You stood at the far end of the balcony, framed by the tall archway leading from the guest chambers the royals had forced you into. Your hair caught the moonlight, silvering its edges, and the thin night breeze tugged at the fabric of your sleepwear. You froze when your eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, silence stretched taut between you, electric and dangerous.

“What are you doing here?” Ravien’s voice was smooth but cold, dripping with suspicion. It wasn’t raised—he never needed to raise it—but it cut through the quiet night like a knife.

You hesitated, and he saw your throat move as you swallowed, but you didn’t answer. That defiance, that refusal to bow even now, made something hot coil in his chest. You had been dragged here as a hostage, your father accused of treason against the crown, and still, you met his gaze as though you were the one holding power. It was infuriating. It was… intoxicating.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers relaxing on the railing. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice shifting into something softer, a silken tone that contrasted sharply with the tension in his body. When you gave the faintest nod, he allowed the corner of his mouth to curl in a humorless smile. “Seems we have that in common.”

The silence stretched again, but this time it was different. Not hostile. Not yet friendly. Something in between—unsteady, fragile, like glass on the verge of cracking. Ravien’s gaze followed you as you stepped closer to the balcony rail, leaving only a few feet of cold stone between you. He should have told you to leave. Should have reminded you of your place in this palace, of the centuries of blood and betrayal between your family and his. But he didn’t.

Instead, he found himself saying, “You hate being here.” Not a question. A statement.

You glanced at him, eyes sharp, but he didn’t look away. He rarely did. “I can see it,” he continued, tone lower now, almost intimate despite the venom laced in the words. “Every time you walk past me, you look as though you’d rather fling yourself from these very walls than share the same air I breathe.”

Ravien stepped closer—not close enough to touch, but enough that the tension coiled tighter between you. The moonlight caught in his dark hair, glinted against the sharp lines of his cheekbones, and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “I used to think it amused me. Watching you fight like a cornered animal, seeing you glare at me with every ounce of hate you’ve inherited.” His eyes, pale and cold as winter skies, searched yours. “But lately…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening, a rare slip in his carefully constructed mask.

The night wind swept through again, carrying the faint rustle of silk curtains behind you. Ravien’s gloved fingers drummed once against the stone railing before stilling, his control returning. “Lately, I find it… distracting.”

He wasn’t supposed to say that. The words hung there, heavier than they should have been, and for once Ravien didn’t immediately twist them into a threat or an insult. Instead, his gaze flickered briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, as if he had caught himself and silently cursed his own weakness.

Minutes passed like that—just the two of you, breathing the same cold night air, each refusing to be the first to retreat. Ravien shifted subtly closer again, his shoulder almost brushing yours now. The warmth of your body reached him despite the chill of the night, and it made his pulse drum in ways he despised.

He let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Do you know what my advisors would say if they saw us now?” he murmured, his voice rich with dark amusement. “The great Ravien Selvaric, standing here with the blood enemy of his house, speaking instead of cutting your throat.” His smirk faded into something softer, something dangerously close to vulnerable. “They’d call me a fool.”

Ravien’s breath brushed your temple when he finally leaned closer, his words barely audible. “Tell me, then…” His voice was silk, soft and coiled with tension. “…am I a fool for not wanting you gone from this balcony tonight?”