Chapter Forty-Six

“Are you… imprisoning me?” Shadow Moon’s delicate lips were ashen and trembling, her disbelief evident in her voice.

“Heh, if that’s how you want to see it, you’re not wrong.”

“Or perhaps, would you rather stay here with me?” That damnable, wicked smile played at his lips as he leaned in, his tall frame casting her small body entirely beneath his shadow. Their noses almost touched as he watched her panic-stricken face, a warm breath escaping him before he straightened, long fingers stroking his smooth chin with feigned contemplation. “Lately, the weather has been quite chilly, hasn’t it?”

Shadow Moon’s body swayed; had she not been on the bed, she surely would have collapsed to the floor. Her tear-filled eyes gazed at Arthur in disbelief at what she had just heard.

Only moments ago, he had been so gentle, so inviting, like an angel one could not help but approach. How could he change so suddenly, turning into a demon one could only fear and resent?

Or was it that her suffering brought him joy? Had he always been a demon, and the angel she thought she saw was nothing more than her foolish illusion?

Clutching the front of her dress with trembling hands, her face as pale as snow, Shadow Moon’s small lips were marked with the imprint of teeth and streaked with blood.

Arthur abruptly turned away, refusing to look at her. His voice was cold. “Remember what I said.” He left without the slightest hesitation. Shadow Moon failed to notice the fists clenched tightly at his sides, his knuckles bruised, faint traces of crimson glimmering between his fingers.

In the study, before the window, the curtains billowed in the breeze. A tall figure stood silhouetted, golden hair tousled, sky-blue eyes veiled so their depths could not be read, rose-colored lips now drained of color.

At his side, his arm hung naturally, but his once-fair hands were streaked with red, like fluttering ribbons—vivid and striking, yet painfully jarring.

On the desk behind him sat a meal grown cold and a glass of milk that had long since lost its warmth.

Outside, the light gradually faded into darkness. The figure by the window never moved, only the dried, rust-colored stains on his hands betraying the passage of time.

The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the silence.

“Hello.” The voice was detached and cold. “I told you, unless it’s urgent, do not contact me.”

“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, Your Highness,” came the butler’s voice, filled with frustration, helplessness, and a trace of fear. “It’s Miss Spencer. She arrived at the White Manor the day you left and has refused to leave until she sees you. She insists that as long as you do not appear, she will remain there. She even… even said that if you do not show yourself soon, she will take out a missing person advertisement in the newspaper.”

Arthur, on the other end, was silent for so long that the butler wondered if the line had gone dead. Hesitantly, he called, “Your Highness?”

A cold smirk touched those rose-colored lips, and his icy voice traveled through the receiver to the butler’s ears. “Let her do as she wishes. And remind her—what I said to her that day can still become reality.”

A dial tone sounded. The butler stood there, receiver in hand, his face wrinkled in distress. How was he supposed to deliver that message? He shuddered at the memory of Miss Spencer’s terrifying demeanor. Perhaps his days were numbered. With a sigh, he resigned himself to relaying His Highness’s words to that troublesome lady.