Morgana kept her gaze fixed on Damon, but for the first time in a long time… she didn't know what to say.

She, who always had sharp comebacks.

She, who faced instructors, knights, nobles, and even her own father without blinking.

She, who would never admit weakness.

Now she was there, before Damon, completely exposed—and he knew it.

The cold wind entered through the window, making the curtains ripple behind him as if they were part of a carefully orchestrated scene. Damon stood on the windowsill, one foot out, the other propped up, his body leaning as if about to disappear into thin air.

"So…?" he pressed with a soft, almost patient smile.

"Do you want me to stay? Or do you want me to go and break your fiancé's face?"

She took a deep breath.

Once.

Twice.

It was rare for her to hesitate—but when it happened, it meant something had truly broken inside.

"I…" The words caught in her throat.

Damon raised only one eyebrow, teasingly:

"No need to be ashamed. I saw you trying to break my neck in practice, remember? Compared to that, asking for help isn't so humiliating."

She clenched her fists.

Great. He'd gotten back at her.

"I'm not ashamed, idiot."

"Great." He smiled. "Then speak."

Morgana finally lifted her chin, regaining some composure.

But her eyes still had that restless, broken glint he'd noticed the moment he saw her.

"I don't know what to do, Damon." The admission came out low, bitter. "My father's already decided everything. The wedding. The agreement. The rings. My whole life."

Damon rested his elbow on his knee, as if listening to a casual conversation.

"So you're going to let it happen?"

"No." The answer came quickly, firmly—honest to the core. "But… I can't just disobey either. I can't dishonor my clan. I can't run away from the Academy. I can't—"

She stopped, swallowing hard.

"I can't keep being pushed into a life that isn't mine."

Damon tilted his head.

"So you want freedom?"

She closed her eyes for a moment.

"I want… the power to choose."

Silence.

Damon finally lifted his foot from the air and turned completely into the room.

He jumped to the floor with a smooth, almost soundless movement, and approached her until he was only a few steps away.

Morgana felt her heart race.

He stared at her with that expression—that irritating expression that seemed to see more than she let on.

He raised his hand slowly, as if giving her time to back away—but she didn't.

Then he gently touched the side of her face with the back of his fingers, scraping against her warm skin.

"Then I'm not going to solve anything for you."

She opened her eyes quickly.

"I'm going to help you solve it yourself."

Her heart gave a strange, unpleasant, intense leap—all at once.

"That doesn't make sense," she murmured, trying to compose herself. "You don't get anything out of this."

"I don't?" Damon smiled, but this time the smile had something more sincere behind it. "I get the chance to see you send that idiot fiancé and your stubborn father to hell. And that, to me, is worth a lot."

She looked away.

It was so ridiculous…

And yet, so comforting.

"And besides…" Damon finished, his voice lower, closer.

"…I don't like it when someone tries to steal something I haven't finished conquering yet."

Morgana's breath caught.

Her stomach churned, her face flushed, her whole body reacted in a way it shouldn't, not now, not with him so close.

"You're unbearable," she whispered.

"I know." He gave a half-smile. "And yet you called me when I was leaving."

She opened her mouth to retort—to deny, to scream, anything—but the words simply wouldn't come out.

Damon took a step back, as if returning the air he had taken.

"I'll give you some time," he said as he walked back to the window. "To think about what you really want."

She gripped the sheets again.

"And what are you going to do now?" she asked in a softer tone than she intended.

He put a foot on the windowsill, but didn't look out.

He looked at her.

"I'll stay close. In the shadows, if you need me."

His smile widened slightly.

"And if your fiancé does anything stupid… well… I have my methods."

She huffed, but the corner of her mouth threatened to lift.

"Damon."

He raised an eyebrow.

She hesitated.

For a moment, her voice was weak—almost imperceptible.

"…Thank you."

His eyes sparkled.

And for the first time that night, Damon didn't smile provocatively.

He just smiled.

"Always."

And then—as if it were part of the night itself—he leaped out the window.

Quickly.

Silently.

Disappearing into the darkness as if he had never been there.

Morgana rushed to the window and saw him land softly in the garden, his cloak billowing.

He raised his hand in a short wave before disappearing into the shadows.

She stood there, the cold wind whipping against her face, her heart racing and her mind in complete chaos.

It was the first time in years that she had felt her own life… changing.

And even though everything was crumbling around her, for the first time, she didn't feel completely alone.

Even if she would never admit it aloud.

The night seemed to breathe around him.

The cold air clung to his skin, carrying the soft scent of the Duchy of Arven's garden, mingled with the stronger smell of the torches illuminating the outer corridors. Damon walked with silent steps, as if he had been accustomed to moving among shadows since before he could walk.

He didn't look back.

He didn't need to.

He knew that, at that very moment, Morgana was still standing by the window, staring at the dark garden, fighting against the whirlwind of feelings he had just ignited within her.

But he couldn't wait.

He wasn't going to wait.

She needed time to understand what she wanted.

He, on the other hand…

He already knew exactly what he was going to do.

Damon leaped over the inner wall of the castle with ease, the gravel not even shifting beneath his feet when he landed. His eyes, adapted to the darkness, scanned the surroundings with surgical precision.

Guard dogs?

None—strangely.

Guard patrol?

Three, but in predictable positions.

Detection spells?

One, in the east corridor. Easy to bypass.

"Duke Arven, eh…" he murmured as he advanced along the side of the main castle. "He likes to think he's important, but he doesn't put in half the security he should."

He smiled to himself.

Or perhaps… He trusted his own daughter's obedience too much.

Damon stopped behind a marble statue, placing his hand on the cold surface. He closed his eyes for a moment—and the sensation that coursed through his senses was like a living, pulsating map.

And there he was.

The groom.

Eduard Valdeiron.

Located in the west wing, second floor, illuminated balcony.

Surrounded by guards who seemed more like decoration than protection.

"This is where the fun begins."

Damon moved like smoke.

When the guards blinked, he was no longer where he should be.

He climbed onto the rear roof.

He descended the side wall using only his fingertips.

He dodged a detection spell as if it were a puddle in the street.

And then he reached the balcony.

He heard before he saw.

Eduard was talking to himself.

Talking to himself—and complaining.

"—that wild girl will learn to respect me. Oh, she will… when she's my wife, I will—"

Damon placed both feet on the railing without making a sound, tilting his head to the side as if observing an interesting insect.

Ah.

So that was the worm.

Eduard continued:

"—and her father, that damned old man, should be grateful that I accept this untamed girl. I'll mold that… that thing as I wish. A perfect wife. Silent. Obedient."

Damon felt the corner of his lip slowly rise.

The night brought a gentle breeze.

The groom didn't notice he was no longer alone.

He just kept talking, spitting out arrogance and ignorance:

"And when she drops this Academy nonsense, I—"

"Sorry," Damon cut in, his voice low, soft, and polite.

"Is this the meeting of idiots or did you start without me?"

Eduard froze.

He turned slowly.

And saw Damon there, sitting with one leg crossed over the other on the windowsill, as if it were his own room, his own balcony, his own mansion.

"…Who are you?" Eduard stammered.

Damon smiled.

"I'm the guy you should be afraid of."

Silence fell like a sword.

Eduard stood up suddenly, pointing at him:

"Guards! Guard—"

He didn't finish.

Damon disappeared from the windowsill and reappeared behind him, so fast the air seemed to crackle.

A hand closed on the nobleman's expensive collar and pushed him against the wall with enough force to make him feel every bone in his body.

Eduard gasped.

"You… you can't do this… I am—"

"An idiot," Damon finished calmly. "I know. I already figured it out."

Eduard's eyes widened with indignation—and fear.

"Listen carefully," Damon said, bringing his face closer until their eyes were aligned. "Morgana isn't yours. Never was. Never will be. And if you lay a finger on her…"

He moved even closer, his voice growing so cold it felt like a shard of ice embedded in his skin.

"…I'll shatter you into so many pieces that not even your mother will recognize you."

Eduard tried to sound brave, but his voice trembled:

"Y-you have no idea who you're dealing with! My father—"

"Your father," Damon interrupted, "can buy another son if he wants. Maybe a less useless one."

The laugh that escaped him was so low and bitter that it made the nobleman pale completely.

Damon loosened his collar, allowing Eduard to collapse into the chair like a sack of overly refined flour.

He turned to leave.

And then he stopped.

He looked over his shoulder.

"Oh, I almost forgot."

Eduard raised his head, trembling.

"And you tell the duke, your father, or anyone else that I was here…"

Damon smiled.

A slow smile.

Dangerous.

Predatory.

"…I'll be back. I hope you won't be arrogant and give up on my Morgana."

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