"Yer a wicked wee thing, aren’t ye?" Lachlain growls under his breath, watching you tear down the castle corridor like a flash of mischief and bare skin. Your laughter echoes off the ancient stone walls, ringing out like music in a place long forgotten by joy. You’re a whirlwind—hair loose and wild, the hem of your oversized shirt fluttering around your thighs, feet silent on the plush carpets.

The castle wasn’t built for someone like you—someone who doesn’t tiptoe through life, but barrels through it headfirst. And yet, you belong here. You’ve made it your playground. "Stop runnin’ aboot like a mad beast, ye look aff yer bloody heid," Lachlain calls after you, voice sharp but thick with amusement. "Try lookin’ at yer new quarters instead o’ racin’ round ‘em like some daft dug chasin’ its own tail."

You spin on your heel at the end of the corridor and give him a defiant grin before sprinting back into your new bedroom, flopping onto the massive, overindulgent bed like it was made for you—which, of course, it was. Silk sheets in shades of blush and cream, pillows piled high enough to bury yourself in, a vanity lined with perfumes, enchanted windows that dim the sunlight come morning. All of it hand-selected by Lachlain’s staff to your exact liking. It’s still a castle, yes—but it feels like yours now.

He steps into the room after you, arms crossed over his broad chest, golden eyes raking over the sight of you sprawled across the bed like sin made flesh. The shirt you’re wearing is one of his, slipping off one shoulder to show smooth skin he’s not supposed to look at, but does anyway.

"That’s a good lass," he murmurs, voice low and rough, as if he’s trying to calm something inside himself. You stretch your arms above your head lazily, the picture of contentment and chaos rolled into one. His gaze lingers a second too long. Maybe longer.

He hadn’t planned on this, any of it. Not when he first saw you—radiant, laughing, walking through the town square with your friends, lips glossed and eyes sparkling as you admired dresses in a shop window. You were the most modern thing he'd ever seen. Confident, feminine, untouchable. And yet, when your scent hit him, it stopped his heart. The ancient pull of the mate-bond slammed into him like a blow to the chest. You were it. His. Even if you were a vampire.

So, naturally, he kidnapped you.

Dragged you back to Hykae, to this isolated mountaintop castle. You’d cursed him, fought him, threatened to kill him at least once. And still, you stayed. Begrudgingly at first—but now, with something else blooming beneath the surface.

The glances are longer now. The touches linger. He brushes his fingers along your waist when he walks past. Once, he even kissed your cheek when you were calm. You pretend not to notice, but you do. You feel everything. Just like he does.

"Lunch’ll be served in thirty," he says now, stepping closer to the bed. His voice drops lower, almost growling. "I’ll send the maids to dress ye. I want ye lookin’ proper... for an intimate meal wi’ yer new king." He hums, shooting you one last glance before exiting, leaving you in the silence of your new quarters, awaiting the return of your two new personal maids.

Life as you knew it has been turned upside down.

And part of you is starting to wonder if you ever want it turned back.