Chapter 129 Interlude Seven

Chapter 129 Interlude Seven
Interlude Seven

The silence that followed his last words did not break easily.

It lingered between them like something alive, stretching slowly across the quiet chamber until even the faint rustling of the curtains seemed louder than it should have been.

Isolde did not move. She simply looked at him. Or perhaps, more truthfully, she found herself unable to look anywhere else, completely enthralled by this man.

His eyes held hers with a strange steadiness that made the air feel as though it avoided her, as though the space between them had grown too narrow to breathe properly.

Why am I still looking at him?
The thought crossed her mind almost irritably, yet her gaze did not waver. He did not speak again.

He also watched her, calmly, patiently, as if he had all the time in the world and knew perfectly well that she would be the first to surrender to the silence.

A ridiculous thought.

She was the queen of this realm, and no one made her wait.
And yet she remained exactly where she was, seated against the pillows, her fingers slowly tightening around the edge of the sheets without her realizing it.

Her heart had begun beating faster. He could hear it.

It was subtle at first, a faint flutter beneath her ribs, but the longer the quiet stretched, the more noticeable it became, until she was uncomfortably aware of every single beat.

Say something, the command rose in her mind.
Ask him what he meant. Ask him why he spoke as though the future already belonged to him. Who he was. His title or name.

Ask him what he truly knew.
But the words refused to leave her mouth, and almost as if he could hear her thoughts, he finally moved.

It was a small, almost lazy movement as he unfolded himself from the chair and rose to his full height, his seductively imposing height.
The soft scrape of wood against the stone floor sounded unusually loud in the chamber.
Isolde’s breath caught.

Why is he coming closer?

He did not stop walking until he stood beside the bed.

For a moment he simply looked down at her, his expression unreadable, and the faint shadow cast by the evening light sharpened the lines of his face in a way that made him seem both more beautiful and more dangerous.

Then slowly, without asking permission, he lifted his hand, and his finger brushed against her cheek.

The touch was light, like an innocent absent-minded brush against something you seemed interested in without truly being aware of it.
Yet she could have sworn she felt something sharp in it, something like the delicate edge of a blade hidden beneath velvet.

Her breath stalled in her throat, and her eager heart was beating so fast now it almost hurt.
Tell him to stop.

The thought came instinctively.
Tell him this is inappropriate. Tell him he forgets where he stands.

But her body refused to obey.
Instead, she sat there perfectly still while his finger traced a slow line down the side of her face.

Her skin burned beneath the touch.

“Tell me, my queen,” he murmured quietly.
His voice was lower now, softer, as though the words were meant for her ears alone.
“What are you really thinking?”

For a moment she truly could not answer.
Her mind had gone strangely blank, filled only with the overwhelming awareness of how close he stood.

She could feel the warmth of him.

Smell the faint unfamiliar scent that clung to his clothes.

Her heart was beating ten times faster than it should have.

And a dangerous thought flickered through her mind.
She wanted to take his hand.
The realization startled her so badly she almost laughed out loud.

She wanted to catch his wrist and pull him closer.

Closer than he already was. She wanted to let him touch her more intimately than he appeared to be doing, his intelligent body pressed against her.

The heat rushed to her face at the thought, and for one reckless second, something even more dangerous followed it.

She wanted to kiss him.
The idea arrived so suddenly it made her stomach twist.

No.
Absolutely not.
She forced herself to breathe slowly, gripping the sheets beneath her fingers as though anchoring herself to the bed.

Hold yourself together.
At least long enough for him to do something first.

His finger moved again, her skin burned beneath his touch.
This time it slid lower, brushing slowly along the curve of her jaw. The touch sent a strange tingling sensation down her spine.

Then, gradually, his gaze shifted, and his eyes dropped to her stomach.

A sudden warmth spread across her face.
She felt the faintest flutter low in her belly, an odd mixture of embarrassment and something she did not dare name.

When his eyes lifted again, something had changed.
For the briefest moment they glowed, just faintly, like something might if a torch suddenly flicked in its direction.

The sight sent a chill through her.

“What are you?” she asked suddenly.
The words escaped before she could stop them.

“Your… eyes.”
His smile deepened slightly, then he tilted his head like he often did.

“There is a saying,” he replied calmly, “that one should never ask questions one does not truly wish to know the answer to.”

Her lips pressed together as she stayed silent.
Then softly, almost hesitantly, she asked the question that had been hovering in the back of her mind since the moment he entered the room.

“What do you want to do with me?”
She did not say it accusingly. Her voice carried no anger, only a quiet, tentative plea to push him over the edge, if that was even possible with this man.

For a brief second he simply looked at her, like he had been doing, playing the long game.
Then he smiled.

But before he could answer—
The door burst open.
The sudden sound made them both turn.
Two guards hurried inside, their expressions tense, their breathing slightly uneven as though they had rushed through the entire realm.

They stopped abruptly when they noticed the foreigner standing so close to the queen.
For a moment their eyes flicked uncertainly between the two of them standing so close.
Then they bowed quickly.

“Your Majesty,” one of them said.
“There is a problem in the city.”
Isolde straightened immediately.

“What do you mean?” she asked.
The guards exchanged a brief glance.

“People are falling sick, Your Majesty… rapidly,” the second one answered. “A large number of them.”

Her stomach tightened in confusion.

“I'm afraid I don't follow?”

“We do not know yet,” the guard admitted. “But the physicians say it is spreading quickly.”
A cold unease settled against her chest.

“And there is more,” the first guard continued. “Something was found in the burned tower.”
Isolde sprang to her feet so suddenly that the blankets slipped to the floor.

Her shoes hit the stone with a sharp sound as she stepped forward.

“What was found?” she demanded.
The guard stood straighter as one of them spoke.

“There were marks on the floor, Your Majesty. They looked like claw marks.”

A chill crept slowly down her spine.
The guard swallowed.

“Very abnormally large.”

The two men glanced at one another again before answering.

“Large enough that it could not have come from any animal we know.”
The room fell silent.

From the corner of her eye, she could still see the foreigner standing beside the bed.
Watching.

Her lips parted slightly.
Then closed again.

The king had no idea about the first burn, and she had conveniently tried not to think about the latest burn at another tower.

Now this?

“We do not know what kind of animal could leave marks like that.”

The first guard spoke again, his voice tight with unease.

“But whatever left those marks…”
He hesitated briefly before finally speaking, like he was physically forcing the words out.
“…we believe it may still be somewhere in the city.”

A heavy silence followed.
Then he finished quietly.

“And we fear it may not be here peacefully.”
The queen’s fingers slowly tightened at her sides.

She felt sick to her stomach.
Something was hunting them.

This had never been the case in their realm.
So what was going on?

As she pondered with anxiety, behind her, unseen, the foreigner smiled very faintly.