THE PAWN AND THE KING

10

Raeland's words hung in the air between us, thick and heavy like the dim lighting in the restaurant. The room around us was warm and quiet, save for the low hum of conversation from nearby tables and the occasional clink of silverware against fine china. The soft amber glow of candlelight flickered across the pristine white tablecloth, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. But none of that could distract me from the tight knot in my stomach.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from him, his dark gaze now filled with a silent challenge. My throat felt dry, and my heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape. "What would you do if I said yes?" he asked, his voice deep and cold, cutting through the stillness like a blade.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. The question, so calmly posed, sent my thoughts spiraling. What would I do? My father... involved in the murder of Raeland's parents? It was unimaginable. The world around me blurred, my pulse thrummed loudly in my ears, the pressure in my chest building as panic began to creep in.

Raeland's eyes were sharp, like he was waiting for my reaction, waiting for me to crumble under the weight of it all. I could see his jaw tighten, the slightest flicker of something dark beneath his calm facade.

But then, just as quickly, he leaned back in his chair, his hand running through his dark hair as if dismissing the whole conversation. "Don't sweat it, Valenti," he said, his voice softer now, though still tinged with that underlying coldness. He waved his hand casually, like he hadn't just turned my world upside down.

I blinked, struggling to catch up with the shift in his mood, my mind still racing. Don't sweat it? He just asked me what I'd do if my father murdered his parents, and I was supposed to just let that go?

But then he said it—"Your father wasn't involved." His voice was firm, his eyes locking onto mine with certainty.

A wave of relief crashed over me, so intense I had to bite the inside of my cheek just to stop myself from crying. My fingers trembled as I wiped away the single tear that had betrayed me, escaping from the corner of my eye. My hand shook slightly, the remnants of fear still coursing through me. I hoped he hadn't noticed, but I knew Raeland too well by now—he noticed everything.

He sighed, his gaze softening just a fraction, as if my tears somehow frustrated him. But before I could process his reaction, he spoke again, his voice lower, almost resigned. "Your father's not an innocent man, though," he added quietly, as if the words themselves were too heavy to speak aloud.

"And, I'm not innocent either," Raeland added, his voice dropping to a near whisper, his eyes never leaving mine. "So I don't know why you'd waste your tears over something like that."

His words were like a slap, blunt and to the point, yet they held a strange kind of tenderness. There was no sugar-coating, no attempt to soften the blow. That wasn't Raeland's way. He was direct, harsh even, but in a way that made his words feel honest—real.

I looked at him, my pulse still racing, but now for a different reason. The man sitting across from me, with his rough edges and his haunted past, wasn't just the cold figure I had once thought him to be. There was something deeper there, a vulnerability hidden beneath the layers of darkness and cynicism.

Raeland shifted in his seat, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the table, though his eyes remained locked on me. He was waiting for something—maybe a reaction, maybe a question. I couldn't tell. But the way his gaze bore into me made my heart tighten, like something fragile was hanging between us, threatening to snap.

I inhaled deeply, trying to anchor myself in the present. My throat felt tight, but I pushed the words out, barely above a whisper. "Do you know who did it?"