Caveen stood in the shadows of Misty Town, the mist swirling around him like a shroud. His flight from the city had been swift, though his heart felt anything but light. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the solemn silence of the Vellaria castle until he'd set foot within its ancient halls again. It was the only place where he could truly be himself, without the weight of expectations or the prying eyes of the world. Yet, despite the comfort of the stone walls and the familiar, eerie glow of the distant moon, Caveen couldn't escape the overwhelming storm brewing in his heart.
Valus had welcomed him warmly. But it wasn't warmth he needed right now—it was escape. Escape from the memories, the guilt, the ache of an old wound that refused to heal.
"Sit, my grandson," Valus beckoned, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber. His crimson eyes bore into Caveen with an unreadable expression, sensing the torment that lingered just beneath the surface. But the elder vampire didn't pry. Instead, he silently poured them both a glass of aged blood wine and handed one to Caveen.
As Caveen took the glass, his thoughts wandered back to the day that had forever changed the course of his life.
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The night was cold, darker than it had ever been in the Moonwell Estate. Caveen stood in the shadow of the doorframe, watching Lysandra, his heart aching with a hollow emptiness that only she had ever known how to fill. The night he had walked away from her seemed like a lifetime ago, yet the pain of that decision still gnawed at his chest, festering like an open wound.
Lysandra's tears had been the last thing he remembered before he turned his back on her. She had sacrificed everything for him—for them—for their child. But the cost had been too great. In his anger and heartbreak, he had blamed her, condemned her for making a decision that shattered them both. How could she choose him over their unborn child?
He couldn't stay. He couldn't stay and watch her mourn the loss of their future together, especially when the future he had envisioned no longer existed. He had left, leaving her alone in a world that had become cruel and empty.
The months that followed were a blur of guilt and self-loathing. Caveen drowned himself in work, trying to numb the pain that never ceased to haunt him. He abandoned his vampire heritage, his royal blood, and his past, retreating into the human realm where he thought he could escape the shadow of his past life.
He had buried himself in his work—his hands covered in the blood of the living, not his own—but it wasn't the same. Becoming a renowned surgeon didn't erase the guilt that weighed on his soul. Every life he saved felt like a mockery of the one he couldn't protect. He was never at peace.
Then, came Madeline.
She was a breath of fresh air in the suffocating life he had chosen for himself. Madeline, with her unrelenting charm, had slowly crept into his life. She pursued him with an intensity that Caveen found hard to resist. At first, he had pushed her away. He wasn't ready for love again, especially not after Lysandra. But Madeline was persistent—she didn't give up.
Her presence became a comfort, a distraction from the darkness that lingered in his heart. He grew used to her soft voice, her laughter, the way she looked at him like he was the only thing in her world. And over time, Caveen had allowed her to become a part of his life, though he knew deep down he was still carrying the weight of his past.
Years passed. Madeline became a constant companion, and though Caveen wasn't in love with her the way he had once been with Lysandra, he found solace in the steadiness of her devotion. She never asked for more than he could give, and Caveen—broken and scarred as he was—appreciated her for that.
Then, one day, Madeline had asked him to marry her.
It was not a question. It was a demand wrapped in the softest of words, the kind of question a woman who knew what she wanted didn't need to ask twice.
At first, Caveen had refused. He wasn't ready. He wasn't sure he would ever be ready to open himself up to someone again. He wasn't sure he could ever love anyone the way he had loved Lysandra. But Madeline had persisted. The pressure from his colleagues, his friends, and even his own guilt over his inability to move on eventually wore him down.
He agreed.
But even in that decision, he knew he wasn't making it for love. He was making it because it was what Madeline wanted. Because it was easier than facing the truth of his own heart, the truth of what he had lost and never been able to reclaim.