In the clearing, the turquoise water of the hot spring emitted a humid warmth. Daniela lay draped across Jasper's chest, her skin pale against the dark minerals of the shore. His midnight-blue cloak was wrapped around her like a heavy wing, shielding her from the morning damp. For a moment, the world was silent, save for the wet drip of mist from the trees. The morning sun had barely begun to bathe the world in its glow. It was a level of calm, stilled perfection that was new to the couple. The thick, sulfurous steam of the spring acted as a veil, masking the metallic tang of blood that clung to the clearing's edge. Here, the only sound was the rhythmic lap of water against the stones and the humid breath of the earth, burying the memory of the slaughter from just hours before.
Daniela's hand wandered idly over his torso, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his ribs before laying her palm flat over his heart. Beneath her touch, a steady, powerful thrum met her skin. Her own black-painted nails began to tap against his flesh, mimicking the rhythm. She paused, a small frown tugging at her lips. The beat of his heart was a seemingly perfect, mirrored pulse of her own—an identical cadence that felt far too coincidental to be true.
She pushed the thought aside, dismissing it as a trick of lingering fatigue. They were both so relaxed, still adjusting to the new day ahead.
Jasper's breath stilled as her fingers drummed against his chest. He didn't move, but he felt the synchronization. He knew their hearts matched; he had felt the tether tighten the moment the drug began to fade. Every moment spent with her, the pull toward her deepened. The feeling of possession and ownership toward her was solidifying in a way that felt far more dangerous than he was ready to admit.
"Something was different last night," Daniela said, her words breaking the heavy silence like a blade. Tilting her head, she looked up at him, but his eyes were still closed. His large palm rested on her back, his thumb drawing slow circles—more than enough of an indication that he was awake.
"Mmm," Jasper answered, his voice a low vibration beneath her cheek. He refused to give her the leverage of an explanation—knowledge that she could use to manipulate him, and he wasn't inclined to give her that power intentionally.
Daniela didn't accept his silence. Straddling his waist, she pushed herself up, her palms resting firmly on his chest as she glared down at him. The cloak slipped slightly, revealing the blood-darkened bite mark on her shoulder.
"You said you would explain," she reminded him, her voice low and dangerous. "And that you would be honest with me." She didn't want to go back to misunderstandings and implied knowledge. She refused to be left in the dark simply because he "knew best" or was too bored to explain himself.
The words slithered through his ears, soft and potent, acting like a slow-acting toxin on his iron will. He stared up into her emerald eyes, seeing the monster that mirrored his own. The bond, intensified by every thought or feeling he had toward her, was a predatory thing. He could feel it trying to extinguish his self-preservation, replaced by a dark, suffocating need for proximity. He worried what he would do—what he would become—if she ever pulled away or created even a semblance of distance. As the thought took root, his large palms tightened around her waist with a sudden, bruising force. It was an instinctive claim, a flash of pure, territorial hunger, before he forced his fingers to loosen, his touch returning to a deceptive gentleness.
Daniela felt confused as his silence lingered. She could see it in the way his lips pursed and the furrow of his brow. She could tell he didn't want to tell her anything. Reaching out, her finger trailed over the bulging vein in his neck as she raised a brow at him. He needed to make a choice, and it was not a small one.
"It's called Hollow Glass," he finally admitted, the words sounding like a confession. "A poultice for demons, but it does have some side effects on behavior."
Daniela's eyes raked over his pristine form. There wasn't a scratch or a bruise on him; no scars, no lingering shadow of the jagged energy from the night before. She found it hard to believe that any poultice could affect Jasper's mind. "You don't look injured," she remarked flatly. She wanted to ask where he'd been and what he had done while he was gone, but it didn't feel right under the circumstances. They had a relationship, but the oath was the top of the pyramid. Their allyship—whatever it promised—wasn't what their foundation was made of. So, she bit down on her growing curiosity. It shouldn't have mattered, but in the back of her mind, it was starting to.
"Because it worked," Jasper chuckled. He pushed himself up into a seated position, his knees resting behind Daniela's back to keep her upright, bringing his face mere inches from hers.
Daniela reached out, her fingers gripping his jaw with a strength that would have bruised a lesser man. She leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips—a gesture that was more a claim than a caress.
"You're a terrible liar," she whispered against his mouth. It was so strange. Normally she could never read Jasper so well, but it was as if he wasn't even trying to pretend. She didn't like being deceived, but perhaps she needed to be content with the fact that he didn't try hard enough to make his lies believable.
Jasper only gave her a toothy smile, his hands already cupping her breasts as he stared deep into her eyes. With each breath he took, he could smell his own scent smothering hers. His demon had bitten her last night; the dried blood around the wound on her shoulder was evidence of it. Every part of him wanted to claim her. But he frowned as he looked at the mark, and leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers, devouring her in a heart-stopping kiss. Black smoke slithered from his lips into her own mouth, his power circulating through her, forcing her body to heal the mark he had left.
Daniela pulled back and stared at her shoulder, watching as it healed. Jasper's inky black essence pressed outward through the wound as it finished closing, only to latch back onto its owner.
"You always forget to heal yourself." He shrugged, holding her closer until her bare chest was pressed against his own. Wrapping her arms loosely around his neck, she wished she could read his mind. You're hard to be mad at, she thought.
The moment was shattered by the sharp snap of a twig and the rustling of tall, blood-stained grass.
Jasper didn't flinch. He leaned forward, nipping playfully at her neck before pulling his jacket closed around her, hiding her body from the world with territorial finality. He stood, pulling on his trousers and buttoning them with a calm, methodical efficiency that ignored the three Sentinels who had just entered the clearing.
The soldiers stopped dead in their tracks. The scene was a nightmare of chaotic slaughter; corpses lay scattered across the fractured stones, their bodies crushed beyond recognition. In the center of the gore, a lone survivor shivered in a fitful sleep, still bound by coiling, dark shadows that covered the man's eyes and bound his wrists and ankles.
But Branix didn't need to see the man's eyes or even his skin to know who and what he was. The distinctive uniform was a giveaway. He was an assassin of the Supreme King. The only question was which member of the family had sent this group to kill Princess Daniela. Most of the King's sons were too young for politics. That left the "big three": Supreme King Elderon, Queen Aurelia, and Prince Eric.
Jasper and Daniela turned to face them at the same time. Both of them wore pleasant, effortless smiles—the kind one might give a guest at a garden party.
Bennett felt a cold, maddening fear spike in his gut. As a Gargolian, his kind was bred for stoicism, built to face horrors without a tremor. Yet, he stepped backward without realizing it, his spear dipping as his body's flight response overrode centuries of warrior instinct. It was a primal rejection of the air in the clearing; something inside told him these two were far more dangerous than the carnage they sat within.
"It is time to go, Crown Prince and Princess," the warrior spoke evenly, trying to regain some courage. But he couldn't meet either party's eyes. Everyone knew that Crown Prince Jasper was powerful, violent, and volatile. But now that he had found his Queen—one he truly seemed to care for—Bennett couldn't imagine what a man like that would do to anyone who even dared think of insulting her.
The walk back to the main convoy was conducted in a silence so thick it felt physical. The three Sentinels marched in a tight formation ahead of the couple, their eyes fixed strictly on the path. Bennett's mind was a frantic loop of tactical reassessment. He had spent his life fighting beasts and rebels, but this was a different breed of horror. He could feel the weight of their presence behind him—the rhythmic, soft padding of feet and the dry, scraping sound of the shadows. He thought of the crushed ribcages at the spring, the way the bone had looked like snapped kindling. What kind of monster could sleep next to that kind of carnage? He worried for Crown Prince Hector—whether he would be able to survive a frontal conflict with Prince Jasper. As it stood, he was not ready.
She's a lady, and she didn't even flinch. He felt his breakfast rise in his throat. The smell of the blood, the bones that had been shattered like glass. He did not know if Princess Daniela was just braver than the rest of them or better at hiding her fear. She was marrying a monster. A nightmare made real. Every time he heard Daniela's light, occasional laugh or the low rumble of Jasper's response, his skin crawled. Branix had to fight not to flinch. To them, the massacre was a memory already fading into a pleasant morning.
Trailing behind them was the vampire assassin. He didn't walk so much as stumble, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. Jasper's shadow acted as a literal tether, coiling around the man's eyes and joints with a dry, scraping sound as it dragged across the grass. The shadows didn't just move; they pulsed, expanding and contracting in a rhythmic, low vibration that mirrored Jasper's own breathing. To the vampire, the silence was filled with a terrifying acoustic: he could hear the steady, powerful thrum of Jasper's heart through the very shadows that bound him. But as he focused, a cold dread hollowed out his chest. Daniela's heart was beating at the exact same frequency—a perfect, twin cadence. It was in that synchronization he realized he hadn't just attacked a princess; he had struck at the bonded partner of a demon prince. He would not survive whatever came next.
As they crested the final ridge and the main camp came into view, the Sentinel felt a brief, hollow sense of relief. But as he looked down at the gathering soldiers preparing for the trolls, he knew the truth: the reason Prince Jasper had followed the convoy all the way to the conflict. There was no way he would let anything happen to his princess. Bennett felt a sense of assurance fill his body.
This wasn't the death march he believed it to be—not as long as the monster was here, watching over his prize.
Author's note:
Finally realized why I've been unmotivated to write. I want to work on another story. I don't know about other people that write on this platform. But I don't really care about momentum. I just love to write. And I have a new story idea. So I'm going to work on that as well. LOL my mind will not rest until I get it down on paper.