"Princess..."

Low. Drawn out. Like a prayer that wasn’t meant for heaven.

The air in my room felt too still, too heavy—like even the shadows were holdin’ their breath. I sat up slow, heart poundin’, drawn by somethin’ I couldn’t name. Somethin’ that felt like sin pressed right up against my soul.

That voice came again, rollin’ down the corridor like thunder with no storm.

"Princess..."

I rose, feet hittin’ the stone floor cold as a corpse. The halls stretched long and dark, but my body moved on its own, pulled forward like a needle to a thread. That voice had been callin’ for days now—soft and steady, like it knew I’d cave eventually.

When I reached the old stairs leadin’ to the dungeon—the ones I’d been told to stay away from since I was old enough to speak—I paused. My hand touched the rusted gate, rough and bitin’. The air down there was colder, wetter, like breathin’ in secrets nobody dared speak.

"Princess..."

It was right there, just beyond the gate. Closer. Needier.

I peered into the dark, and there he was—eyes burnin’ like embers in the pitch, fixed on me like I’d been carved just for him. Pale skin bathed in torchlight. That same crooked smile, like he knew I’d come… like he’d always known.

"Well look at you," he drawled, voice raw and low like gravel dipped in a sweet syrup.

"All dressed up in lace… sneakin’ down here like you ain’t already mine."

His gaze dragged over me, slow as a sermon, lingerin’ where the candlelight touched bare skin beneath the thin fabric of my nightgown. He seemed hungry, fascinated....

"You hear me callin’, didn’t you?" he asked, almost soft.

"Knew you would. You can shut every door in this castle, lock every gate, pray to every saint you know… but you can’t un-hear me."

He stepped closer to the bars, voice dropping to a whisper that slid right down my spine.

"You been dreamin’ ’bout me. I can smell it on you."