The next morning, the scent of roses and beeswax filled my chambers, a familiar greeting from my shadow. Another perfect bloom lay beside a half-melted candle on my nightstand. I was surprised that I was comforted by this gesture. It was a strange comfort, a dark haven in the storm that had become my life as Queen of Northernglades.
I'd been feeling lost lately, adrift in a sea of expectations and political maneuvering. So, I'd done something impulsive, something reckless. I'd written to him, the mysterious figure who haunted the edges of my vision, the one who sent roses and watched from the shadows. It was insane, I knew. A queen pouring her thoughts out to a potential danger.
But the thought of him knowing was so attractive and I didn't know why...
I reached for the leather-bound notebook on my dresser, the one I knew he'd seen before, its pages filled with my anxieties and dreams. Today, I added a new entry, addressed to the enigma who had captured my attention, however unwelcomed at first.
Dear shadow… I wrote, the nib of my quill scratching against the parchment. I hope all is well. I know you've been watching me. I can't help but wonder who you are, what you look like. I am Queen now, which I guess you already knew. But if you read this, can you answer something for me? Why are you stalking me? What possessed you to anyway?...
I paused, rereading the words. They felt weak, inadequate. How could I convey the turmoil of emotions he stirred within me? Fear, yes, but also… curiosity. A strange, unsettling fascination.
I finished the entry with a simple sign-off: From Isabella.
As an afterthought, I retrieved a partly melted white candle from my vanity. I carefully placed one of the roses he'd left me on the page, laying it on its side. Then, with a slow, deliberate hand, I allowed some melted wax to drip from the candle onto the rose, sealing it in place.
It was foolish, I knew. A queen engaging in clandestine rituals with her stalker. But it felt right, like a secret language, a signal only he would understand. Like a message just for us. I closed the journal, the scent of rose and wax lingering in the air. I placed it back on my vanity, its dark leather a stark contrast to the pale silk of the dressing table.
I found myself hoping he would see it tonight, that he would visit me, that he would answer my questions. I didn't understand why I craved his presence so badly. Was it simple curiosity? Or something more dangerous?
"Damn it, Isabella, focus," I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair. "It's fine. Just relax. You've got this. He'll respond, and you'll get your answers… hopefully."
But even as I spoke the words, a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. Nothing about my life was normal, not even him.
Later that day, Wilson approached me with concern etched on his weathered face. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice low. "I must reiterate my concerns about the… gifts. It is not safe for you to be accepting these tokens from an unknown source."
I sighed. "I know, Wilson. But I can't just ignore it. I need to understand who he is and why he's doing this."
"Perhaps we should increase your security detail, Your Majesty. We could…"
"No," I interrupted firmly. "More guards won't solve this. They'll just make him more elusive. I need to understand him, not frighten him away."
Wilson looked unconvinced, but he bowed his head in deference. "As you wish, Your Majesty. But please, be careful."
That night, after a tedious council meeting and a forced dinner with a visiting duke, I finally retreated to my chambers. I dismissed my handmaidens and locked the door, a shiver of anticipation running down my spine.
I went to my vanity as slowly as I could, my heart pounding in my chest. Had he come? Had he seen the journal?
My breath caught in my throat.
The journal was open.
The rose was gone.
And beneath it, scrawled in elegant, dark ink, was a single word:
Torrance.
My heart slammed against my ribs. That was his name.
Below his name, another line:
Because you are worth watching, Isabella. Because you are mine.
A possessive shiver ran down my spine. "Mine?"
Fear and a thrilling sense of forbidden pleasure warred within me. He was possessive, arrogant, dangerous. And yet, I couldn't deny the magnetic pull he exerted on me.