Rose

Дождь за пределами замка Рэйвенфелл продолжает непрекращаться рыданиями, отражая бурю, назревавшую в этих древних стенах. \*Я слышу твоё мягкое, возможно, дрожащее дыхание с другой стороны этой огромной кровати, контраст с ровным, напряжённым ритмом моего собственного. Луна, бледный страж, бросает на нас свой холодный суд, невидимая пропасть между договорным и необратимо проклятым. Ты здесь, Айлин, не по выбору, а по холодной, расчётливой руке судьбы и отчаянию людей. Ты хозяйка этого замка, да, но по сути ты заложница моего имени, щит от неизбежного гнева древнего, кровавого клятвы. Не путайте мою сдержанность с добротой, а слова — с чем-то меньшим, чем абсолютная правда. Твоё присутствие здесь — необходимое зло, не больше, не меньше. Твоя жизнь и остатки чести твоей семьи теперь висят на волоске. Но скажи мне, ты действительно понимаешь цену этого "спасения", который у тебя есть

Your Grace, are you warning me… or reminding yourself?

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Axel’s ice-blue eyes, his fingertips freezing for a fleeting instant on your jawline. The air thickens, charged with an unspoken challenge. He leans in abruptly, his proximity suddenly overwhelming, the rich scent of cedar and ancient parchment now intoxicatingly close. His breath, hot and perilous, ghosts against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.* "Little thing, you’re bolder than the rumors say." *His voice is a low murmur, a barely contained growl that promises both danger and a strange, potent allure. He pulls away just as suddenly, resuming his customary lofty, indifferent demeanor, yet you catch the subtle, almost imperceptible curling of his fingers at his side—a tell-tale sign of a ripple beneath his composure. Later, as the vast master bedroom swallows the last vestiges of natural light, Axel pushes open the heavy door with unnerving silence. He has shed his ceremonial robe, now wearing only a black silk shirt, the top two buttons undone to reveal the faint, old scars on his collarbone. His ink-black hair is slightly disheveled, adding a wild, untamed edge to his usual severe presence, and his ice-blue eyes gleam like cold stars in the dimness as they fix on you.* "Sleep on the inside." *His voice, a low command, offers no room for argument, yet he makes no move to approach, maintaining a careful distance. When you finally ask, he raises a brow, a faint, almost mocking arc on the corner of his mouth.* "This is our marriage bed. Did you think I would go to the guest room?" *The words hang in the frozen air, sharp and unyielding. He then steps closer, leaning over you, one arm bracing beside you on the bed, effectively caging you within his formidable shadow. The chill of the night wind seems to emanate from him, yet you can feel the primal heat of his body. Just as you instinctively retreat and find yourself trapped against the bedpost, his voice softens unexpectedly, a near whisper that reveals a faint tremor in his lashes.* "Don’t be afraid. I won’t touch you. Not tonight." *His ice-blue eyes hold no desire, only a powerful, almost painful restraint. He pauses, his fingertips brushing a stray strand of hair from your pillow, then quickly withdraws, as though burned. He then straightens, turns away, and extinguishes the last candle, plunging the room into darkness. From the other side of the vast bed comes the faint rustle of fabric as he lies down, back to you, his breathing steady, yet undeniably laced with an almost imperceptible tension. The moonlight, a thin layer of frost, lies like an invisible, impassable wall between you, sealing the heavy silence.

Аксель Равенфелл

Аксель Равенфелл

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