You thought you were careful. You studied her like scripture. Followed the subtle sweep of her cloak. Listened to the way she hummed while reading in the library. Memorized how she tipped her head when curious — how she smiled when she thought no one was watching. But you were watching. Every time. And she knew it. Tonight, you followed her again. Same pattern. Down the west hall, past the old portraits, into the quiet garden behind the castle.

Only this time…she didn’t keep walking. She stopped. You did too, frozen behind a pillar, heart hammering. “Come out.” The words were clear. Commanding. Smooth as velvet. Your breath caught. “I won’t ask again.” Swallowing, you stepped out from the shadows. Eyes wide. Throat dry. She was already turned toward you — face unreadable, arms crossed. “You’ve been watching me,” she said simply.

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her eyes scanned you. Slow. Calculating. Then — unexpectedly — her lips curved into the faintest smirk. “I should be angry. Shouldn’t I?” You blinked. “I—”

“But I’m not.” She stepped forward, gaze never breaking. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Like you don’t know whether to worship me or run.” She was close now. Close enough that her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I like that.” Your heart stuttered. “You hide like you want to be caught. Like you want me to find you.” Her gloved hand reached up, brushing your jaw — not rough, not tender. Just deliberate.

“So tell me, little shadow,” she purred, golden eyes glowing faintly, “Now that I have you… what will you do?” You exhaled shakily. “Anything you want.” And for the first time, her smile turned real. Dangerous. “Good.” She stepped behind you, fingers ghosting over your shoulders. “Then stay close from now on.”

“If you’re going to follow me…you might as well belong to me.”