Chapter 7 Alina
Alina
Balthazar arrived at my door at the stroke of midnight.
He wore a glossy ebony jacket, a leather sash tight around his neck, fastened with a silver clasp gleaming in the moonlight.
He looked untamed—his wild hair tumbling like a lion’s mane, framing ice-blue eyes that smoldered with an intensity sharp enough to pierce through bone. My pulse fluttered at the sight of him.
I opened the door. He stepped inside without a word.
His gaze found mine, and the world fell away at that moment. I would have followed him anywhere. I always had. For five years, he had come to me like this—under the veil of night, cloaked in secrecy—and still, the fire between us had never dimmed.
He extended his hand. I didn’t hesitate.
His fingers wrapped around mine—solid, warm, grounding—and I felt the familiar spark crawl up my arm.
He pulled me against him, and I melted into his hold, my body instinctively molding to the contours of his.
His heartbeat thudded against my chest, strong and steady, as if speaking the words he never said aloud.
“Come with me,” he whispered.
Our eyes locked, and I understood.
He offered escape from my manicured life of social functions and suffocating expectations, from lessons in etiquette, music, and domestic arts I’d never wanted. With Balthazar, there were no rules. No obligations. Only fire and freedom and the shadowed edge of something dangerous.
I loved him more with each breath, though I never dared to ask if he loved me back.
Our connection defied reason. It was primal and unshakable. Sometimes, we devoured each other like starving beasts. Other nights, we moved together so slowly and deeply that it felt like our souls were already intertwined—already wed beneath some ancient, unseen altar.
There was one day, one rare day in the sun, when we fled the city together.
We found a quiet place by the river, a secret slice of solitude known only to those who dared seek it.
We sat barefoot on the banks, our toes brushing the surface of the cool, rippling water.
The sun bled orange into the sky, staining the world in firelight, and the scent of damp grass clung to the air as crickets began to sing.
In that moment, all was still. Safe. Mine.
With Balthazar beside me, I didn’t just feel alive.
I felt whole.
We didn’t need words to understand each other.
Our language lived in glances, the brush of fingers, and the quiet spaces between heartbeats.
Balthazar reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. I smiled and rested my head against his shoulder, grounding myself in him.
Together, we watched a small family of ducks waddle by, the ducklings peeping and splashing in the shallows.
I envied their simplicity—the ease of their joy.
Their world was uncomplicated, untouched by expectation or longing.
And me? I was still tethered to a life I loathed, one filled with rehearsed smiles and hollow pleasantries.
When was the forever he’d once promised me?
Balthazar leaned closer. “I love moments like this,” he murmured. “When it’s just us… and the world disappears.”
I turned to him, my chest aching with affection. I kissed him, tasting the sweetness I’d come to crave. We stayed like that, suspended in a fragile pocket of time, where nothing else existed but this—us.
As the sun slipped beneath the horizon, reality called us back. But for now, we belonged only to each other for this fleeting heartbeat.
Still, when he wasn’t near, I found myself haunted by uncertainty.
No matter how deeply I loved him, some of me remained afraid. Afraid that this would end. That one day, he’d simply vanish.
He had never given me reason to doubt—but love makes cowards of us all.
So, I loved him the only way I knew how—fiercely, quietly, and without guarantee.
And when the fear threatened to overcome me, he’d reappear.
Always more beautiful than memory, always arriving like salvation.
That night had been especially cruel. I’d spent the entire day swallowed by dread, heart heavy, and thoughts darker than they should’ve been.
Then, he knocked.
“Hello, Balthazar,” I whispered, opening the door wide.
He stood beneath the moonlight, sharp-edged and radiant. “Are you coming with me?” he asked.
“Where are we going tonight?”
“Into the city,” he said, lips curving into a soft smile. “There’s no one about.”
I hesitated—but only for a breath.
I wanted more. Desperately.
But if stolen hours were all I could have of him…
Then I would take them—every single one.
He smiled—a gentle upturn of his lips—and I gave an eager nod before I had time to second-guess myself. He stepped forward, wrapping me in his arms, his warmth swallowing the chill of the night.
“I will never let you go,” he uttered into my hair.
“Nor I, you,” I whispered back.
We rode into the city on horseback, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, my cheek pressed against his broad back. When we arrived, we tied the horse and slipped into the silent streets, free from watchful eyes and whispered judgment.
My heart pounded with anticipation as we sprinted through the empty lanes, our footsteps echoing off the stone.
Wind tangled through my hair, and laughter burst from my chest—wild, unrestrained.
This was the freedom I craved. I held on to him like he was my whole world, because in that moment, he was.
We reached a grassy clearing at the edge of town, and he pulled me beside him. The moon bathed us in silver light, and as I looked into his eyes, the blood in my veins surged. My entire body shivered with anticipation.
His warmth pressed against me, and I felt like I had waited my entire life for this moment. It was always like that between us—no matter how many times, it always felt like the first.
The heat of his skin against mine sent waves of pleasure rippling through me.
His hands tangled in my messy hair, pulling me closer as our lips met in a kiss that burned through everything.
His touch ignited every inch of my body, and we gave in completely, exploring each other with reckless abandon.
Beneath the stars, he whispered sweet things that made my heart flutter and my soul take flight. Together, we reached new heights of passion and love, lost in a world where nothing could touch us, where nothing else mattered.
As the night wore on, I knew I never wanted to leave this moment, never wanted to let go of him. I wanted to live wild and free, tangled in his arms for eternity.
But the sun always rose. And with it, the life I was expected to live returned.
My parents still hoped I’d follow the traditional path—marriage, motherhood, a life of quiet obedience. The very thought made my skin crawl. I dreamed of something else—of Balthazar, of a future that was only ours.
And every time they spoke of children, duty, and legacy, I felt the ache of rebellion pulse.
Because I didn’t want their version of love.
I wanted him.
My heart pounded as I tore across the grassy field and slipped through the house’s back entrance. I didn’t stop to catch my breath. I stormed through the kitchen, and my gaze made the cook recoil. Her face drained of color.
She remembered the warning I’d given her—the price of speaking a word about my midnight disappearances with Balthazar.
I crept up the staircase, each step measured, silent, as I strained not to rouse my parents from sleep. As I nudged it open, the wooden door to my room groaned in protest. My pulse thundered in my ears. Just one misstep could expose everything.
Inside, the room lay undisturbed. Soft rustlings of blankets and the occasional snore drifted through the walls. I eased the door shut and tiptoed toward my bed, each movement rehearsed, deliberate.
When I finally collapsed onto the mattress, laughter bubbled from my lips, quiet, victorious. I had done it again. For five years, I’d slipped in and out like a shadow, indulging in my hunger for Balthazar beneath the noses of those who thought they ruled my fate. And not once had I been caught.
I lay there, heart racing, blood thrumming. The chaos he awakened in me pulsed like lightning in my veins. It was intoxicating—a delicious, dangerous kind of freedom that fed the seething darkness inside me.
Still breathless, I reached for my journal. I rolled onto my stomach, uncapped the ink, and pressed the pen to parchment.
Dear Journal,
I’ve been with Balthazar for many years. He is as fascinating as he is unknowable. The mystery that surrounds him only deepens my desire. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly understand him... but gods, I want to. I want to decipher every inch of him—mind, body, soul.
I wrote until the ink ran dry, pouring every secret, every desire, into the pages of that book. When I could write no more, I set it aside, rose from bed, and performed my morning ablutions.
By the time I descended for breakfast, my face wore the practiced serenity of a dutiful daughter.
But inside, the fire still burned.
And it belonged to him.
The first light of dawn crept through the tall windows of our grand estate, painting the dining room in soft gold.
The long mahogany table gleamed in the morning glow, already set with a lavish spread.
Warm loaves of freshly baked bread steamed gently beside glass jars of homemade jam, their ruby and amber hues catching the sun.
Bowls of vibrant fruit—plump berries, sliced melons, and figs—sat like jewels on silver platters.
The rich, comforting aroma of roasted coffee beans drifted through the air, mingling with the sweet scents of fruit and bread. It was a feast for the senses—warm, decadent, and deceptively peaceful.
In the hearth, flames danced merrily, casting shadows on the stone walls. Ornate tapestries, embroidered with ancient stories, framed the room, while priceless paintings presided over the mantel like silent sentinels. Silver chandeliers sparkled overhead, their facets catching the early light.