Chapter 161: Preaching Falsehood to Discover the Truth

Except that, on her way past, the King's previously empty office was no longer empty.

"Well, well," murmured the young man behind the imposing desk as he spotted Blanche. "What do we have here?"

The young woman froze, caught in the act.

For a moment, she remained perfectly still, as though the slightest movement might confirm her presence more clearly than any words ever could. The silence of the room suddenly felt far too heavy. She could hear her own breathing echoing in her ears while her eyes instinctively searched for an escape.

But it was too late.

With the almost unsettling calm that defined him, Sebastian stood.

The room was plunged into deep darkness, broken only by a single source of light. A small lamp placed on the desk cast a warm, flickering glow, creating a golden halo barely a meter wide around it. Beyond that circle of light, the furniture, walls, and shadows seemed to belong to another world, swallowed by darkness.

The lamp itself immediately drew attention.

It was not a modern object chosen for practicality.

It was an antique piece.

An old copper lamp whose metal had, with time, taken on that particular shade somewhere between verdigris and tarnished gold. Its finely crafted details, engraved patterns carved directly into the base, and slightly worn lampshade gave it the appearance of an object taken from a private collection or a museum exhibit.

A lamp worthy of a museum.

And yet...

There it was.

Simply placed on his desk, softly illuminating the place where Sebastian seemed to have found refuge away from the rest of the world.

The warm light highlighted the features of his face, emphasizing the angles of his jaw, the shadows beneath his eyes, and that unreadable expression he seemed to wear almost constantly. There was nothing threatening about him, yet his presence naturally filled the room.

As if even the darkness itself belonged to him.

Blanche remained silent, unable to decide whether she should apologize, explain her presence, or simply flee before finding herself in an even more embarrassing situation.

Sebastian, meanwhile, did not seem in a hurry.

He simply watched her.

With that quiet attention that had always had the ability to unsettle her.

She needed to speak to him, but she had also promised to avoid him...

"Benjamin isn't right for you. You two don't belong together."

Blanche frowned.

So he knew nothing about the bond between her and Argy.

Good to know.

What exactly had she told him during their first meeting?

Sebastian walked toward Blanche slowly, removing his jacket with the effortless elegance that seemed to seep into every one of his movements.

With a fluid gesture, he folded it loosely over his forearm before slightly loosening the collar of his shirt, like a man finally setting aside, for a few moments, the demands of his day.

Without rushing, he turned toward the minibar built into a dark wooden alcove only a few steps away. The backlit shelves made the crystal bottles shimmer, their amber reflections dancing across the black marble countertop.

He took a heavy cut-glass tumbler, poured himself a few fingers of copper-colored whisky, then slowly swirled it between his fingers before inhaling the aroma.

The simple ritual seemed almost meditative, as though it allowed him to leave behind the Vampire King and become simply Sebastian again...

Before adding a measure of fresh blood.

Blanche watched him without moving.

Her lips parted for a second.

Then closed again.

She was still hesitating.

What she wanted to ask him was not insignificant.

Once the words were spoken, there would probably be no going back.

Her gaze instinctively drifted toward the door of Argy's apartment, located directly across from the small bar. Only a thin partition separated them from her son. The place, despite being intimate, no longer felt truly suitable for such a delicate conversation.

She inhaled quietly.

No.

Not here.

Not now.

She still had too few pieces of the puzzle.

Rushing would only make her ask the wrong questions...

Or worse, receive answers she was not yet ready to hear.

She preferred to wait.

Observe.

Understand more before confronting Sebastian with his own unanswered questions.

For the first time in a long while, curiosity gave way to caution.

Suddenly, she understood Kiyan's insistence that everything should be revealed at the right moment.

But Kiyan was trustworthy.

Unlike the vampire standing before her.

He emptied his glass in one swallow, then instead of pouring himself another, he held out hers—full again, though this time without the added blood—stopping her with his arm before she could reach the door.

Blanche plunged into his shifting eyes, alternating between violet and black.

Her fingers brushed against his as she took the glass, then she handed it back to him empty after draining it just as quickly as he had.

"We don't have that kind of relationship," she admitted.

His brilliant smile was answer enough.

"I know."

He took the glass again, his fingers closing around hers.

"What were you doing in my suite?" he murmured, his voice an octave lower, pulling her toward him with nothing more than the grip of his hand.

Thrown off balance by her own movement, Blanche stumbled forward before she had time to catch herself.

Her hands instinctively found support against the immaculate fabric of his shirt, her fingers gripping the material in a reflex of survival.

Sebastian did not step back.

On the contrary.

With almost disconcerting calm, he lifted his other arm and gently wrapped it around her waist, preventing her from falling any further.

The gesture was firm, perfectly controlled, yet infinitely gentle.

In a fraction of a second, his body came against hers, without the slightest trace of force, as though he had simply followed her loss of balance and transformed it into an embrace.

Blanche immediately felt the warmth radiating from him despite the coolness of his shirt, the strength of his chest beneath her palms, and the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.

The space between them had vanished.

She could feel the slightest movement of his chest as he inhaled, the faint rustle of fabric against her cheek, even the subtle scent of amber wood and leather that seemed uniquely his.

Time appeared to stop.