feeling well-rested despite the strangeness of her surroundings.
The attached en suite bathroom was an unexpected luxury, and stepping inside, she took in the grand design—marble counters, deep stone sinks, and a shower so large it felt like stepping into a small personal waterfall. When she turned it on, the water adjusted instantly to her preferred temperature, cascading over her skin in a perfect, soothing rhythm.
It was an experience, one that left her refreshed and relaxed in a way she hadn't expected.
But when she stepped out, towel wrapped around her, she caught sight of the mirror.
And she refused to look.
The scars—the beautiful, decorative runes carved into her skin—were always there, waiting for her, silent reminders of what she had been shaped into. A work of art. A gift for the gods. A blessing. That's what they told her. That's what she had been conditioned to believe.
But she knew the truth.
She turned away, drying off quickly and moving to the wardrobe, scanning its contents. It was extravagant, of course—elegant silks, delicate lace, and ridiculous garments meant for someone who wanted to be seen. Malvor's idea of what someone should wear, no doubt.
She ignored them all, searching until she found something simple. A long-sleeve shirt and pants. Comfortable, functional, covered. Gloves would stand out too much, but the intricate carvings on her hands—those were harder to hide. She pulled her sleeves down as far as they would go, hoping Malvor was too self-absorbed to notice.
Dressed and feeling more like herself, Anastasia left the room in search of food.
The hallways were… strange.
The walls and floor were white stone today, pristine and cold, a stark contrast to the black onyx and shifting architecture from the night before. It was like the realm itself was indecisive, constantly shifting to reflect the god who ruled it.
She wandered. And wandered. And wandered.
Room after room opened to her—lavish parlors, libraries filled with floating books, a chamber of mirrors that reflected things that shouldn't exist. But not a single kitchen.
Her stomach twisted with irritation.
She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders before muttering, "Where in the hell is the kitchen?"
The moment the words left her mouth, a door to her left swung open.
She stared at it for a long second before sighing. "Of course," she muttered, stepping inside.
The kitchen was massive—modern, sleek, and impossibly well-stocked. But what caught her attention wasn't the size or the gleaming marble counters.
It was the dedicated coffee station.
An entire section of the room was devoted solely to coffee.
Dozens of machines lined the counter—espresso machines, drip coffee makers, a French press, even a siphon brewer. Shelves were stocked with bags of coffee beans from regions she had never even heard of. There were syrups, spices, multiple types of milk and creamers, and an entire selection of mugs in every possible size.
She stepped closer, taking it all in.
He must love coffee, she thought.
A god of chaos, unpredictable and wild, with an entire altar to something as mundane as coffee?
That almost made her smile. Almost.
Anastasia decided on something simple—a classic drip coffee. She poured the dark liquid into a mug, adding just a bit of milk and sugar. Maybe later, when she was more awake, she'd experiment with the absurd number of syrups and machines, but for now, this would do.
She took a slow sip, the warmth spreading through her, before turning her attention to the refrigerator. At first glance, it was empty. She frowned.
Then, remembering how the kitchen itself had appeared, she spoke aloud, "Some Greek yogurt and berries?"
The moment the words left her lips, the items materialized on a shelf as if they had been there all along.
She exhaled a quiet chuckle and reached in, grabbing them before giving the refrigerator a small, absentminded pat. "Thank you." It felt like the right thing to do.
The food was delicious and simple, exactly what she needed. As she ate, she found herself wondering—when does he wake up? Does he even sleep?
As if summoned by her thoughts, the door swung open, and Malvor strolled in.
And of course, of freaking course, he looked perfect.
His dark hair was tousled, a perfect balance between artfully messy and frustratingly attractive. His expression was lazy, pleased with himself in that way only he could manage. Even in his slightly disheveled state, he looked like he had chosen to be effortlessly flawless.
Infuriating.
"Hello, Annie darling," he drawled, his voice thick with amusement. "Sleep well?"
She sipped her coffee and nodded. "Yes, I slept great. Thank you."
Malvor's brow shot up.
She could see the gears turning in his head. He had expected a snarky remark, an eye roll, or indifference. Not… actual gratitude.
She tilted her head slightly. "Did you sleep well?"
That was all the invitation he needed. His grin spread wide, delighted, far too happy to talk about himself.
"Dearest Annie," he said dramatically, placing a hand over his chest, "I only sleep when I want to. And last night? I did not want to."
He leaned against the counter, looking effortlessly at ease. "Instead, I embarked on a truly perilous journey across the chaotic realms. A voyage of epic proportions. You see, I was deep in a heated, high-stakes battle with a celestial phoenix over the last drop of divine ambrosia."
Anastasia lifted an eyebrow, already unimpressed.
"It was a fierce and noble fight," he continued, clearly enjoying himself. "We soared through the skies, flames and lightning clashing in a glorious symphony of power. But alas! Just as I was about to claim victory, a terrible betrayal struck—I was ambushed by a rogue band of time-traveling sorcerers, hell-bent on keeping the ambrosia for themselves."
He sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Tragic, truly. But in the end, I outwitted them all, of course. They wept at my brilliance, and I generously let them leave with some of their dignity intact. And that, my dear Annie, is why I did not sleep."
Anastasia, completely unfazed, took another slow sip of her coffee. "So," she said, "you stayed up doing absolutely nothing."
Malvor gasped, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "How dare you?"
She shrugged. "You could have just said that."
He squinted at her, lips pursed. "You are no fun at all."
She lifted her coffee in a silent cheers and took another sip.
Malvor stared at her for a long moment, then grinned. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.