CHAPTER 450: PLACE FAR AWAY

Arabella’s eyes narrowed, a faint frown ghosting over her face. A man with red eyes... black hair... Wasn’t that the very image of the King of Versailles— the vampire monarch whispered about in every court and sorcerer’s circle?

The thought should have meant nothing. And yet, something in her chest stirred.

A sudden image, vivid as a memory, flooded her mind: a tall figure standing against the light, broad shoulders cloaked in shadow, the sun itself dimming behind him. A small grin curved the corners of his lips, one that never seemed to fade, even when anger burned behind his eyes. A sculpted nose, a chiseled jaw... a face that should have been foreign, yet her pulse betrayed her.

Why did those features feel so familiar? She did not know him. She couldn’t. And yet every detail rang through her like an echo from another life.

Isaac’s worried voice pulled her back. He had been watching her from the bedside, his expression tight with concern. "Milady?" he called softly, hesitant. "Are you... all right?"

Her eyes, once lost in thought, hardened. A layer of coldness swept over her face like frost settling on glass.

"That person," she whispered, each word sharp, deliberate, "was the one who hurt you?"

Isaac froze. A strange fear coiled in his gut, not fear for himself, but for what she might do next. There was something in her tone, in the way her gaze burned with quiet wrath, that made the air feel heavier.

He hesitated. Part of him wanted to protect her from even thinking about that man. But another part, stronger, angrier, feared what would happen if that creature walked freely through the castle again... if he dared to come near her.

"Yes..." Isaac finally said, his throat dry. "I haven’t gotten a good look at his face, but—" he paused, recalling the flash of white fangs, the glint of red eyes— "he was handsome, I think. A vampire. His fangs caught the light like glass."

Arabella’s fingers tightened around the folds of her skirt until her knuckles turned white. "It must be him," she muttered, her voice trembling not with fear but with fury. "The Vampire King. How dare he step foot in my

castle?"

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Just the thought of Isaac bleeding out on the cold stone floor, his gentle, curious eyes dimming— sent a shudder through her. She could still see his blood staining her hands.

Not Isaac. Not him.

He was too kind, too unguarded for a world that seemed to eat kindness alive. And if that creature, whoever he was, dared to return, Arabella swore she would make him regret the moment he crossed her walls.

She had not realized when it began, this quiet affection that had taken root in her chest, but somewhere between their conversations and shared silences, Arabella had come to see Isaac as her own. A younger brother. A family she never remembered having.

The thought of seeing him hurt, especially by a vampire, made her stomach twist and her pulse quicken with unease. She couldn’t let this happen the second time. Not because of a vampire.

"Milady," Isaac called softly. He noticed the pallor washing over her face, how her lips trembled ever so slightly, the color draining from them until she looked as white as a sheet. "I... I smelled something strange from that vampire. Not blood, but something else. Something odd."

"Odd?" Arabella leaned closer, the worry in her gaze softening the sharp line of her brows. "What do you mean, Isaac?"

"I don’t know," he admitted, eyes clouding with thought. "It was faint, like ash and amber, maybe? It wasn’t human, nor like any scent I have known from vampires either. It felt wrong."

Her lips parted in surprise. She didn’t speak, but her eyes told him she was listening, memorizing every word.

By afternoon, Lily arrived. Her sobs broke the stillness of the chamber, her small frame trembling with relief. She threw herself beside Isaac’s bed, clutching his hands as if afraid he might vanish again.

Arabella turned from the window, closing the book she had been reading. Even while watching over Isaac, she had kept herself busy with study, as though reading could distract her from the dread that lingered since last night.

"Isaac," Lily whispered, wiping her tears with her sleeve. "I heard the person who hurt you... was a vampire? It was the King of those vampires... no wonder... Do you know that if the Lady hadn’t helped you in time, you would have been gone for good?"

Isaac sighed, nodding weakly. "Yes. But what I can’t understand is how he got inside. It’s impossible for an outsider to enter the castle. The gates are sealed by Lord Morpheus’s own enchantments. Wouldn’t he have known if someone tried to break through them?"

"Stop questioning the Lord, Isaac," Lily snapped suddenly, her voice sharp but trembling at the edges. Her lips pressed into a thin line, as if afraid of her own words.

Isaac frowned, leaning forward despite the pain in his abdomen. "Why shouldn’t I? You used to find him strange too, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you have suddenly decided to trust that man?"

Lily flinched, her gaze falling to her lap. Her fingers clenched around the bedsheet. But Isaac, who had raised her, who had always known when she was lying, read the truth in her silence.

"You have," he said quietly. "You really believe in him now."

"How could I not?" she burst out, tears welling in her eyes again. "I didn’t trust him before. I didn’t trust anyone, not the outside world you dream so much about, not even the Lord himself. But if doubting him means losing you, my only brother, then I would rather believe him! Even if he hides things from us. Even if his kindness feels wrong sometimes."

Her voice cracked, breaking under the weight of her fear. "What if those secrets are meant to protect us, Isaac? What if everything he does, the things we don’t understand, is to keep us alive?"

The room fell silent.

Arabella stood still, her green eyes flicking between them. The unease that had been gnawing at her heart grew heavier. Morpheus. Trust, distrust.

If even Lily, the bright and innocent Lily, had chosen to believe Morpheus out of fear, what did that mean for the rest of the castle? How deep did his control reach?

And somewhere, deep inside her, a quiet dread whispered: Perhaps Morpheus does protect them, but from what?

Could she really trust him? Or had she been wrong all along for doubting him?

Leaving the siblings behind, Arabella wandered through the vast corridors of the sorcerer’s castle. Her steps echoed faintly, the sound lonely against the marble floors. For once, her mind felt blank, emptied of all but a quiet, creeping unease.

She trailed her fingers along the cold stone walls, eyes catching on the portraits that lined them. Morpheus’s face met her gaze again and again, painted, carved, immortalized everywhere she looked. Every two walls, there he was.

Rather than the castle of many sorcerers, was this not his castle alone?

Since when had everything, every inch, every symbol, turned into him? Into his?

The sorcerers here served him, obeyed him, worshipped him almost. But what about her?

He had said they were in love. Yet, how strange it was, how bloodless their love seemed. No warmth, no closeness. Not even words that brushed the edges of affection. The last time she had seen Morpheus was when he had come to check on Isaac. Before that? Three days ago.

She remembered asking if they might dine together, perhaps talk. The way he had hesitated, his faint, uneasy smile, as though agreeing was an obligation rather than desire.

Odd, wasn’t it? They were supposed to be a pair in love.

And yet their affection was thinner than paper, thin and fragile, already dissolving under the touch of doubt.

She didn’t know what to do about it because instead of feeling hurt by the lack of effort from Morpheus, she actually liked it. As though thank to his lack of effort she could finally breathe, as if this entire relationship was a burden to her own self that she carried without wanting to acknowledge it.

"Ah hngh! Harder-"

A faint sound reached her, soft, breathless, and though unfamiliar, it wasn’t a cry that felt foreign entirely to her.

Arabella froze.

At first, she thought it was merely the wind playing tricks, whispering through the corridor’s cold stone. But then the murmurs grew clearer, laced with a tone that made her blood run cold.

Being a witch, her witch’s senses sharpened, immediately she could tell that someone was in one of the rooms, no, two people. The air itself trembled with a heat that didn’t belong in her wing of the castle.

She took a cautious step closer, heart pounding, as she felt she should look, should see despite how improper the act was despite. She should have walked away and remain uncurious yet oddly she felt the need to see. The need to know who the man standing behind the pillar.

The girl cried harder, "Harder," she moaned, her fingers tying around his silver hair, tightening around it. "Lord Morpheus!"

The name struck her like a spell gone wrong. For a moment, she couldn’t move. The world seemed to tilt, her pulse echoing in her ears as her gaze fixed on the faint sliver of light spilling from beneath the door.

Inside, laughter. A woman’s, soft and content.

And just like that, the silence that followed was deafening as the woman turned around, shocked beyond words when she saw Arabella standing coldly at the end of the hall, staring at them and their sin.