It had been going on like this for a while, long before she and Nael broke the seal on Yoon.
Nyxara didn't do this because she had to. There was no mission behind it, no strategic edge to gain. She did it Because she was furious. Because she was petty.
She holds grudges for a long time, like really really long time.
After spying on the power-hungry, selfish bastards councilmen, whom she could barely stand, she slipped away and headed for the next stop. Her next target.
It was always the same.
Nyxara crouched on the thick branch of an old tree, her silhouette nearly indistinguishable from the twisting shadows around her. She remained still, eyes narrowed and fixed ahead, silently observing the building beyond the clearing. Her senses adjusted easily to the dimming light; darkness had always been an ally.
She watched through the office's tall window, a faint glow casting silhouettes on the glass.
Inside, three figures stood conversing.
Two of them she barely acknowledged, insignificant shadows in the presence of the third. Her jaw tensed the moment she saw him.
Francis.
That bastard.
No insult can describe him. He is just the worst.
Her fingers itched toward the dagger strapped tightly against her thigh.
Then, as if drawn by a string, he turned to the window.
His eyes scanned the darkness and landed right where she was. Where she wanted to be seen.
Their eyes met.
She didn't move. She wanted him to see her. To feel her gaze on his skin like a blade against his throat. She wanted him to know she was still out here, watching. Waiting. Haunting the edges of his mind like a curse he could never shake.
Let him sleep with one eye open.
Let him lose sleep. Let him twist with guilt.
He didn't flinch.
His stare lingered longer than expected, silent recognition passing between them, then finally shifted away, forced and dismissive.
Coward.
Good.
Nyxara inhaled slowly. Then she retreated, step by step, melting into the background. She disappeared into the treetops like she had never been there at all.
When his servant knocked on the study door, announcing that two lords from the council had arrived to speak about the upcoming plans, Francis barely registered it. The familiar pressure pressed against the back of his neck again.
a cold itch crawling under his skin.
He was being watched.
It wasn't the first time he'd felt it. Lately, the sensation returned like clockwork. At first, he dismissed it...paranoia, stress, maybe even guilt. But deep down, he knew better.
He turned, almost against his will, and glanced out the window.
And there she was.
There. A flicker in the tree line. Too solid. Too still. Too intentional.
She was still watching.
Of course she was.
If anyone was obsessed with Yoon, apart from himself, it would be Nyxara Throni. The woman who haunted his past as much as she haunted his present. The woman who never seemed to disappear no matter how far she was chased.
Once they left, Francis stood silently at the window, eyes locked on the line of trees beyond the glass.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
No answer. Just the rustle of leaves in the evening breeze.
Then, movement.
She emerged like a ghost given form, crouched on a thick branch of the nearest tree to the window. Her dark eyes never left him.
And then she jumped.
A blur of motion. One, two, three agile movements, and she was inside the room, landing with predatory grace.
Francis didn't flinch.
Nyxara stood before him now, silent and unreadable, a blade in human form.
The air between them trembled with old memories, unfinished words, and something far more dangerous.
Francis didn't move. Neither did she.
For a heartbeat, the room felt smaller, the silence louder, as if the world outside was holding its breath with them.
Nyxara's eyes scanned him, every twitch of muscle, every subtle change in posture.
"You're bold," he finally said, voice calm but laced with caution. "Even for you."
"I was never hiding," she said coolly, stepping further into the room. Her voice was low, but it carried an edge, like silk drawn over steel. "You just stopped looking."
Francis tilted his head. "Oh, I never stopped. I just started pretending I didn't care."
She scoffed, glanced around the room briefly, her presence consuming the space. This place reeked of him, polished wood, strategy maps, subtle vanity. Everything meticulously arranged to project control.
It sickened her.
For a moment, neither spoke. Outside, the wind shifted, brushing through the trees like whispered warnings
"How is he?" he spoke first, his voice softened. Trying to not sound too eager.
"And why," she said, her voice a sneer, "would I tell you anything?"
He didn't answer. He already knew better.
She crossed the room, her fingers trailing across a carved figure on the shelf before shoving it over. It fell with a dull thunk.
"Don't bother asking. You're not getting answers. "
This is going to be hard. He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Is he going home?"
She turned. Her face hardened
"He is already home."
"No, i meant home. Our home." Francis paused. "In our, I mean him and I."
Nyxara turned sharply, her eyes narrowed. "Our ?" she repeated, voice thick with venom. "You mean his. That place isn't yours anymore. Not after what you did."
Francis didn't answer right away.
"I just meant… where we once were. Together."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. I don't care what you call it. We haven't talked about it, and even if we had, I wouldn't let him go back. Not to you."
Francis clenched his jaw. "I have the right to see him too."
"What? What? What?"
She spun toward him, incredulous. "Excuse me? What did you just say?"
"I'm his husband," he snapped. "I have every right to ask about him. To see him. To be with him."
Nyxara's voice dropped into a cold, furious whisper. "His husband? When you used his weakness to trap him? Sealed him away for centuries?" She stepped closer, fury radiating off her in waves."That's not love. That's betrayal."
"His husband my ass."
"You can't use this." his voice cracked.
Francis looked away. "I had to. He was losing himself. He was destroying everything, everyone, including himself. I couldn't let that happen."
"I needed to stop him."
"You needed to stop him?" she echoed, voice low and scathing.
Nyxara's eyes burned. "You mean you couldn't control him anymore."
"You chose to betray him."
"So you caged him. Don't call that love."
"I saved him," Francis hissed, the words fraying. "You think I don't carry that decision with me every damn day? You think I sleep at night?"
"You chose that path," she said flatly."And he paid the price."
Francis didn't flinch this time. He stepped forward, just once, as if daring her to strike. "I chose to save him."
She laughed, bitter, sharp, and without a trace of humor. "Is that what you call it? Binding him in chains forged by your own fear? Burying him in silence and stone and calling it mercy?"
"He was becoming a monster!" Francis shouted, and the mask of control he wore finally cracked. "He couldn't tell dream from reality. He was tearing rifts between realms just to feel something. You think I wanted to lock him away?"