Chapter 75: The Cave
The light steam rising from the hot water spread a humid warmth through the air, contrasting with the mineral chill of the cave. The rock walls, smoothed by time and water, reflected the shifting glow of lamps discreetly embedded in the stone, giving the whole place an almost dreamlike atmosphere.
The bed looked like something straight out of a decadent noble's absurd fantasy: enormous, surrounded by dark, semi-transparent veils, covered in pearlescent sheets that slid softly under the muted light. Even the cushions looked scandalously comfortable.
Blanche paused for a moment, arms crossed, observing the scene with that very particular blend of fascination and silent judgment that this place now regularly inspired in her.
The natural jacuzzi was carved directly into the rock. Perfectly clear water flowed through it slowly, fed by an invisible hot spring. The surface barely rippled, casting shifting shards of light across the cave walls and ceiling.
And then there were the mirrors.
The first reflected the room normally.
The second looked slightly distorted, its surface occasionally rippling with strange waves.
As for the one in the center, connected to his manor, it showed another room bathed in light somewhere within his spatial domain. Seeing a fragment of the outside world floating inside this hidden cave felt deeply unsettling — like a door left ajar between two incompatible worlds.
How many did she even have?
The thought crossed her mind with an almost amused exhaustion.
How many secret rooms, pools, hidden passages, extravagant residences, and impossible sanctuaries could one person possibly accumulate in a lifetime? At this point, Blanche was seriously beginning to suspect her past self had lived like a fantasy heroine with far too much wealth for her own good.
And the worst part was that, at times, she still felt that strange, diffuse familiarity.
As if part of her had already been here.
As if she had already laughed here... spoken here... or once loved someone here.
" The pool connects to the sea. But I'd advise you to increase your swimming skill before going in... or wait until adulthood."
" Why adulthood?"
He answered with an enigmatic smile.
" Something you don't know yet. That's rare."
Finally, he showed her his treasure.
And for once, the word wasn't an exaggeration.
An immense library stretched before them, occupying an entire chamber carved into the rock and opening in places onto the ocean depths through vast glass walls. Hundreds — no, thousands — of books filled the shelves from floor to ceiling, ancient bindings mixed with modern editions in a perfectly controlled chaos.
The scent of paper, leather, and polished wood drifted through the air with an almost intoxicating softness.
Moving ladders slid along the monumental shelves, while hanging lamps cast warm golden light over scattered reading tables. Despite its overwhelming size, the atmosphere remained intimate, quiet, almost sacred.
Blanche stood motionless for a few seconds.
Completely captivated.
Because amid the extravagant villas, infinity pools, secret underwater passages, and absurd wardrobes... this, she understood instantly.
This library wasn't luxury.
It was obsession.
And behind the shelves stood a gigantic fresco depicting the two of them as drakions.
Blanche's breath caught slightly.
The artwork covered an entire wall.
The photo taken by Argy, reproduced perfectly, colors and all. Every detail felt alive: the outstretched wings, the metallic shimmer of the scales, the immense silhouettes suspended in the sky like two mythological creatures torn from an ancient forgotten tale.
The black drakion with deep blue undertones dominated part of the fresco with a kind of elegant power she now recognized instantly. Facing him — or perhaps beside him — was the other creature.
Her.
Her scales caught the light in unreal shifting tones, almost liquid under certain angles. A pearly white, like a pearl. A thousand luminous, soft white scales. The artist had reproduced every nuance — light blue, powder pink, pale violet, almond green — with unsettling precision, giving the whole image an almost living intensity.
Confirmation that the scales in the basin were indeed hers.
That thought echoed silently in her mind as she kept staring, unable to look away.
Everything was becoming more and more real.
Not just the memories.
Not just the stories.
Her.
What she had been.
What she would soon become.
Magnificent.
The word crossed her mind before she could stop it. Not only for the fresco, but for the entire scene — for the almost unreasonable beauty of this place built around her, around them, with a quiet devotion she still didn't know how to face.
" It's beautiful, "she murmured.
"Thank you."
He then took out a piece of jewelry: an earring with a pendant, a dark-blue scale, irregular and stunning.
"It's one of my scales. I infused it with magic. Keep it with you at all times — it will warn me if you need help. You don't have to wear it... but keep it."
She knew how important scales were to drakions. She accepted the gift with respect.
"Can you put it on me, please?"
The smile he gave her reassured her immediately. Slow, almost tender, it stretched his lips with that quiet confidence that made him so difficult to read. There was no mockery, no triumph in his gaze — only that attentive warmth that always seemed to wrap around her when he looked at her, as if the rest of the world naturally faded away.
Gently, he moved her hair aside.
The gesture was almost unbearable in its delicacy.
His fingers brushed her skin as he went, grazing her neck with a slowness that was no longer innocent. Blanche felt a shiver run down her spine as he fully exposed her neck to fasten the earring. The cold metal of the jewel contrasted sharply with the warmth of his hands.
Then he leaned in slightly.
And pressed his lips against her neck.
The contact was brief.
Barely a touch.
But her body reacted instantly, as if struck by a quiet, burning current. She shivered despite herself, her fingers tightening slightly against her sleeve as a traitorous warmth slowly rose in her stomach.
And the worst part was probably how calm he remained while doing it.
As if he knew exactly what effect he had on her.
As if he took obvious, patient pleasure in watching her lose her balance in small, deliberate increments.
She didn't push him away.
Not even a reflexive step back.
Nothing.
Only her breathing, slightly less steady, and the suspended silence between them — charged with something far more dangerous than simple flirtation.
He felt it.
Blanche was certain of it, by the way his fingers lingered a fraction longer against her neck before slowly withdrawing. He stopped, without apologizing.
And that lack of apology was even more unsettling.
Because it meant he fully owned the gesture.
That he had no regrets.
And that, deep down, he probably already knew she would let him do it again.
" It's time to take you back," he murmured.