Dylan stood, swaying slightly, as the red-haired woman finished tending to his wounds. Her hands were gentle but firm, and her eyes, bright as starlight, never flinched from his. The dense forest around them had been silent when he collapsed, wounded and alone — until she appeared like some forest spirit, her presence both surreal and grounding.
"You should rest longer," she said, tying off the last bandage.
"I can't," Dylan replied hoarsely. "I must return to the palace... I have a duty to report."
She rose to her feet, brushing the leaves from her dress. "I suppose you soldiers never change. Always running back to danger."
"I owe you my life, Lady Faye," he said. "And I will return — with gold, to repay you."
Faye smiled softly, but her eyes glinted with mischief. "You promise so easily. But how am I to believe a man I just met?"
Dylan blinked at her.
"If you truly mean to come back," she continued, stepping closer, "then leave me something that ensures it. Something... valuable."
He followed her gaze to the *jade pendant* hanging at his waist — a family heirloom, carved with ancient symbols, to be given to his bride. His hand lingered on it.
"You saved me. It's worth more than gold," he said, unfastening it and placing it into her palm.
Her smile widened, genuine this time. "I'll keep it safe until you return."
With a final bow, Dylan turned and limped into the woods, unaware of the strange warmth he'd left blooming in Faye's chest.
---
*Scene 2: The Devil and the Princess*
Isabel stirred beneath soft sheets, the scent of earth and fire still lingering. She blinked her eyes open, only to find herself tangled in warm skin — *Xavier's arm* wrapped loosely around her, his bare chest rising and falling against her back.
Her breath hitched. They were *both naked*.
Carefully, she began to shift away, but Xavier stirred. She froze, eyes squeezing shut in panic. He opened his own eyes, silently watching her play dead with a sly smirk tugging at his lips.
He slipped out of bed, dragging his pants on, the heat of his body leaving her chilled.
As his footsteps faded, Isabel exhaled sharply and sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. Her cheeks flushed red as fragments of the night flooded her memory.
*"Choose," he had said, voice dripping with desire.*
*"My fingers, my tongue, or my hunger."*
He had touched her like a prayer and tasted her like sin. Her body still trembled from the aftermath — the way he took his time, made her beg, made her *feel* in ways she never knew possible.
But... he never took her fully.
Even when she had begged, *"Please... take me."*
He had stopped. Refused.
And now, she was left drowning in the wake of him — confused, aching, and craving more.
"Why?" she whispered, curling into herself. "Why won't you let yourself have me?"
---
*Back at the palace...*
Dylan fell to one knee before the King, his voice heavy with remorse.
"Your Majesty... I failed you. The princess... she's gone. She ran with a monster."
The throne room chilled as silence swallowed the words.
The King's knuckles turned white as he gripped the arm of his throne.
"A monster?" he echoed, low and deadly.
Dylan lowered his head. "She chose him… willingly."
The King's rage was a quiet storm. And it was just beginning.