We sat in silence inside the carriage, the rhythmic creak of wheels on the gravel the only sound filling the space. He was there, seated right in front of me, his presence suffocating. On our way to the party, he hadn’t so much as looked at me, ignoring my existence entirely. But now… now his gaze burned into me—intense, unwavering, and filled with something I couldn’t quite name.
Was it anger? No, not anger. Hate? No. Frustration? No, that wasn’t it either. Annoyance? No, still not right.
Unable to decipher it, I studied him. I noted every detail—how his brows drew together in the faintest crease, his jaw tense, the way his lashes lifted hesitantly as he stared at me. There was something else there, hidden deep. Was he hurt?
The thought almost made me laugh. Hurt? Him? The monster in front of me couldn’t be capable of something so human.
I turned my face away, refusing to meet those eyes again. Yet his gaze never left me, heavy and relentless, for the rest of the ride.
As soon as we entered the hallway of the House of Illusion, his voice cut through the air like a blade.
“You.”
I turned to face him.
“You. Don’t. Talk. To. Him.” Each word came sharp and deliberate, spoken as if they were separate sentences.
“Why?” I asked.
His eyes flared, burning with something dangerously close to fury. “I detest him.”
Detest?
“I hate him,” he repeated, louder this time, as if daring me to question him further. Then he disappeared, vanishing from sight, leaving behind a tension that seemed to cling to the air.
Prince Seventh and Prince Third didn’t get along—that much was clear. But the Crown Prince and Prince Seventh? They were on good terms. Now I knew whom to approach. Prince Third. He was the one.
---
The House of Phantom was darker, more extravagant, and far more sinister than the House of Illusion.
The hall was a masterpiece of shadowed grandeur. Towering columns clawed their way toward the vaulted ceiling, where flickering candlelight pooled into darkness. Massive crystal chandeliers hung heavy, their fractured glow splintering across black marble floors. The air itself seemed alive, pressing against my chest, heavy with secrets unsaid. The grand staircase spiraled downward, beckoning like a siren’s call—an invitation into something beautifully dangerous.
---
At the entrance, a servant took the sealed letters from us, and I seized the moment.
“Mr. Ken,” I said, voice sweet with urgency, “I need to use the washroom. It’ll be a long ride, please excuse me.”
“Take your time,” he replied without suspicion.
The servant looked at me, clearly annoyed. “It’s down the hallway to the left.”
I nodded gratefully but turned right instead. My thoughts raced. Where would I find him?
“Looking for me?”
That voice—smooth, arrogant, and unmistakably amused—sent a chill skittering down my spine. I turned sharply to see him leaning casually against the wall. His blonde hair shimmered under the candlelight, his sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Those crimson eyes glowed with something that made my skin prickle—confidence laced with a dangerous hint of… something darker.
“I need your help,” I said.
His smile widened, as though he’d been waiting for me to say it. “Of course, lady. Just say it.”
That smile unsettled me, but I had no choice. “I want to kill him.”
His laughter rang out, loud and echoing through the empty mansion. It was a cruel, mocking sound that sent icy tendrils crawling across my skin.
“That,” he said between breaths, “is a contradictory situation.”
“What?” I snapped, irritated.
He waved a hand dismissively, regaining his composure. “Nothing, nothing.”
“Help me,” I demanded.
“I don’t help, lady. I do favors.”
“Fine,” I hissed, frustrated. “What do you want in exchange?”
“A necklace.”
He said it instantly, as though the request had been waiting on the tip of his tongue.
“What necklace?”
“Prince Seventh owns it. A single rose, embedded in a circle. A rose that never dies.”
A necklace. It sounded trivial, but something in the way he said it told me otherwise.
“What’s so special about it?” I pressed.
“Just bring it,” he said, voice hard, “and then I’ll think about helping you.”
Before I could argue, he turned his back to me, vanishing into the shadows of the hall.
A real rose. Embedded in a circle. A necklace that belonged to Prince Seventh.
It’s only a necklace, I thought.
But I knew better. Nothing here was ever that simple.
YOU ARE READING
Enthrallment : The Twisted Trust
Fantasy" please don't " He pleaded, his voice cracking with despair. Tears streamed down his face as he dropped to his knees, clutching at the air as if trying to grasp the fleeting fragments of her presence. ...
