SILIN

"How is he?"

Jimin glances out the curtained window.

"There's not much to tell you, Princess. He goes to the Arena at dawn and leaves at midnight." He murmurs, with a sigh. "I've also talked to the instructor. He tells me that he doesn't socialize at all with the other soldiers. None of them want to talk to him either."

My brows furrow.

And I feel Jimin watching me as I slip out of bed, cinching my robe tighter around my chest. He shifts to the side as I stand by the window, where I have a clear view down at the dusts of the training Arena.

He's there by himself.

The day is coming to a close. Yet he stands there, blade tight between his fingers. His dark red eyes are dull with physical exhaustion. I can see the sweat matting the material of his shirt to his back. His hair is also soaked with sweat.

I watch him for a long time.

And a small part of me. In the back of my mind, I want to have him standing in front of me again. I want him to show me the smile that he doesn't show to anyone else, bow his head and let me run my fingertips through his soft, sable locks.

I breathe.

I'd told him that there had been no excuse.

Yet here I was, using that as an excuse to keep him away.

I see him sway. For a second, his focus breaks. He drives the edge of his sword into the dirt, his eyes squeezing shut as he leans heavily against the hilt. Sweat drips in rivulets down the line of his jaw.

That's before he recovers, and starts swinging again.

I turn.

"Jimin."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"I want you to go to the Healer and ask him for some balm. Leave it in his room— he'll be needing it. And have one of the servants bring him some food and hot tea."

Jimin nods, and I see him hiding a soft smile.

My lip twists. "Make sure he doesn't realize it's from me."

"Of course, Princess. I'll have that for him right away." He says, his honeyed eyes twinkling gently. "I also just want to let you know that he will be turning eighteen this week, my lady."

My voice is on edge.

"And what does that have to do with me?"

He shrugs with another smile. "Just something that I wanted you to know."

The door clicks shut behind him.

Dammit, Jimin.

I look back at the Tarakan boy, just as he sways again. This time his legs give out, and I see the sword clatter to the ground as he crumples to his knees. I see his crimson eyes, agonized with an anguish as he clasps his face with a bruised, darkened hand.

I see the way he breathes, each time more labored than before.

Why?

Why was he training this hard? For what?

He will be turning eighteen this week, my lady.

Had anyone ever celebrated his birthday with him? Would he be alone training like this, even on the night of his eighteenth?

And I knew the feeling of being left alone far too well, in the times where it mattered the most.

________________________________

TAEHYUNG

Tomorrow, I turn eighteen.

My body already feels it coming. My skin burns to the touch, and it's only noon when I leave the training grounds. I can barely walk in a straight line.

When I run my tongue over my teeth, I feel the sharpened tips of my canines. I feel feverish all over— my clothes are soaked and sticky with sweat, even when I'd only been out there for an hour or two.

Today and tomorrow. I'd have to lock myself in my room and wait out the full repercussions of the night of my eighteenth.

If I was still in Taraka.

I'd be chained to the walls and have a cloth stuffed down my throat. But here I didn't have that. The best I could hope for was to tie myself down to the bed and resist against myself.

And pray that I don't kill off my Mistress, consumed by the hunger of the Beast within me.

That was the curse, passed down through the generations of Royalty within the Taraka. Kept the closest secret— the highest secret.

Forbidden to love.

Since anyone we loved, we were drawn to make them a part of us.

_________________________________

SILIN

Taehyung hadn't shown up to the Arena yesterday.

Today is his birthday. And it's late morning by the time I look out the window and see that he's not there. Usually he'd be out at the crack of dawn.

Jimin's eyes narrow.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he fell ill, with how much training he does."

Ill, on his birthday.

I stand.

"Jimin, let Han know that I'm not going to see him today. He can wait one more day."

His lips perk. "Gladly, my lady."

And for a while after Jimin leaves, I stand there motionlessly. I think of a multiple things and not at the same time.

If I went, would he even be happy to see me? After how I'd left him after that night?

But that wasn't even the biggest problem. If I went to see him, it would show that I cared. After all the work I'd done to let him believe otherwise.

But if he really was ill.

I call for the Healer. But when I open the door, there's a woman standing there. One of the nurses, that helped the Healer. She gives me a deep curtsy when I raise a brow.

"Where's the Healer?"

"He has gone down to Esthra, my lady. To purchase herbs for—"

I realize. For Nan.

"Have you ever treated soldiers?" I ask. "With wounds. Or sores from training."

She nods. And I'm a bit taken aback when she lifts her head. Her eyes are a striking shade of silver, framed by a head of dark curls.

Silver. For a second, it reminds me of the masked man at the Auction.

"Then follow me, please."

I lead her to Taehyung's room. She's a quiet girl, but there's something about her that bleeds intelligence. I take a liking to her. A woman who saved her words, for things that were more important.

She leaves an impact.

But if she did, I would've remembered her.

"Who are you?" I ask, as we walk. "I haven't seen you around here before."

"My name is Rin, Your Highness. I've only come here last week."

So not from Asura.

My eyes narrow.

"Which Clan?"

But then my question dissipates into the air when a loud noise shatters the silence. It's coming from Taehyung's closed door. It had been the sound of wood splitting.

What the—

"Rin, will you knock on the door and see if everything's alright?" I whisper quickly, standing off to the side. "If he's ill, make up an excuse that the training instructor has sent you to check up on him. If he seems fine, you may leave him be."

"Yes, Princess.

She nods. And I hide myself just around the corner, where he wouldn't be able to see me even if he opened the door.

I hear her knock, two times on the wood.

There are strange noises coming from inside. My hands clasp together as I focus. It almost sounds like the low growling and hissing of an animal. The sounds of something grinding against wood. Like a—

The door flies open. I hear it.

I hear a sharp gasp. From Rin.

"The instructor—"

But Taehyung doesn't even let her finish. Instead, he laughs. His voice doesn't sound normal. If ice itself turned into sound, it would be his.

"Did she send you, too? Like the others?"

"Get out of the way."

I don't even have time to react. The sound of heavy footsteps close in before I can even look for a place to retreat.

The shadow sweeps in around the corner.

In a second, Taehyung is in front of me. His crimson eyes are alight with a fire that I'd never seen. They're the reddest I've seen yet. His hand reaches for my face, before pulling back with a shudder when I flinch.

He's trembling.

"Mistress."

There's something wrong.

He seems almost possessed by something as his massive figure closes around me. I stumble back into the wall— feeling the feverish heat of his skin against mine as his head drops, inches from my face. He's trembling so violently. Indecipherable murmurs run from his lips.

One of his hands slam into the wall, right next to my head. His fingers curl, digging into the stone so hard that I see his nails began to bleed.

Then I catch a single word, in that chaotic mess.

Don't.

Don't.

He's hissing to himself. It's almost impossible to understand him with the growls mixed in between.

In the corner of my eye, I see Rin. Her eyes widen. And the moment I see her mouth open to scream for help, I shout.

"Stop!"

"Rin, do not."

Then it's over.

The whispers cut off. He shudders, and I see his eyes lose all focus as it rolls back. I barely reach out to grip the soaked material of his shirt as he collapses.