Cold Hearts In Love.

As they stepped into the Blackthorne Inn, the air was warm, laden with the rich scents of roasted meats and spiced wine. 

The common room bustled with travelers, their laughter and clinking tankards filling the air. Zayd's eyes briefly scanned the room before he approached the desk where an attendant stood, bowing slightly. 

The man's baritone voice was steady and polite, though his gaze lingered a moment too long on Emma. 

"Good day, milord. How may I be of service?" the attendant inquired. 

"We will need two rooms for the night," Zayd replied evenly, though he could feel Emma shift uneasily beside him. 

The attendant hesitated, then began rifling through a set of keys.

"My apologies, milord, but only one room remains. The New Year Lunar draws many travelers, and we are at capacity." He bowed his head, feigning regret.

"If this is unsatisfactory, I could recommend another inn which would take days for you to arrive there. " Zayd offered a thin smile.

"No need. We shall manage with what is available, we just need one night anyway." The attendant nodded, though the hint of a smirk played on his lips as he handed over the key, as they walked away.

Behind him, an older man emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. His stern expression fixed on the attendant. 

"Saturn, why would you tell them there is but one room? We've no shortage of space!" The younger man chuckled softly, leaning close to his father.

"Aye, Father, but can't you see? I'm merely helping fate along. A finer match I've yet to witness." The elder man muttered something about fools and matchmaking, but Zayd had already turned toward the stairs, his steps purposeful.

Emma followed in silence, her face a mixture of weariness and faint suspicion. 

The room they entered was modest yet well-kept. Wooden beams lined the ceiling, and a small hearth glowed softly in one corner, its warmth dispelling the evening's chill. 

Two straw-stuffed mattresses lay upon simple wooden frames, each adorned with a quilt of deep red and gold. The scent of lavender lingered faintly, likely from a sachet placed beneath the pillow. 

Zayd set the key on the small wooden table near the center of the room and turned to Emma.

"You should clean yourself. The bath is behind that screen," he said, gesturing toward a wooden partition at the far corner. 

Emma hesitated before nodding, her fingers brushing the hem of her tattered gown. She moved silently toward the screen, disappearing behind it as Zayd stepped out, granting her privacy. 

The water was warm, the tub filled with steam that seemed to embrace her tired body. As Emma lowered herself into the bath, the grime of days past dissolved into the water.

She leaned back, closing her eyes, letting the heat soothe the bruises on her arms and the ache in her soul. Her thoughts turned to Aurora, she had tried several times to turn her away from her decision of revenge, but eventually supported her, as that was what she wanted.

Not hearing anything from her, she thought she had failed and perhaps gotten killed already. She could scarcely believe she was alive, let alone safe, in the same palace.

Emma's chest tightened at the memory of her failed escape, she and Aurora had planned together. The punishment had been cruel, just cruel.Yet here she was, alive—and free, her mind then went to Zayd, was it just like in the stories she read, her very own knight in shining armor?

The door creaked open and shut again. Emma froze, listening as footsteps retreated down the corridor. When she emerged from the bath, her reflection in the small mirror startled her. Her hair, though tangled, gleamed again after she had combed through it. The clean gown left for her was plain but soft, and for the first time in weeks, she felt like a person rather than a shadow. 

She stepped into the room just as Zayd returned, balancing a tray laden with food and a pitcher of water. He paused when he saw her, his gaze unreadable, before he set the tray on the table. 

"Eat," he said simply, nodding toward the meal. "I've already had my fill." Emma obeyed, her hunger overpowering her hesitation.

She sat at the small table, the chair creaking softly beneath her as she began to eat. Zayd reclined on one of the mattresses, his gaze fixed on the low-burning fire. 

He closed his eyes, his thoughts turning to Aurora. Memories of her sharp wit and unyielding strength surfaced, but so did the pain of their parting. He barely noticed as sleep claimed him. 

When he awoke, the storm was raging outside. Rain lashed the windows, and wind howled through the cracks in the shutters. Emma was curled on the bed, her face serene in sleep.

Zayd made a pallet on the floor, layering it with blankets. 

"Mister…?" Her voice startled him. He turned his head, finding her gaze uncertain in the dim firelight. 

"Hmm?" 

"May I ask your name?" He hesitated, then answered, "Zayd. My name is Zayd." 

"Zayd," she murmured, as though tasting the name. A small smile graced her lips. "It's a fine name." 

"Hm," he replied softly. The room fell silent save for the crackling fire and the rhythm of rain, the only sound was the shuffling of the blanket as he laid on the blankets he had spread on the floor. 

"Lady Emma," he said, almost absently, staring at the worn-out wooden ceiling. She blinked, startled by the title. It felt foreign to her, a garment she was unfit to wear.

Yet something in the way he said it—a quiet respect—made her heart ache. Emma turned her head to observe him, the flickering firelight dancing across his features.

He seemed so far removed from her world, a man with strength and purpose, untainted by the darkness that had consumed her life. 

"Yes?" 

She smiled faintly, though somewhere in her head, whispered that such kindness did not mean he had any feelings towards her.

"What manner of person was Aurora?" he asked, his voice scarcely above a whisper.Emma sighed, her gaze drifting as a wistful smile played upon her lips.

"I cannot say how others would describe her. But to me, she was remarkable—graceful, as you no doubt already know, and admired by all. She had a strength about her, and she shielded me when no one else did. Meeting her changed everything for me," she replied, her thoughts seeming to linger far away.

Zayd allowed a faint smile to touch his lips as his mind wandered back to his own memory of Aurora.

He had been standing with his half-brothers in a shadowed corner of the bustling market. Zayd, the youngest among them and the only one of mixed blood—a child born of both human and vampire lineage—was smaller and far weaker than his kin.

Yet he trained relentlessly to defend himself, though he was seldom shown mercy by others.

"You wretch! Why did you strike my friend like that? You knocked out his teeth!" Tristan bellowed, his face flushed with anger.

"He called my mother a harlot," Zayd retorted, his crimson eyes glinting with fury. "Was it untrue?" Griffin jeered, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.

"Enough of this," Roman, the eldest, interjected sharply, though his words fell on deaf ears.

"We ought to teach him a lesson," Tristan hissed.

"Why must he live among us as though he's our equal? He's nothing but a bastard." Griffin spat. Zayd's fists clenched tightly. He held his ground, refusing to cower before their taunts.

"Apologize, and we'll let this go," Roman said, his tone cold and unyielding.

"Why should I apologize when I've done no wrong?" Zayd shot back, his voice steady despite the odds. "I took his teeth because he deserved it."

Roman's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did you say?"

"I said he deserved it, and I will not apologize." Roman's patience snapped, and with a sudden blow, he struck Zayd, sending him stumbling.

Zayd tried to return the blow, but Griffin and Tristan seized him, pinning his arms.Just then, a child happened to pass through the corridor.

"Mind your business!" Tristan barked, his glare sharp and menacing. The child froze for a moment before quickly darting away, too frightened to intervene.

"Apologize right now!" Roman said, but Zayd was just as stubborn as his brothers, Roman continued hitting him, while Griffin and Tristan held him down. 

"Apologize now!" Roman demanded as he struck Zayd again.

Zayd, though bruised and restrained, remained resolute. Then, out of nowhere, a pastry struck Roman squarely in the head.It was the child who had scurried away earlier.

All eyes turned to see a young girl standing a short distance away, tears glistening in her eyes but her stance defiant. "Leave him be!" She shouted, her voice trembling yet firm.

At her side stood a boy older than any of them, a figure commanding enough to halt even Roman's wrath. It was the first time anyone had ever stood up for Zayd.

That moment remained etched in his memory, a debt he would never forget.

"Lord Zayd?" Emma's voice pulled him from his reverie.

"Hmm?"

"Forgive me, I thought you might have fallen asleep."

"Hm," he murmured, his thoughts still lingering in the past.