VIVIAN’s POV
Avoidance has always been one of my finer skills. In a palace where words can kill faster than swords, knowing when to vanish is as vital as knowing how to breathe.
So, I keep my distance.
For days, I make sure Lord Dani and I barely cross paths. When the Queen orders me to deliver him his schedule, I send another servant. When he asks for guidance through the archives, I “happen” to be assigned elsewhere. When he’s on the training grounds, I’m conveniently assisting the Queen with her endless wardrobe dilemmas.
It works—at first.
He looks puzzled those first few times, watching me from afar like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. But he doesn’t confront me. Not immediately.
By the fourth day, I can tell he’s learned. He starts using the very system against me—appearing with perfectly timed requests, ridiculous but legitimate enough that I can’t refuse.
“Lady Vivian,” he says one morning, voice smooth, “Her Majesty mentioned you’re the only one who can show me the route to the north tower.”
Or,
“Lady Vivian, I was told you hold the keys to the west library.”
And, most absurdly,
“Lady Vivian, you were recommended to me for your impeccable knowledge of Verloren’s architecture. Surely you won’t deprive me of an education?”
Each time, his eyes gleam like he’s daring me to say no.
I hate that I can’t.
Worse, the Queen encourages it. Arinelle adores him now—boasting about her new northern knight to anyone who listens, flaunting his strength, his discipline, his so-called loyalty.
“Verdana’s loss,” she laughs one afternoon, swirling wine in her glass, “is Verloren’s gain.”
Lord Dani smirks mischievously for a brief moment that only I notice.
I smile politely, saying nothing. I can't tell yet if Lord Dani’s a gain or a future utter loss for Verloren.
***
By the end of the week, I’ve run out of ways to avoid him.
And perhaps… perhaps that’s exactly what he wanted.
Tonight, I find myself in the library with him again.
The air smells faintly of ink, candle wax, and old paper. Shadows stretch long across the bookshelves. The rest of the palace is asleep, but we are not.
He sits across the table, flipping through a massive book titled Histories and Renovations of Verloren’s Palace, the one he asked for specifically. I’m certain he doesn’t care about the palace’s history. He barely even reads the words. His gaze drifts more often to me than to the pages.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs. “Did you know this place was rebuilt three times after the Great Fire?”
“Yes,” I reply, not looking up. “Twice during King Thalor’s reign, once during Queen Livia’s.”
He hums, pretending to turn another page. “And how many times have you rebuilt yourself, Lady Vivian?”
I freeze. “Excuse me?”
He looks up, the faintest smile playing at his lips. “You seem like someone who’s survived a few fires of her own.”
My pulse stutters. “You ask dangerous questions.”
“Only when I want honest answers.”
“Well,” I say flatly, “you’ll be disappointed. I have no talent for honesty.”
He laughs softly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re better at avoidance, then?”
“Yes,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Ah.” He nods, as if I’ve just confirmed a long-held theory. “So you have been avoiding me.”
My jaw tightens. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Then what should I call it?”
“Self-preservation.”
He chuckles lowly, the sound infuriatingly warm. “From what exactly?”
“Men who ask too many questions.”
“Do I frighten you, Lady Vivian?”
I lift my chin. “No. But I’ve learned not to trust those who smile while drawing their swords.”
His smile widens. “Who says I’ve drawn mine?”
“You will eventually. Everyone does.”
He studies me quietly, and the silence between us hums with something I don’t like—something that feels like understanding.
Then, softly, he says, “You don’t let anyone close, do you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I look away, focusing on the candlelight flickering against the table. “Because closeness makes you weak.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No. It makes you human.”
I meet his gaze then, and for a second, neither of us looks away. There’s something steady in his eyes, something that shouldn’t make me feel safe—but somehow does.
I don’t like it.
I don’t like him.
And yet, I can’t quite convince myself that’s true.
“Tell me something, my lord,” I say finally, needing to shift the ground beneath us. “Do you always talk this much when pretending to read?”
He grins, unapologetic. “Only when I want someone’s attention.”
“Well, you have it,” I snap. “Now use it wisely.”
He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Then I’ll ask one last thing.”
“Make it quick.”
“Why do you dislike me so much?”
“I don’t dislike you,” I’m not sure where lies end and truth begins in my words. “I simply have no interest in being your entertainment.”
“Good,” he says softly. “Because I’m not here to entertain you either.”
I blink. “Then what are you here for?”
His smile fades just slightly—enough to make me realize he won’t answer. “That’s a long story.”
“Then save it for someone who cares.”
“Perhaps,” he says, standing up, “you’ll care one day.”
I exhale sharply through my nose. “Don’t count on it.”
He chuckles again, setting the heavy book aside. “You know, Lady Vivian… you pretend well. But I’ve seen soldiers with less armor than you.”
“I’m not a soldier.”
“No,” he says, walking past me toward the door. “You’re something sharper.”
He pauses at the threshold, glancing back. “You can keep the book if you like. I’m not much of a reader.”
“I figured.”
“Goodnight, Lady Vivian.”
His voice is low, almost teasing. Then he’s gone.
For a moment, I just sit there, staring at the candle as it flickers. The silence in the library feels heavier now, pressing against my ribs.
My hand moves almost on its own, closing the book he left behind. The leather is still warm where his fingers touched it. I hate that I notice.
He’s dangerous. I know it. I can feel it. And yet, there’s something magnetic about him—something I can’t define.
It’s the way he carries himself, like a man both wounded and unbreakable. The way his gaze lingers, as if he’s memorizing what he can’t admit he wants.
It’s familiar, too familiar, and I don’t know why.
I stand, pushing my chair back too hard. The sound echoes off the walls. Enough! I blow out the candle, plunging the room into near-darkness, and walk out, the cool corridor swallowing me whole.
But as I reach the end of the hall, I find myself glancing back—just once—toward the closed library door. And I realize something unsettling:
I’m not just suspicious of Lord Dani anymore. I’m curious.