Chapter 15: To Know Me

Annora

A soft knock disrupted the quiet, stirring the stillness before the door creaked cautiously open. One of the steward's stood on the threshold, eyes blank and certain.

“You’re summoned,” he murmured softly, bowing his head in reverence. “The King awaits you in the solar.”

My fingers tightened instinctively around the delicate stem of the camellia still cradled gently in my palm. I did not ask why. I knew already, deep in the unspoken place within me where anticipation coiled.

Quietly, I slipped my feet into soft slippers and trailed after the boy through the twisting corridors, the velvet petals brushing lightly against my fingertips, grounding me in the reality of this summons.

The castle was alive, humming gently with muted conversations, purposeful steps, and the distant clink of porcelain dishes being carried to and from. Yet, it all faded beneath the persistent thrum in my chest, the beat of something forbidden, compelling, inevitable.

At last, the boy paused before a set of doors. "He’s inside," he whispered, inclining his head once more before vanishing into the shadows of the hallway.

The doors stood slightly ajar, a tantalizing gap through which warmth spilled into the cool corridor like an exhaled breath, lingering and inviting. With tentative fingertips, I pushed gently, allowing myself entry.

The solar was unlike any other chamber in the castle, hidden, intimate, purposeful in its secrecy. Sunlight filtered softly through tall, arched windows, their delicate curtains diffusing the harshness of the day into a gentle, golden glow. Shelves filled with books both ancient and beloved lined the stone walls, their spines worn by touch and time. A low fire murmured quietly in the hearth, casting shifting amber shadows across plush carpets and luxurious velvet chairs.

There was no throne here, no rigid guards or oppressive formality. This room was not built for power or spectacle. It was designed for whispered confidences and secrets shared in half-light.

And at its heart, framed by a veil of sunlight and quiet anticipation, stood the King.

He lingered near the window, one hand resting upon the stone ledge as though absorbed in watching the endless sky beyond. Yet the moment I crossed the threshold, he turned, slow and deliberate.

There was no surprise in his gaze.

He had known I would come.

“Come in,” he spoke, his voice low, roughened by something intangible. Something unfamiliar that stirred a hidden ache deep within me.

I stepped forward, the camellia still cradled gently between my fingers. Behind me, the door whispered shut, sealing us in silence. For a long, unhurried moment he studied me, his eyes traveling slowly from the flower in my hand up to my face.

“I wasn’t certain you’d find it,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on mine.

“I did,” I replied softly. “You left no note.”

A corner of his mouth curved upward, lazy, deliberate, undeniably seductive. “I didn’t think one was necessary.”

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, punctuating our quiet exchange. I did not move; neither did he.

“Why did you summon me?” I asked finally, my voice betraying more than mere curiosity.

Slowly, with a purpose, he crossed the distance between us, his movements graceful yet predatory, like a lion pacing the edges of patience.

“To see you,” he said, his voice velvet-edged and intimate. “To discover if you dreamed of me…as I dreamed of you.”

My breath caught, betraying me completely. I despised that he noticed and reveled in it at the same time.

“I dreamed of you,” I confessed, unable to deny him the truth. Not now, not in this quiet sanctuary where truths felt sacred.

He reached gently for the camellia, his fingertips brushing mine as he eased it from my grasp. His touch lingered, sending small shocks of awareness racing along my skin.

“And what did I do in your dream?” he asked, his voice a little more than a whisper; dark, coaxing, irresistible. “Did I kiss you again? Touch you?” His eyes darkened, intense and filled with something far more dangerous. “Take you?”

Warmth blossomed along my throat, coloring my cheeks.

“No,” I said faintly, though the word felt strangely like deceit. “You asked me something.”

At this, genuine intrigue flickered across his features. “Did I?”

I nodded softly. “You asked if you could taste me. Not to harm…only to know me.”

His expression shifted, subtle yet profound. A spark of something deeper than amusement, deeper even than triumph.

Recognition.

“And you said yes,” he breathed, moving closer, his voice intimate, coaxing secrets from my heart. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Slowly, tenderly, he raised his hand, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, tracing a gentle, perilous line along my jaw as he tucked the camellia into my hair.

Then, reluctantly, he withdrew his touch, leaving behind only a ghostly trail of longing in its wake.

“You’re changing,” he said softly, uttering it as an undeniable truth. “Can you feel it?”

I didn’t answer, I couldn’t.

“You’re more than you were, even a week ago,” he continued, voice smooth yet edged with intensity. “Your mind has sharpened. Your body hums with something you can’t name. You feel it deep within your bones, don’t you?”

My breath caught, faltering under the weight of his words. The intensity in his gaze.

“I don’t know what this is,” I admitted, my voice a fragile whisper.

He leaned closer, eyes dark with secrets. “Then let me show you.”

His lips grazed my temple, not quite a kiss, but a ghost of warmth that lingered far longer than it should have. My skin burned beneath the fleeting touch, leaving a shiver in its wake.

“I won’t take more than you willingly offer,” he murmured, the promise barely audible, yet heavy with meaning. “But I will always ask.”

He stepped back, the air around me instantly colder in his absence.

“You may go,” he said quietly, the words strangely gentle and yet firm with dismissal.

I didn’t move immediately, rooted to the spot. I was trembling, but not of fear. It was something deeper, something thrilling and unsettling in equal measure.

Finally, I turned toward the door, but his voice halted me again, low and commanding.

“Annora.”

Slowly, I glanced back over my shoulder.

“This isn’t a game.”

“I know,” I replied softly.

But even as the words left my lips, I wasn’t sure whether I spoke of the warning…

Or the promise.