42. Clarissa
CLARISSA
M orning light spills through the curtains, gilding the edges of the room in warm gold. It paints lazy strokes across the duvet, the velvet chaise, the edge of the clawfoot tub in the corner. Everything feels unreal, like I’ve woken in a dream spun from silk and smoke.
And maybe I have.
I blink against the glow, slowly coming into awareness. The scent of him clings to the sheets—amber, spice, something darker that I now know belongs to no cologne. It’s his essence. Kaisner. My dragon.
A quiet ache pulses low in my hips, a tender reminder of everything we shared last night. I stretch beneath the blankets, languid, sated, and yet already missing the weight of his body next to mine. My hand reaches for the space where he was, finding only residual warmth. I sigh.
It was real. All of it.
The bond. The shift. The kiss that felt like worship. The flight that tasted like freedom.
And now, the quiet after the storm.
A knock draws me from the haze. Gentle. Discreet.
“Miss Draken?” a soft voice calls from the entrance.
I sit up quickly, the sheets falling from my bare shoulders. The door opens a fraction, revealing a familiar face—one of the household staff, a young woman with dark hair pinned in a neat twist and warm brown eyes.
She steps inside, balancing a silver tray with the kind of effortless grace that comes only from years of service. “Good morning, Miss Draken,” she says, offering a polite smile. “Mr. Drachenstein requested that you be served breakfast here.”
“Oh,” I manage, caught between surprise and gratitude. “Thank you.”
She glides toward the bed, sets the tray gently on the low table beside me, and lifts the cover to reveal a spread fit for royalty—flaky croissants still warm from the oven, fresh strawberries glistening with dew, a small dish of whipped butter infused with honey and thyme.
A porcelain cup steams with dark roast coffee, touched with vanilla.
My stomach tightens—not with hunger, but something else. The realization that I’m not merely a guest here anymore.
“Shall I draw a bath, Miss?” the maid offers.
“That would be lovely,” I reply.
She nods and leaves. I’m alone again—with countless questions building in my mind, but one rises above the rest.
Where is Kai?
I reach for the coffee. It warms my palms, and as I take the first sip, the bitterness cuts through the remnants of sleep and nerves. I stare out the window for a moment, watching the breeze toy with the gauzy curtains.
Then another knock—this one firmer, familiar in its precision.
I don’t need to ask who it is.
“Miss Draken,” comes Janik’s voice. Even muffled, it carries his usual clipped composure. He opens the door slightly. “Forgive the intrusion. Mr. Drachenstein has requested that I escort you to Draken Manor. He awaits us there.”
My pulse quickens. Draken Manor. Nikolaas.
I swallow hard and set the cup back on the tray. “I’ll be ready shortly,” I reply.
He gives a swift nod through the gap before closing the door. His silence says everything I need to hear—he’s giving me space. But the clock is ticking.
I slip out of bed, gathering the satin robe draped at the foot. The room is still scented with Kai—cedarwood, spice, and something distinctly his. It lingers on my skin as I cross to the bathroom, where a fresh bath waits, steam curling like whispers into the morning air.
I let myself sink into it slowly, the heat loosening every last knot of tension in my body. Beneath the surface, I touch the new truth in me—that I am not the same woman who stepped foot in this manor two nights ago.
Claimed. Chosen. Changed.
When I emerge, the chill air kisses my damp skin.
I wrap myself in a towel and step back into the bedroom, where sunlight now fills the space.
On the chaise, an array of clothing has been arranged with deliberate care—half a dozen ensembles, each more elegant than the last. Blouses of silk and lace.
Trousers with sharp tailoring. A fitted coat of fine wool.
Leather gloves. Scarves. Kai’s hand in every detail.
I run my fingers across the options, lingering on a blouse the color of bone, sheer at the sleeves with delicate lace at the cuffs. I pair it with black trousers that hug my waist perfectly, and a charcoal coat I remember him wearing once with dark gloves and a knife at his hip.
His world. My world now, too.
I knot a burgundy scarf loosely around my neck—his family’s color—and smooth my palms down the length of my coat.
In the mirror, I catch my reflection.
My hair, still damp, curls at the ends. My lips are fuller than usual. My skin glows faintly. But it’s the eyes that stop me. There’s a quiet stillness in them, the calm before impact. Not fear—resolve.
I don’t know what awaits me at Draken Manor. But I know who I am when I arrive.
Descending the stairs, I find Janik waiting by the door in his usual crisp black. He regards me with a brief, almost imperceptible smile.
“Morning, Miss Draken. I trust you slept well.”
I nod, offering a smirk in return. “I did.”
He opens the car door for me without another word. I slide into the passenger seat of a sleek black sedan, leather soft beneath my fingertips. Janik settles behind the wheel, and we pull away from the manor, slipping into the quiet streets of Paris.
It’s beautiful, this hour. The sky painted in hues of lilac and silver, the world still holding its breath.
After a long silence, Janik speaks—his voice softer than usual. “Miss Draken… If I may. I wished to say that your presence has brought something back to this house. To him . There’s a light in His Majesty I haven’t seen in many years.”
I turn to him, startled. Janik rarely mentions anything beyond logistics.
“That means more than you know,” I reply, the words catching in my throat.
He nods once, eyes never leaving the road.
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “The night his father was murdered,” he continues, “we were ambushed at Schloss Drachenstein, the family’s castle in Bavaria. Arrived for what we thought was a routine meeting. Fifteen men, maybe more, waiting for us."
Janik’s jaw tightens. “I took a blade to the leg, went down hard. Couldn’t stand, couldn’t crawl.
Young Master Drachenstein was eighteen. He could have run—everyone was screaming at him to escape.
Instead, he picked up a knife and threw himself between me and my executioner.
Took the man’s throat out with a single cut. ”
He glances at me briefly. “Then he grabbed a gun from the ground and shot the remaining three. An eighteen-year-old boy chose to stay and bleed with his father’s enforcer rather than save his own skin.”
My breath catches. I try to imagine Kaisner back then—barely older than I am now—walking into that trap and reacting so fiercely.
Janik’s voice carries absolute conviction as he adds, “That’s when I knew I wasn’t just serving the Drachenstein heir anymore. I was serving a true king.”
That’s who he’s always been, I realize, my chest tightening with sudden understanding. Not the cold king others see, but the boy who would rather die than leave someone behind. The man who still makes that same choice, again and again.
The silence stretches between us, broken only by the hum of the engine and the whisper of tires on pavement.
A quiet breath escapes me as I gaze out the passenger window, watching the Parisian cityscape blur past in a hush of gray stone and gold morning light.
The knowledge that Kaisner went ahead, alone, settles over me like a balm—unexpected and strangely tender.
He didn’t wait for me to shield him. He went ahead to shield me .
Not from my brother’s anger—Kaisner isn’t afraid of that. But from the strain of divided loyalties. From the first explosive impact of Nik’s disapproval. From the sting of old wounds being torn open in my presence.
He’s granting me time. Space. Grace.
Whatever else today brings, I’ll remember this: that on this day, Kaisner Drachenstein, the man feared across Europe, chose diplomacy over dominance—for me.
For us.
We turn onto a familiar avenue lined with towering trees, their branches forming a canopy overhead. The sight elicits a sense of nostalgia, memories of my childhood at Draken Manor flooding back.
Suddenly, tires screech nearby. Janik hits the breaks. A black SUV swerves in front of us, blocking our path. He curses under his breath.
“Stay here,” he commands, then exits the vehicle.
I stare through the windshield as Janik approaches the SUV, shoulders squared, his gait taut with restrained aggression.
Before I can make sense of it, the vehicle’s doors explode open—metal groaning, boots hitting pavement.
A swarm of black-clad men spills out in coordinated formation, tactical gear gleaming under the morning light.
They fan out like predators, cutting off Janik’s escape in a matter of seconds.
Terror grips me. I lunge for my phone, fingers scrabbling across the screen, but they won’t obey—shaking too violently to type the passcode. A shout yanks my gaze upward just in time to see one of the men drive his fist into Janik’s jaw. He staggers, then drops like a felled tree.
“No!” I scream, throwing open my door.
Before I can react, two men surge toward me like wolves breaking from the pack. I lash out, my heel slamming into one of their knees. He snarls, staggering with a grunt—but doesn’t go down. The second lunges in, grabbing my arm and wrenching it behind my back. Pain sparks up my shoulder.
“Let me go!” I cry, twisting violently in his grip, heart pounding like war drums in my chest.
“Easy, Miss Draken,” one of them says with a sneer. “We wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise.”
Rage flares through me. I whip my head around and sink my teeth into his hand—hard. Blood floods my mouth, metallic and warm. He howls and recoils, and in that heartbeat, I tear free. I bolt.
But I don’t make it two steps. A third man slides into my path like he’s been waiting. He doesn’t speak—just lifts a cloth, already soaked with something acrid.
“Sweet dreams, beautiful,” he murmurs, closing the distance in a single, fluid motion.
His arm snakes around my waist, yanking me tight against his chest as he presses the cloth to my face. I buck and thrash in his hold, clawing at his forearm, kicking wildly, but it’s like fighting quicksand.
No. No no no ? —
My muscles betray me. Everything slows. The pavement rushes up as my knees buckle, the world tilting like a sinking ship.
Janik’s body comes into view—crumpled, unmoving. Too still.
The man holding me whispers something else, but his voice distorts, swallowed by the roaring hush that fills my ears.
Then everything disappears into darkness.
And I am gone.