Hesperia's POV:
Hesperia.
The name echoed in my mind over and over again, swirling through my thoughts like a whisper carried by the wind.
It felt too grand, too lovely to belong to me. Like a word meant for celestial bodies or beings far more magnificent than a girl who had spent her life hidden behind a blindfold. And yet, he had given it to me, spoken it like a decree, like an undeniable truth.
Alastor's voice had been firm when he said it, yet not unkind. I clung to that warmth even as my stomach twisted with uncertainty. Should I allow myself to hold onto it? To claim something he had so easily gifted me? He was my mate after all.
I barely registered the conversation happening around me, my mind still tangled in his words, until I felt a cold touch on my foot. A sharp flinch tore through me as I instinctively yanked my leg back.
"What?" I gasped, startled.
"I need to treat your feet," Zachary said, his voice even, matter-of-fact.
My breath caught, my body freezing. Right. I had felt pain earlier, but in the haze of everything that had happened, I'd barely acknowledged it. I had been walking barefoot through the forest , stone halls, and then the coffin glass had shattered right above my feet. My soles must be absolutely filthy. The thought of someone seeing them, touching them, made me tense.
"I'll just wash them myself," I mumbled, attempting to withdraw further into myself, to curl away from the unwanted attention.
A soft tutting sound came from above me, followed by a shift of movement. My foot was suddenly captured by a large, warm hand. Alastor's.
I gasped, the sensation of his touch unexpected and firm. "Wait—"
"You have glass embedded in your feet," he said with the kind of authority that left no room for argument. "It'll get infected if it's not treated properly. Zach, get me a bucket of water."
"Yes, Sire," Zachary replied.
"Also," Alastor added, his tone shifting to something almost absentminded, as though he had just remembered, "tell Xavier to prepare food."
A beat of silence, then Zachary's receding footsteps filled the room.
I swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably as Alastor's grip remained steady around my ankle. "But… my feet are dirty." The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
I didn't know why that detail mattered to me. It wasn't as if I'd had the luxury of worrying about cleanliness before. But something about him kneeling there, tending to me like this, made my chest tighten.
"Be good," he murmured, his fingers adjusting slightly as if sensing my hesitation. "Don't move. I don't care if they're dirty."
That strange warmth pooled in my stomach again. I pressed my lips together, unable to find a response.
A few moments later, I heard the sloshing of water, the faint thunk of a bucket being set down beside me. The scent of clean linen and antiseptic reached my nose, mingling with the faintest traces of damp stone and something else—something distinctly him.
I braced myself as his touch returned, gentle yet unyielding. My legs trembled slightly as he dipped a cloth into the water and ran it along the arch of my foot. The sensation was foreign, unexpected. No one had ever touched me with such careful intent before. It was unnerving.
I bit the inside of my cheek as he worked, extracting each shard with a precision that made my fingers dig into the cushion beneath me. Each time the tweezers pinched against my skin, I flinched, but he never faltered, only offering quiet reassurances that I barely knew how to accept.
By the time he was wrapping the bandages around my feet, I exhaled shakily, relieved that it was finally over.
Or so I thought.
The moment he let go, I relaxed—only to feel warmth closing in around me again. Before I could process what was happening, his arms slipped beneath me, lifting me effortlessly.
I stiffened. "What are you—"
"Well, I'm sure you're starving," he said, the amusement clear in his voice. "And you can't walk to the dining hall like this. So put your arms around my neck. I'll carry you."
I shook my head immediately. "It's okay—"
"Hesperia."
His voice was low, firm, but not harsh. It commanded obedience in a way that sent my pulse skittering.
Without thinking, I obeyed. My arms wrapped hesitantly around his neck, my fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt. His hold tightened slightly, and in one smooth motion, he hoisted me up against him.
"Good girl," he murmured.
My entire body tensed.
As he carried me through the corridor, his footsteps steady, I swallowed back the embarrassment clawing at my throat. He carried me as if my presence in his arms was neither a burden nor an inconvenience.
Still, a question had been festering inside me, growing heavier with every passing moment.
"Sir—"
"Call me Alastor." He cut in.
"Alastor," I said hesitantly, testing the way his name felt on my tongue.
He hummed in acknowledgment.
"What… what's going to happen to me?"
He was silent for a moment, his stride never faltering. "What happened to the other sacrifices that were supposed to be sent every decade?" I realized that he wasn't talking to me but Zachary whose footsteps I could hear in front of us.
Zachary answered after a moment of hesitation, "All of them entered the tomb and fainted from the cold. During that time, we transported them to the forests near the ports, where they woke up and fled the continent… in fear of their packs finding out."
I frowned. Fainted? Escaped? That didn't happen to me.
My thoughts reeled. The gargoyles had told me to follow the red thread. Hadn't they?
How strange. Why had I remained awake? And why had the lid of his coffin shattered at my touch?
Alastor must have been thinking the same thing. "How come you didn't faint then? How did you wake me up?"
I hesitated.
Should I tell him the truth?
"I didn't mean to…" My fingers unconsciously tightened against the fabric of his shirt. "I felt cold but not to the extent that it was unbearable," After all, I was used to the cold, "so I walked to the coffin, and the lid just… shattered itself after I knocked lightly."
Silence stretched between us.
"And you decided to kiss me?" His voice held an unmistakable note of amusement.
My entire face burned. "I—I didn't mean to! I could feel you breathing, but I—I didn't know why… I just remembered this stupid fairytale, and then I—"
A deep, rich laugh rumbled from him.
"Let me guess," he mused. "Snow White?"
I froze. He knew that story?
I nodded, still mortified. The sound of his laughter filled the hallway, unexpectedly warm, unexpectedly… infectious.
I bit my lip, suppressing a smile of my own. Maybe it really had been ridiculous of me.
Then, his tone shifted, curiosity lacing his words. "Do you know what the original story of Snow White was about?"
I shook my head, intrigued despite myself.
"Well," he drawled, "for one, Snow White was a fourteen-year-old child… and the prince was a thirty-year-old man."
A cold shiver ran down my spine. My mind immediately flashed to Gareth.
Alastor continued, his voice taking on a darker edge by the end. "In our case, it would be Snow White waking the prince…..but in the original tale, there was no kissing."
My throat felt tight. "Then… what happened?"