He gently pushed open the door to Lyssandra's room with his foot.

  Creeeaak...

  The room was enveloped in a soft twilight, disturbed only by the flickering, undulating reflections of the embers at the bottom of the fireplace. The air was warm, heavy with the smell of burning wood and something more intimate, more secret. He laid her gently on the bed, on the freshly pulled sheets, which slipped under the touch of his skin.

  Thump...

  Her nightgown had slipped a little higher on her thighs as she moved, revealing her bare skin, soft and inviting.

  Slide...

  He stayed there for a moment, leaning over her, watching her breathe with almost devouring attention. Her chest rose slowly, delicately; her half-open lips seemed to whisper silent promises, a mute call for a stolen kiss. Her perfume... bewitching, intoxicating. Warm honey, subtle sweat, soft, warm skin. Each breath awakened a storm within him that he struggled to contain.

  He then slid two fingers with calculated slowness over her bare knee, moving gently upward, brushing the exquisite curve of her thigh, awakening a subtle shiver.

  Shhh... Shhh…

  She moved slightly, a soft, almost inaudible moan escaping her parted lips.

  Nnnh...

  His hot breath quickened, caressing her temple with unsettling intensity. He closed his eyes for a brief moment to hold back the burning desire that consumed him. He wanted her, now, without restraint. But he held back. Again.

  “You shouldn't sleep in that position,” he whispered, his hoarse voice barely grazing her lips, his breath almost burning against her mouth.

  She moved again, her legs spreading very slightly, in an unconscious ballet of desire even in her sleep. Her nightgown stretched, then slipped a little further, revealing a little more skin, a little more temptation.

  Rustle...

  He sat up abruptly, his fists clenched for a moment against his thighs, a silent struggle between reason and impulse.

  An hour later

  —Mmmm...

  I woke up, slowly opening my eyes. I felt something warm and alive breathing softly beneath me. Something soft and supple, beating steadily, the reassuring rhythm of a heart.

  I opened my eyes wide, surprised to discover not where I was sleeping, but on whom.

  Kael.

  He was there, asleep on my bed, his shirt half open, revealing the warm, bare skin of his chest. Lying on top of him, my cheeks turned red. I didn't know where to put my hands or how to contain this turmoil.

  My heart, which had been lonely until then, began to race, while my breathing slowed, almost hypnotized by the calm of his sleeping face.

  He's so beautiful up close... she thought, breathless.

  Faced with his bare chest, it was impossible to resist. My fingers began to gently caress his warm skin. Deep down, I wanted more. To see more. To feel more.

  I sat up, sat down next to him, and then leaned over, slowly unbuttoning the last buttons of his shirt.

  I could admire his entire upper body: a hairless, muscular chest, finely defined abs, living sculptures beneath my impatient skin.

  He's so muscular... so attractive; the novel doesn't do him justice, I thought to myself. Why do you have to become a villain?

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  I let my fingers slide over his chest, then along his abs, lost in these silent caresses. Then, in a flash, my eyes met his.

  He was awake.

  His gaze, half-closed, half-amused, rested on her without a word.

  Lyssandra froze, her fingers still resting on his bare chest. Her cheeks instantly turned scarlet.

  Her eyes widened slightly, as if she had just awakened herself from a dream that was too daring.

  “Kael...?” she whispered, as if his name burned her lips.

  He raised an eyebrow, a lazy smile stretching the corner of his mouth.

  “Are you going to stare at me for much longer, or... do you want me to pretend to sleep a little longer?”

  His voice was deep, a little hoarse from sleep, but terribly mocking.

  Lyssandra immediately looked away, sitting up quickly and pulling her hands back as if she had been caught doing something wrong.

  “I... I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to... I didn't know you were awake!”

  Rustle...

  She hurriedly moved away from the bed, her nightgown crumpled, her movements awkward, avoiding his gaze like a thief caught in the act.

  Kael sat up slowly, leaning on one elbow. The firelight cast golden reflections on his bare skin.

  “So that's your grand seduction strategy?” he hissed mockingly. “Staring at me while I sleep, cheeks flushed and hands wandering?”

  “It's not what you think!” she protested, not daring to look at him.

  “Oh yes, it is. That's exactly what I think.”

  He stretched lazily, his muscles supple beneath his skin, then added in an amused whisper:

  “And so far, you still haven't managed to break me, princess.”

  Crackling fires...

  Lyssandra glared at him, but her face remained burning hot. She pursed her lips, tried to regain some semblance of dignity, then turned on her heel, back straight, without answering.

  Kael watched her go, a smirk on his lips.

  She was flustered.

  And he loved it.

  “Right! We should go to dinner,” she said. “It'll clear our heads. Especially yours.”

  Kael stood up, stretching nonchalantly.

  — Mmh. Very well.

  A few moments later, they found themselves in the dining room. A long dark wood table, lit candlesticks, and dim light in which shadows danced. The dishes were already served, hot, steaming, and perfectly arranged. Yet no one was there.

  Lyssandra frowned.

  “That's strange... I heard a noise earlier. Footsteps... like someone running down the hallway. And yet this mansion is empty, isn't it?”

  Kael, sitting comfortably at the other end of the table with a glass in his hand, gave her a wry smile.

  “Empty? This mansion? You're very naive, princess.”

  “What do you mean? And stop calling me that!”

  “Meals don't make themselves, you know. And even if you haven't seen anyone here yet... This place is much more alive than you think.”

  She stared at him, puzzled.

  “You mean... there are people here? Servants? Why don't I ever see them?”

  Kael paused for a moment. Then, putting down his fork, he asked her gently,

  “Do you really want to see them?”

  Lyssandra hesitated. There was something in his gaze, a strange intensity.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I want to see them.”

  He stood up and slowly approached her. His hand gently rested on her eyelids, covering them.

  “Close your eyes.”

  She obeyed, feeling the warmth of his palm on her face. Then... he removed it.

  When she opened her eyes, her breath caught in her throat.

  The room was suddenly filled. A dozen figures, all frozen in a posture of reverence. Maids in old-fashioned dresses, two cooks, a butler... all of them unreal in their elegance. No sound. No movement. But their eyes were watching her, bright, almost too bright.

  “Are they... people? No... they're...”

  Kael leaned close to her ear, whispering:

  “They're not humans. They're spirits. They once asked to serve me. I didn't have to demand anything. It came from them.”

  She turned to him, her eyes wide.

  “But why? Who are they really?”

  Kael smiled mysteriously, already turning back to his plate.

  “Answers like that... never come for free, princess.”

  And he plunged his fork into a juicy slice of meat, as if nothing unusual had just happened.