The crimson moon cast an eerie glow through the tall, arched windows of Abigail's chamber, painting the room in hues of blood and shadow. The silence was oppressive, a thick blanket that muffled the distant whispers of the palace. Abigail lay awake, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more unsettling than the last. She could feel it the pulse of Nocturna, the heartbeat of a land steeped in darkness and mystery.
The door to her chamber creaked open, a slow, deliberate intrusion. No knock, no warning. Just the soft whisper of hinges giving way to the night. Dimitri Voss stepped inside, his silhouette stark against the moonlit backdrop. He moved with a predatory grace, each step measured, each breath controlled. He owned the space, owned her reaction before she even gave one.
His silver eyes, unreadable yet charged with an intensity that made her heart pound, scanned the room before settling on her.
"You're still here," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to echo in the silence. The weight of his presence pressed down on her chest like an unseen force.
Abigail refused to shrink under his gaze. She met his eyes, held them steady. "You expected me to run?" Her voice was firm, but her pulse betrayed her calm exterior.
Dimitri's lips curled into a smirk, slow and predatory. "Many have tried," he said, stepping closer. "And many have failed."
Abigail tilted her chin, defiance sparking in her eyes. "I'm not like the others, Dimitri. I don't scare easily."
He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "We'll see about that." He turned away, voice dropping to a murmur.
"Come with me."
Intrigued, Abigail followed him through the winding halls of the palace. The grand library loomed before them, its doors carved with intricate symbols that twisted in the flickering moonlight. Inside, the air was thick with dust and parchment. The shelves stretched high, groaning under the weight of countless tomes each a testament to Nocturna's brutal history.
Dimitri led her to a heavy wooden table, its surface scarred and stained. He pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to sit. She complied, her eyes never leaving his. He handed her a tome, its cover worn and leather-bound.
"Read," he instructed.
Abigail traced the faded lettering, flipping to the marked passage. She inhaled and read aloud:
"The conquered were not slain outright. Their suffering was drawn out, their bodies used to warn those who dared question the crown. Nails were driven into their palms, stretched wide across the city gates their screams echoing for days before silence took them. The strongest among them did not beg, but their defiance was meaningless. In the end, they all broke. In the end, they all bled for Nocturna."
The words hung in the air, thick and oppressive, laced with centuries of cruelty. Abigail met Dimitri's gaze, unflinching.
"This is the world you rule?" she asked, voice steady.
Dimitri's lips curled slightly, unreadable. "It is the world that rules itself. Fear ensures loyalty. And loyalty ensures survival."
She didn't waver. "Fear may secure obedience," she murmured, "but it doesn't secure respect."
Dimitri huffed a soft laugh, tilting his head. "You enjoy provoking me," he mused.
"Only when it's worth the effort," Abigail replied, casually flipping another page as if he wasn't standing mere inches away.
Dimitri moved closer, fingers grazing the rough edges of the tome but she did not shift away.
The flickering candlelight caught in his silver eyes, but he was the one who felt unsettled now.
His usual tactics pressure, proximity, intensity did not work.
"Do you truly understand the danger you're in?" he asked, voice dipping lower.
Abigail finally looked at him not in submission, but in amusement.
"Should I?" she breathed, smirking slightly.
Dimitri paused. Just for a fraction of a second. That hesitation cost him everything.
She leaned forward just enough to make it seem as if she might step into his gravity might give him the reaction he wanted.
Then, she pulled away first.
The movement was effortless, leaving Dimitri standing in the warm library air, flustered, irritated, and intrigued all at once.
"I think you expected me to break," she mused, pressing a hand to the book's cover. "That must be frustrating."
Dimitri chuckled, but there was something sharp beneath it. "You assume this round is over."
Abigail lifted a brow. "It is. And I won."
Dimitri watched her for a long moment, then stepped back, slow and deliberate. He had no clever retort. No victory.
For the first time, he was the one unsettled.
The game had begun. And he was not winning.
Abigail didn't linger in the library. She stood, deliberately measured, and made her way back through the winding corridors. The walls of Nocturna were ancient, filled with whispered secrets trapped between stone and candlelight.
Julian's presence loomed in the shadows. He didn't stop her, but his watchful gaze followed her retreat. He had seen the shift. He had seen Dimitri lose the exchange.
Camille, standing near an archway, studied her with a knowing look. "Interesting," she murmured, barely audible as Abigail passed.
Abigail reached her chamber and closed the door behind her, exhaling slowly. The room still carried the weight of Dimitri's presence, but she did not feel trapped. She felt ready.
Tomorrow, the game would begin.
But tonight she had already won.