Page 18 of Fallen Nocturne

“That’s beautiful silk, Your Highness,” the vendor says loudly, clearly trying to recapture my attention. “Perfect for a ball, I think.”

“I’ll take three yards,” I say absently, not even looking at what I’m agreeing to purchase.

“Of the pink silk?” The vendor sounds surprised. “I would have thought silver or blue would suit your coloring better.”

“Yes, fine, silver then.” I dig in my purse for coins, desperate to complete this transaction so I can return to my... observation.

He’s left the forge now, walking to the water barrel to cool a piece of metal. The steam that rises wreaths around him like mist. For a moment he looks otherworldly, like something from the old stories. A dark prince or a fallen god.

The way he pushes his damp hair back from his face makes my fingers itch with the desire to do it for him.

Stop it. You are here to watch a dangerous vampire, not admire him.

I force my attention back to the silk in my hands and try to listen as the vendor explains its weave. Her words blur together. I nod anyway. After a moment, I glance over again.

He’s looking at me again.

I’m partially hidden behind the fabric stall’s awning, but somehow he knows exactly where I am. His eyes are dark as midnight, yet something burns within them as they lock onto mine.

He doesn’t smile.

My pulse kicks hard. Is this a threat? I do not frighten easily, and yet something about the way he watches me makes my heart beat harder.

My cheeks burn and I look away, pretending to be fascinated by a display of ribbons. The weight of his gaze stays on my skin anyway.

“Your Highness seems quite taken with our local craftsman,” the vendor says slyly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply stiffly, though the heat in my face betrays me.

“Oh, many of the ladies have noticed him,” she continues, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Dangerous creatures, Nightwalkers. But there’s something thrilling about danger, isn’t there? The way they look at you like they want to devour you whole...”

“I think that is quite enough,” I say, though my voice comes out breathier than intended.

The vendor chuckles. “Of course, Your Highness. Though I should mention, that particular vampire seems to have eyes only for you. He barely looks at anyone else.”

My heart skips painfully. “That’s... That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even know me.”

“I would not be so certain of that,” the old seller replies, her attention suddenly fixed on the silk between her hands.

There it is again. That same weight behind the words, like everyone around me is reading from a page I’ve never seen. Why does it feel like everyone knows something I don’t?

I take my wrapped silk and walk away from the stall. I can’t go far. It’s like there’s an invisible thread connecting me to the forge, to him. The farther I get, the more it pulls.

I circle the fountain once, pretending to admire the carved stonework while searching for another place from which I can see him. A bench sits beneath an arch of flowering vines on the opposite side of the square. It is shaded, partly hidden, and perfectly positioned.

I sit with the silk folded across my lap and tell myself I am only resting. The walk from the tavern was not long enough to tire me, but that hardly matters. I am enjoying the morning air, not stalking a vampire.

My gaze slips back to the forge.

Arescaine has set his tools aside and is using a bucket of water to wash the soot and sweat from his skin. Water runs over his shoulders and down his chest, tracing the hard lines of his body before darkening the waistband of his trousers. I should look away. Instead, I sit very still beneath the vines and watch every drop.

He’s scarred, I realize. Old marks that even vampire healing couldn’t completely erase. They speak of battles, of pain, of survival. I have the strangest urge to trace each one with my fingers, to learn their stories.

“You’re torturing yourself.”

I jump at Shade's voice. He has appeared beside me without a sound, his hood still raised despite the warming day and the wolf standing quietly at his side. It circles the bench once before settling at his feet.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, keeping my eyes forward.