Chapter 7: The Corridor

Liora's POV

I felt warm. Properly warm, all the way through — and the only thing I wanted was to get into that pool.

But I didn't know why, some instinct deep inside me told me not to undress in front of him.

I glanced at him, trying to figure out how to ask him to leave without being rude about it.

He'd just helped me. It felt wrong to turn around and say go away the second I felt better.

Then I thought: I don't actually have to ask.

I just ran and jumped in.

The water hit me all at once and wrapped around every part of me. I laughed before I even thought about it.

Severin glanced at me and left. I swallowed. I should have waited a little longer.

I kicked my feet, let my hair fan out across the surface, and floated there staring up at the candle flames flickering against the stone ceiling.

Warm.

By the time I climbed out and changed into the new dress, Severin was still there when I pushed through the door on the other side.

Waiting. Like he hadn't moved.

I hurried after him and fell into step beside him. He led me out.

We walked for a long time.

Down a flight of stone steps, then through an open courtyard where the wind came through the columns sideways and kept trying to flip my skirt up. Then into a corridor.

A very long corridor.

This is ridiculous.

"Why can't we just eat in the room?" I muttered. "Someone could bring the food."

Severin didn't answer.

But I stopped caring about the walk the second I actually looked at where we were.

The walls were black stone — lit gold by candelabras spaced every few steps, their flames burning straight and still in the windless air.

The floor was covered in wolf pelt, thick enough that my footsteps made almost no sound.

Arched windows along one side were hung with silver-gray drapes that shifted slightly, like they were breathing.

Above us, antlers and mounted heads lined the ceiling, their eyes catching the light.

And carved into the walls, repeating at intervals — a running wolf, and a crescent moon.

I slowed down without meaning to.

It's beautiful.

There was something else, too.

Walking through here felt familiar in a way that didn't make sense — not this place exactly, but something like it. Like somewhere I'd been before and half-forgotten.

I looked up at Severin.

The light caught the side of his face, the dark leather of his armor, the silver crescent mark between his brows.

"Are you a king?" I asked.

He glanced at me.

"This place looks like a palace," I said, completely seriously. "It feels like somewhere I know. I love it here."

I paused.

"Also, you're very good-looking. I love you too."

Severin stopped walking.

"Little wolf," he said. "Don't tell people you love them so easily."

I blinked. "Why not?"

"Because love means something." His voice didn't change. "Don't throw it around."

I thought about that. Part of me could see what he meant. But another part felt like something was off. "I was being serious, though —"

Something on the wall caught my eye and I forgot what I was going to say.

A painting. Huge, taking up most of the wall — dark pigments, deep reds and dull golds, heavy shadow swallowing the edges.

In the center stood a man, middle-aged, holding a staff, his expression the kind that makes a room go quiet.

Beside him, a woman in a moon-crown, visibly pregnant, standing straight, her face turned just enough that I couldn't quite make it out.

And in the corner of the painting, far from both of them —

A boy.

Seven or eight years old, maybe. Small, wearing a dark robe that was too big for him. A clear crescent mark on his forehead.

He was standing so far from the couple that he looked like he'd been pushed to the edge of the frame, surrounded by shadow, with no one looking his way.

The whole painting felt cold. Even the candlelight hitting it seemed to go flat.

"Who are they?" I asked quietly.

"No one important." Severin's voice came from just behind me.

"Then why is it hanging here?"

"I'll have it taken down tomorrow."

I didn't say anything to that. I kept looking at the boy.

"He looks like you —"

Severin stepped forward.

He moved between me and the painting, close enough that the warmth beneath his armor reached me.

I breathed it in without meaning to, and suddenly I was more aware of how hungry I was than anything else.

Then my stomach made a sound.

A very loud, very inconvenient sound.

I froze.

Severin looked at me. "One more minute," he said, "and dinner gets cleared."

"Wait —" I completely forgot about the painting. "I'm hungry! I really am!"

I pressed a hand to my stomach, then reconsidered and looked up at him. "You can check if you don't believe me. It's still going."

He didn't reach out. Instead, he raised one hand and pointed at me — a slow, deliberate tap of one finger in the air.

"Three rules," he said. "First: don't let strange males put their hands on you. Second: don't tell people you love them. Third: don't go wandering off on your own."

He let the pause sit for a moment.

"A little wolf who doesn't listen," he said, "goes to bed hungry."

I stared at him for three full seconds.

I was genuinely hungry.

"Fine," I said. "I'll remember."

He turned and kept walking. I fell into step beside him.

The corridor bent ahead of us, and I glanced back over my shoulder without thinking.

The painting had disappeared into the dark.

The figures, the boy in the corner, the heavy colors — all of it swallowed up, nothing left but candlelight wavering against black stone.

And then I noticed something else.

From the moment we'd entered this corridor, it had been just the two of us, our footsteps muffled by the wolf-pelt floor, the whole castle holding its breath around us.

A home shouldn't feel like this.

The thought surfaced before I could stop it, and I didn't know where it came from.

A home should be warm. It should have voices in it. People moving through it, doors opening and closing, noise that meant someone was there.

Not this.