Chapter 5: The King’s Night Watch

The castle was silent, but Alaric's mind was a storm.

He sat in his dark chamber, the only light coming from the glowing embers in the fireplace. On his desk lay a blood-stained dagger—the one that had struck Seraphina's back. He had spent the last three hours questioning the shadows of the palace. His spies had finally brought him a name, and the truth made his dragon-blood boil.

The spy wasn't a foreigner. He was a man from the House of Elara—the family of the "Blessed Lady" who was supposed to be the kingdom's hope. In the book Agatha read, this family was supposed to be the "good guys." But here, they had tried to kill Seraphina because she was getting too close to the King.

"They want her gone so they can replace her," Alaric whispered, his fist clenching until his knuckles turned white. "They think they can touch what is mine."

He stood up. He couldn't stay in his room anymore. His dragon instincts were screaming at him to check on his "hoard"—and right now, Seraphina was the only thing that mattered.

He walked down the quiet hallway and entered her room without knocking.

The room smelled of healing herbs and rain. Seraphina was fast asleep, her face pale against the black silk pillows. She looked so small, so fragile. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who had ridden into a war zone and screamed his name to save him.

Alaric sat on the edge of the bed. He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. For the first time, he didn't look at her with hate. He looked at her with a deep, hungry curiosity.

"Who are you?" he wondered silently. "You save me, you bleed for me, and then you say nothing. You don't ask for gold. You don't ask for power. You just look at me as if you've known me forever."

Suddenly, Seraphina stirred in her sleep. She let out a soft moan of pain, her brow furrowing. Her bandage was starting to slip, a small drop of red staining the white cloth.

Normally, Alaric would call a maid. But the thought of someone else touching her skin made a growl rumble deep in his throat. He reached out with his large, warm hands. He was a warrior, built for killing, but he moved with extreme gentleness.

He slowly peeled back the bandage. The wound was angry and red. Using a clean cloth and a bowl of cool water, Alaric began to clean the injury himself.

I woke up to a strange sensation. Something warm and rough was touching my shoulder. I opened my eyes slightly and gasped.

Alaric was leaning over me. The moonlight from the window caught his silver hair, making him look like a beautiful, dangerous ghost. He wasn't wearing his armor now, just a loose black shirt that was open at the neck.

"Alaric?" I whispered, my voice thick with sleep. "What are you doing?"

He froze, his golden eyes meeting mine. For a second, I saw a flash of raw emotion in them—worry, obsession, and a spark of something sweet. But he quickly hid it behind a cold mask.

"The doctor was incompetent," he said curtly, though he didn't stop cleaning the wound. "I don't trust anyone else to handle a 'Malcor' correctly. You might try to sue the crown for a bad scar."

I smiled weakly. Even when he was being kind, he tried to sound mean. I knew him so well. "You don't have to do this. You're a King."

"I am a man who doesn't like his property being damaged," he snapped, but his touch remained soft. He finished applying the fresh medicine and wrapped the bandage tight. "Now, tell me. Why did the House of Elara want you dead? What do you have that they want?"

I looked at him, my heart breaking. "They don't want anything I have, Alaric. They want the place next to you. They think if I die, you will choose their daughter."

Alaric's hand paused on my shoulder. His thumb brushed against my collarbone, sending a powerful shiver through my body. The heat from his skin was intoxicating.

"They are fools," Alaric whispered, leaning closer until I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. "They think I want a 'Blessed Lady' who hides in a temple. I have no use for a woman who waits for the storm to pass."

He looked down at my lips, his gaze becoming dark and heavy.

"I want the woman who rides into the lightning," he rasped.

My heart thundered. This wasn't in the book. In the book, he never looked at Seraphina this way. I had truly changed the plot, and now the hero was obsessed with the villainess.

"Go back to sleep, Seraphina," he said, pulling the blanket up to my chin. He stood up to leave, but he paused at the door. "And don't think this changes anything. I still have questions. Many questions."

As he left, I touched the spot on my shoulder where his fingers had been. It was still warm.

I know you have questions, Alaric, I thought as I drifted back to sleep. But the answer is simple. I've loved you since before I even had a name in this world.

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