Chapter 31 Midnight Encounters

Chapter 31 Midnight Encounters


Jannelle

The dead rabbit haunts my dreams. Every time I close my eyes, I see its broken neck, feel the weight of that threatening note in my trembling hands. ‘Know your place, or end up like this.’ The words echo in my mind like a curse, driving sleep further and further away.

I give up trying to rest around midnight. My small room feels like a tomb, the walls pressing in on me until I can barely breathe. The mate bond pain in my chest has gotten worse since finding that message, a constant ache that steals my breath and makes my heart race with panic.

My bare feet make no sound on the cold stones as I drift through the castle like a ghost. I don't have a destination in mind; I just need to move, to feel like I'm not completely powerless in this maze of threats and whispered warnings.

The library door stands slightly ajar, warm candlelight spilling through the gap. I pause, listening carefully. The castle's nobles retired hours ago, and the servants finished their evening tasks long before midnight. The library should be empty.

But as I peer through the crack, my heart stops.

Adrian sits in one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace, a book open in his lap but his gaze fixed on the dancing flames. He's dressed in simple dark clothes, a linen shirt and dark trousers, more casual than I've ever seen him. His hair is disheveled, as if he's been running his hands through it, and there are dark circles under his eyes that speak of too many sleepless nights.

He looks... tired. Haunted, even.

I should leave. I should turn around right now and creep back to my room before he notices me. But something about the lonely figure he makes, surrounded by shadows and flickering light, keeps me frozen in place.

"I know you're there."

His voice cuts through the silence like a blade, making me jump. He doesn't look up from the fire, doesn't turn toward the door, but somehow he's sensed my presence.

"I... I'm sorry, Your Highness." I push the door open slightly, not daring to enter fully. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I couldn't sleep and—"

"Come in." The words are quiet, almost resigned. "Close the door behind you."

My hands shake as I obey, the soft click of the closing door sounding unnaturally loud in the hushed library. Adrian still hasn't looked at me, his gaze fixed on the fire with an intensity that makes me wonder what he sees in those flames.

"You couldn't sleep," he repeats, finally closing the book and setting it aside. When he looks up at me, I'm struck by how different he appears in the candlelight. Younger somehow, more vulnerable. "Nightmares?"

The question catches me off guard. There's something in his voice, genuine concern that I haven't heard in weeks. For a moment, it's almost like the old Adrian is sitting there, the one who caught me when I fell and asked if I was hurt.

"Yes," I whisper, not trusting my voice to remain steady. "The same ones, over and over."

"About the dungeons?"

I shake my head, unable to tell him the truth, that my nightmares are filled with dead rabbits and threatening notes, with images of him covered in blood from the hunt, with the memory of his ice-cold dismissal in the Rose Dining Room.

"About a lot of things," I say instead.

We stare at each other across the firelit room, and I can feel that invisible thread between us pulling tight. The mate bond might be rejected, might be causing us both agony, but it's still there, still connecting us in ways that hurt to acknowledge.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly, and for a heartbeat, I see genuine worry in his dark eyes.

The question almost undoes me. When was the last time someone asked if I was alright and actually cared about the answer? When was the last time Adrian looked at me like I was a person instead of a piece of furniture?

"I..." I start to answer honestly, to tell him about the fear that follows me everywhere, about the crushing loneliness, about the physical pain that grows worse every day. But then his expression changes, hardening like steel cooling in water.

"What are you doing here?" His voice turns sharp, cutting. "Servants aren't permitted in the royal library, especially not at this hour."

The warmth that had flickered between us dies as if doused with ice water. I take a step back, recognizing the dangerous shift in his tone.

"I told you, I couldn't sleep. I was just walking—"

"Just walking?" He rises from his chair with fluid grace, suddenly looking every inch the intimidating prince. "Through corridors you have no business being in? Past rooms where you might overhear things not meant for servant ears?"

"No! I would never.."

"Return to the servants' quarters. Now." Each word is delivered like a physical blow. "Before I decide you need to be reminded of your place more... permanently."

But I can't make myself move. Something about this moment, about seeing him vulnerable and tired before his mask slammed back into place, keeps my feet rooted to the library floor.

"Janelle." My name on his lips sounds like a warning. "Go. Back. To. Your. Room."

"Why are you doing this?" The words escape before I can stop them, raw and desperate. "Why are you being so cruel?"

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. "I'm not being cruel. I'm being practical. There are rules in this castle, and you seem determined to break them."

"I haven't broken any rules. I was just walking.."

"You were wandering where you don't belong." He takes a step toward me, and I see something dangerous flash in his eyes. "Again."

"The corridors aren't forbidden to servants."

"They are when I say they are." Another step closer. "When I decide that your presence is... unwelcome."

The word hits like a slap. Unwelcome. That's what I am to him now, not just irrelevant, but actively unwanted.

"I understand," I whisper, my throat tight with unshed tears.

"Do you?" He's close enough now that I can smell his scent, leather and pine and something uniquely him that makes my traitorous heart race despite everything. "Because I don't think you do understand. I don't think you grasp just how precarious your position really is."

I look up at him, confused by the strange intensity in his voice. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "that I could have you whipped for wandering the castle at night. I could have you thrown back in the dungeons for disturbing the peace. I could make your life so miserable that you'd beg for the mercy of exile."

Each threat is delivered with quiet precision, designed to terrify. And it works, my heart pounds against my ribs like a caged bird, and my hands shake where they hang at my sides.

But there's something in his eyes that doesn't match his words. Something that looks almost like... pain.

"Is that what you want?" I ask quietly.

"Want?" He laughs, but there's no humor in the sound. "What I want is irrelevant. What matters is what's necessary."

"And what's necessary is for you to threaten me? To make me afraid?"

"What's necessary," he says, taking one final step that brings him close enough to touch, "is for you to remember that I am a prince and you are nothing. What's necessary is for you to stop looking at me like..."

"Like what?"

"Like you expect something from me." His voice is barely above a whisper now, but it cuts deeper than any shout. "Like you think there's something between us worth salvaging."

The sexual tension in the air is suffocating. He's so close I can feel the heat radiating from his body, can see the way his chest rises and falls with controlled breathing.

"Adrian.."

"Your Highness," he corrects sharply.

"Your Highness," I force out. "Please. I just... I need to understand. What happened to us? What did I do wrong?"

For a moment, his composure cracks. I see something raw and desperate flash across his features, longing, regret, perhaps even love. His hand twitches at his side as if he wants to reach for me.

But then the mask slams back into place, harder and colder than before.

"Nothing happened to us," he says with brutal finality. "There was never an 'us.' There was a prince who showed momentary kindness to a servant, and a servant who misunderstood that kindness as something more."

Each word is chosen to wound, and they find their mark with devastating accuracy. I feel something inside me crumble under the weight of his rejection.

"I see," I whisper.

"Good." He turns away from me, dismissing me as effectively as if I'd ceased to exist. "Now go. And don't let me find you wandering the castle at night again."

I stand there for a moment longer, willing him to turn back, to show some sign that this conversation has affected him even a fraction of how it's destroyed me. But he simply picks up his book and settles back into his chair, every line of his posture screaming indifference.

I leave the library on unsteady legs, my vision blurred with tears. I refuse to let fall until I'm safely back in my room. The walk through the dark corridors feels endless, each step echoing in the silence like a funeral march.

+++++++

"Night shifts?" I stare at Mrs. Crawford in disbelief, certain I've misheard. "Starting immediately?"

"That's what I said." Her tone is brisk, businesslike, showing no sympathy for the confusion and dismay that must be written all over my face. "You'll work from sunset to dawn, cleaning the main halls, tending the fireplaces, and preparing for the next day's activities. Your days will be free for rest."

"But Mrs. Crawford, I've never worked nights before. Surely there's been some mistake.."

"No mistake." She consults the paper in her hands with exaggerated attention. "The assignment comes directly from the top. Very specific instructions, actually."

My stomach drops. "From the top?"

"Prince Adrian personally requested the change. Said he was tired of seeing that face around during civilized hours." She looks up from the paper, her expression carefully neutral. "His exact words, I believe."

The words hit like physical blows. Tired of seeing that face. Not just my presence, my face itself has become offensive to him.

"I... I see."

"The night supervisor will explain your new duties. You start tonight." Mrs. Crawford's voice softens slightly, perhaps recognizing the devastation I'm trying to hide. "It's honest work, Janelle. Perhaps a change of routine will be good for you."

I nod numbly, not trusting myself to speak. Night shifts mean I'll be completely cut off from the castle's daily life, from any chance of glimpsing Adrian or the other nobles during their normal activities.

Clara finds me later, just as I'm preparing for my first night shift. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, and she pulls me into a fierce hug.

"This is wrong," she whispers fiercely. "So terribly wrong."

"It's just a schedule change," I lie, though we both know it's much more than that.

"He requested it specifically, Janelle. Asked for you to be moved to night duties so he wouldn't have to see you during 'civilized hours.'" Her voice breaks on the last words. "How can he be so cruel?"

I don't have an answer for her. I don't understand it myself, this systematic campaign to erase me from his sight, to make me disappear without actually letting me go.

"Maybe it's for the best," I say quietly. "Maybe it'll be easier this way."

But even as I say the words, I know they're a lie. Nothing about this situation will ever be easy. The mate bond ensures that distance will only make the pain worse, will only sharpen the ache that threatens to consume me from the inside out.

As the sun sets and I begin my first night in exile, I can't help wondering if this is how it ends, not with drama or confrontation, but with a quiet erasure that leaves no trace. I was never anything more than an unwelcome shadow in Prince Adrian's perfect life.