Nights Whisper

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It had been the time that she had left the room, only leaving behind a soft kiss on my forehead and the faint scent of light rose. I remember the wisp of her chiffon nightdress, and the sleek, perfect locks of her sable hair as she had disappeared out the door.

I hadn't seen her since.

I'd wanted to pull her back.


My fingertips unconsciously tighten against the hilt of my sword. The strip of her dress is tattered from the countless hours of use I'd put it through since that day in the Forests.

"Captain Guard!"

My eyes lift. And I realize that I'd been foolish, so distracted by my Mistress that I hadn't even noticed that all the soldiers had gathered in the Arena. My gaze flits towards the rough, deepened voice of a veteran.

The Royal Commander. Head of the Royal Guard.

He moves in swift steps towards my direction, his thin lip curled in absolute distaste. A man nearing his thirties. He slightly towered over me with height, a build made for pure strength. The fire in his eyes burn with aged experience of the battlefield.

But that also meant he gave hell to anyone that didn't give him the respect he wanted.

And I only respected my Mistress.

He comes to a stop right in front of me. I meet his gaze, and the fact that I do so seems to anger him even more. Behind me, I catch low whispers.

"Did you hear that he is the Queen's concubine?"

"What a fucking bitch. Sleeping with the Queen during the time he should be serving as Captain Guard."

I want to turn and run my sword through an entire line of them. But right now, this man in front of me holds my attention.

"Being the Captain Guard at such a young age," He starts, voice hushed dangerously quiet. "You must not know the duties and honor that come with that title."

"Is it true that you have become the Queen's concubine?"

I blink lazily.

I'd expected this. The moment I'd determined to serve my Mistress right by her side, I had.

A smirk plays on my lips.

"It is, sir."

The man scoffs loudly to the side. His eyes are like hardened stone, sculpted by the pools of blood that he had seen during wartime. I didn't need him to word it out for me. That he didn't think I deserved Captain Guard, with my age and inexperience. I had only started learning swordsmanship for a couple months.

My tongue runs over my fangs, behind my mask.

But had he ever tasted blood?

Had he ever grown up surrounded by the corpses of his own kind, shunned by every other.

The look that he gives me now is what I have seen. It is what I'm familiar with. And I realize.

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