Two

It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

Steeling her nerves, she willed her heart to settle and waited, tightly clenching her delicate dress. A soft glow seeped through the tall curtains straight ahead.

Relieved to find a source of light, she quickly crossed the room to drag the drapes back, then turned to take in the space now that she could see.

It shocked her how sparsely the room was decorated. A single bookshelf along the wall closest to the door, a small ivory desk beside it—a pale contrast to the rest of the room, which was shrouded in dark shades of apple red and aged walnut. She could tell the books were old by their faded spines—and by the subtle scent of earthy mold and cold parchment. Across the room sat a barred fire hearth and an old, plush umber sofa—not facing the fire, but turned at a strange angle toward a second set of curtains mirroring the grand window.

It made sense now—why she hadn’t brushed against anything on her way to draw light into the small space.

Little dust flakes continued to snow around her as she walked through the room. No one must have been in here for months—maybe even years.

Seeing that there was nothing dangerous in the quaint but cozy room, the tension eased from her shoulders, and she unclenched her fists.

Treading towards the closed maroon curtains, she studied them closely. There was something about them that made her hesitate to draw them. For a moment, she stood frozen, uncertain of whether to pull them back or leave them undisturbed. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to them, something she wasn't meant to uncover.

Her fingers hovered above the fabric for a moment, her gaze lingering, searching for an explanation. Slowly, she tried pulling them back, but found that the two parts were stuck together.

She breathed in relief. Were they just a bad set of drapes? She leaned in closer to get a closer look, inhaling small hints of dusty cotton and…something cool and salty. Like the breeze from waves crashing against a cliffside, bursting with spring flowers kissed by flecks of sea mist. It was bizarrely comforting.

A shiver ran through her body as she frowned. It was a nostalgic scent, one she might have missed if it hadn't felt so familiar. It was confusing her, and the urge to uncover what was behind the curtains grew stronger. Whatever answers she sought, she knew they lay behind them.

Twirling the loose strands of her chocolate brown curls and biting her lips, she considered her options. There was nothing in the room that could help her tear through the fabric. It was too heavy to lift on her own, and it wasn't like she could start a fire to burn them away.

She resorted to jerking them apart with brute force. Straining against the unmoving fabric, her fingers slipped against its stubborn weight. No matter how hard she pulled, it would not yield. Frustration rose like a tide, but beneath it stirred that same feeling she couldn’t shake off since entering the room. A heavy, wistful grief in her chest, piercing her to the core and clinging to her chest like smoke. Without meaning to, she let out a ragged breath and snapped, “Why won’t this thing just open?"

The tightness around her throat loosened instantly. It took her a stunned moment to realize—she had spoken aloud. She could speak.

A flurry of emotions surged through her. Hope. Excitement. Confusion.

Adrenaline kept her moving, and as the sudden realization hit, she yanked at the fabric. It came loose, no longer stuck.

Swallowing hard, she roughly yanked them apart, gasping as a rush of joy washed over her when she finally glimpsed at what was hidden behind the curtains. The whirl of conflicting emotions wore at her, yet she remained entranced by what lay ahead. Her heart was pounding so fast that a roaring began drowning out everything else.

She stepped in closer. It was a common portrait, one she often saw adorning the halls. Each of the five noble families had one, usually commissioned when a member came of age at nineteen.

A man stood tall, his jeweled sword gleaming at his side, its hilt encrusted with glimmering stones. A crimson cape flowed from his shoulders, trailing behind him, while his white suit sparkled like a sea of stars on a cloudless night—richly adorned with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires that caught the light with every subtle movement. Though no crown graced his head, the regal air around him was undeniable—he was of the royal imperial line.

A Veron.

She tore her eyes away from his portrait, looking for a signature. A name.

There was none in sight.

Her eyes wandered back to his face, a breathless sigh escaping her lips. He was beautiful. His eyes were closed, yet his graceful features were undeniably captivating—pale skin, soft golden hair, and a lean yet strong physique. High cheekbones, a straight, regal nose, and a slight cupid’s bow. And deep blue eyes, holding the depth of the ocean, staring straight at her.

Arrella gasped.

The roaring grew louder. She hardly noticed that his eyes had been closed, the quiet change shifting something inside her, shifting her soul. Everything felt right again, her heart beating in tune for the first time, steadfast and comforting. Her heart swelled as a comforting feeling washed over her, like the warmth of an embrace long missed.

Tightly clutching the drapes, she gazed into the man’s eyes. He was what she had been searching for, what she had waited for all along without even realizing it.

Dazed and flustered, a lightness she hadn’t known she carried blooming within her, she spoke the first words that tumbled from her lips.

Rovin Artten.

And she knew that was his name.