The morning light filtered through the high windows, pale and cold. Aria walked slowly through the corridor, her hand grazing the stone wall as she neared the staircase that led to the library.
It would be her first time returning since the room had been cleared of dust and cobwebs. Mira and Liora had done well. Even Neris had grudgingly approved. Aria had promised herself she would choose a book today, sit beneath the tall window with a blanket and some tea, and read until her heart felt full again.
But her thoughts were elsewhere.
She missed home. More than she dared to say aloud.
She missed the scent of wildflowers in spring, the sound of her little brother singing when he thought no one was listening… and most of all, she missed Jalen, her best friend. The one who had always been there, steady and kind.
She remembered the first time they met.
She had fallen off a horse. She was only eight, and the world had felt so big and sharp. But he had run to her side, dropped to his knees, and said, "Don't cry. You only fall when you're brave enough to try. You just keep trying till you stop falling."
She remembered thinking he had the gentlest eyes she had ever seen.
Aria smiled faintly at the memory, her steps soft as she descended the staircase.
Then her foot caught.
The last step was lower than she remembered, or perhaps she had been too lost in thought, and suddenly her balance gave way. The cold stone rushed up toward her.
But she never hit the floor.
A strong arm caught her mid-fall, firm and unshaking. The world tilted, then steadied. She gasped.
Her fingers curled instinctively around the fabric of a dark coat. She blinked, heart pounding, and looked up.
It was him.
The Beast King.
Up close, he was nothing like the silent shape she had glimpsed in shadowed halls. He was taller than she expected and broader. The weight of him somehow felt both regal and feral.
Dirt clung to the hard lines of his face, making him look less like a man and more like something born of the wild. A thick beard framed his mouth and jaw, rough and uneven, not yet overgrown but wild enough to mark him as untamed. His hair was long and dark, falling around his shoulders like a shadow.
And his eyes, those strange glowing eyes, met hers with an intensity that stole the air from her lungs.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. His grip on her arm was strong, steady, and surprisingly warm.
Aria tried to speak, but her mouth was dry.
"I… I'm sorry," she managed.
Still, he said nothing.
His gaze dropped briefly to where her hand clutched his coat, then rose again.
She let go quickly, flushing. "Thank you… for catching me."
A long silence stretched between them, thick as fog.
Then he spoke, his voice low and warm, like velvet brushing across bare skin. It held a quiet strength, but no sharpness. No storm. Only stillness. As if the sound had waited a long time just to be heard by her.
"Be careful."
The words wrapped around her like a blanket drawn close against the cold. Gentle and steady.
It was the first time she had heard him speak, and it settled in her heart like a whisper she would never forget.
Before she could reply, he stepped back, turned, and walked away. His footsteps vanished down the corridor as if he had never been there at all.
Aria stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, her pulse echoing in her ears. She wasn't sure what had just happened. But something in her world had shifted.
Aria pressed a hand to her chest, willing the thunder of her heartbeat to still. His voice lingered in the air around her, soft as breath.
Be careful.
The way he had said it, as if it mattered, as if she mattered, unsettled something deep within her. And the way he had looked at her… it had knocked something loose, something she was not ready to name.
She didn't move for a long time. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a caged bird. At last, she exhaled slowly, steadied her steps, and turned toward the library.
The door creaked as she entered, and warmth greeted her like an old friend. The fire in the hearth was lit already, the girls' doing, no doubt, and the scent of old paper and polished wood filled the air. The tall window cast its pale light across the rug, the velvet chair beneath it exactly as she had imagined it.
This had always been her plan: choose a book, sit beneath the glass, and read until the ache in her chest faded. But now… everything felt different.
She ran her fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf, pausing at titles that meant nothing to her. Stories of old kingdoms, of dragons and lost bloodlines. She pulled one down at random, but her hand trembled slightly, the echo of that fall and the warmth of his grip still pulsing beneath her skin.
Carefully, she curled into the chair and opened the book on her lap.
But the words swam.
She wasn't thinking of stories anymore.
She was thinking of the cold weight of his coat, the untamed roughness of his beard, and the way his eyes, those impossible, glowing eyes, had looked straight through her, quiet and unyielding.
She wasn't afraid. Not exactly. But her mind wouldn't settle. She had seen the king before, across rooms, at a distance. But never like this. Never close enough to feel the heat of him, or see the edge of something untamed in his expression.
And his voice. So low. So gentle.
She let the book fall closed on her lap and stared out the window instead, watching the pale light shift against the glass. The snow had started again, soft and endless.
She had come to the library to escape the castle's shadows. But now the shadows had followed her in. And one of them had a face.