Hereon stood in the lone garden, watching the half-moon brighten the space. Yet even with all its glow, it failed to reveal the garden's former beauty. The flowers lay dead. The place looked abandoned—empty, like his heart.
'I will have to plant more flowers,' he thought.
He waited, for the maiden to come.
'Maybe this is a mistake,' he told himself. 'She brings ruin.' Her voice had once shattered peace across the land. The safest place for her was far away—from him, from everyone. Only then could the world rest.
But what about his world?
His world would never know peace. It brimmed with pain he couldn't explain—a chaos he longed to escape.
He had lived in that world since his first breath. As a child, he withdrew into himself, growling when the pain surged beyond control. Only his parents witnessed it. Fearful of what he might become, they took him to herbalists. Nothing worked. They even sought out revered priests—those said to speak with the gods—but all in vain.
Day by day, it worsened. He grew distant, tormented. To others, he was simply the quiet, awkward prince they couldn't understand—hardened and unreachable.
But the first time the beast within him went still, the first time he felt something other than pain, was when she sang.
So how could he let her go?
He nodded to himself.
This was right in every way. If she could heal him, he could rule without fear—strong, unshaken.
'For duty,' he whispered.
"My Prince."
The voice came soft, almost hesitant. He turned slowly and saw her standing there, clutching a silk bag, her gaze flitting like a startled bird. Her brown hair was pulled into a bun, though he wished it were loose—so he could thread his fingers through it.
She wore a blue silk wrap that stopped at her knees, exposing long legs he longed to feel around his waist—
gods.
What was he thinking?
She was here for duty, to serve him. His thoughts had no place wandering into something so raw, so forbidden. Worse still—he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop imagining how she might feel in his hands.
"Good," he responded stoically. His voice might have betrayed him, but he had mastered it—just as he had learned to keep his beast hidden from the world.
He walked toward her, hands clasped behind his back. If he let them fall to his sides, he feared they might reach for her cheek—something entirely out of character.
He cleared his throat, now standing tall in front of her.
"You did not fail to obey. That is good."
gods… Those grey eyes stared back at him. He caught the brief flicker of her gaze—nervous. And he was, too.
How?
He had never felt this before—never been shaken by anything. Emotion was foreign.
"The palace is a rather vast place," he said, clenching his fist to steady his voice. "It's easy to get lost and not be found. But don't worry. Your identity will remain hidden. You'll serve among the other maidens in my quarters."
She nodded, lips pressed tightly together. He wished she would speak, just so he could hear her voice again. But she stayed silent—and that unsettled him.
"Do you understand clearly?" he asked.
She nodded, still silent. He glared at her.
But why?
Why did her silence bother him so much?
"You know why I sent for you. You must remember that every day in this palace," he said, eyes narrowing.
At last, she responded—but he didn't like her tone.
"Yes, I do remember, my Prince. I must, under no circumstance, sing for anyone except His Royal Highness. I must never—mistakenly or otherwise—let my voice be heard by another, or I face danger."
Her face remained unreadable.
"Good. You did pay attention to my words," he said, pressing his fists together.
It wasn't that he disliked her answer—she spoke the truth. He just didn't like 'how' she said it.
Like she was challenging him.
"Let us leave for the palace," he said sharply, stepping away from her. He didn't look back to see if she followed—she'd better, because he wasn't about to repeat himself.
Worse still, he wanted as much distance from her as possible. Whatever spell she had cast unsettled him. And yet, she was the only peace he craved.
No—that was wrong.
'Her voice' was the peace he craved.
He walked to where he had tied his black horse beneath a tree. The stallion snorted with delight the moment Hereon ran a hand along its neck. His lips curved.
"Hello," he murmured.
The horse was precious to him—the last gift from his mother before she passed away. He couldn't say he felt love for the stallion exactly, but he cared for it deeply. No one at the palace was allowed to touch it.
She joined him within seconds, eyes wide as she stared at the horse...
He couldn't tell what she felt—was it fear? Admiration for how strong and sturdy the stallion looked? Even so, he waited. He wanted her to speak. He was drawn to her voice.
"Are... are we both going to ride 'that'?" she asked, pointing at the stallion.
Karina stared in disbelief at the prince, who cocked a brow at her.
Before coming here, her heart had been a storm of emotion. It wasn't easy to leave the only home she'd known for five years—or to leave Granny behind. She had wanted to stay. But her fate had already been sealed, so she left, bitter and silent, refusing to speak to him.
And now, seeing only a single horse—no pavilion, no bamboo carriage with wheels, not even one drawn by horses—Karina couldn't stop herself from blurting out.
"You expect me to ride that?" she blurted.
The prince only shrugged. "Bringing anything grand would raise suspicion. No one can know I'm taking you to the palace," he said flatly. "Your arrival must remain discreet."
She knew that. But how was she supposed to just get on a horse with him?
She had never been close to any man, and she wasn't about to start now. Prince or not, it made no difference to her. He was the one who wanted her at the palace—he could've arranged a different ride.
Her frustration had burned so hot, she failed to admire the beautiful brown stallion beside him, its deep eyes fixed curiously on her, as if trying to understand her mood.
"Stop pouting and get on," Prince Hereon said, extending his hand.
Karina stared at his hand like it might draw blood.
"We could think of another way for me to get to the palac—whoa!"
She shrieked.
In one swift step, the prince closed the distance and lifted her off the ground. Her legs dangled midair as he carried her in his arms like a bride, ignoring her flailing protests.
"My prince, this is wrong," she began to protest, but her words fell on deaf ears. His grip was firm.
"I hate delays," he muttered, lifting her onto the horse with effortless strength.
Karina clutched her silk bag tightly, shooting him a glare. He returned it, his amber eyes locking with hers—sharp against the stormy grey of her own.
She looked away first, swallowing hard. Fine. It was just for today. Just this one ride. Then she wouldn't have to share space with him again.
But the prince swung up beside her.
His body pressed against hers, solid and warm, and Karina's eyes flew wide.
She hadn't prepared for this. The closeness. The heat. A traitorous part of her wanted to lean into him, to rest against the strength of his chest. Worse still, his robe had come undone—and now, her back brushed his firm bare skin.
"Hold tight," he whispered against her ear, one hand gripping the reins.
She swallowed again.
Then he did the unthinkable. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and whispered low, breath brushing her skin—
"Now, we ride."