“I apologize for snapping like that. That was uncool of me.” The way his demeanor quickly transformed from looking savage to that of dangerously calm stunned her.

His playful grin, once again, crept up his rugged face. His piercing eyes were the color of amber—and with a playful bite mixed in them, Daphne felt like she was seeing a strong image of will pooling within those roguish orbs.

She knew that she was not in place to make a judgment based off someone’s outward appearance, and yet, the stop button was nowhere to be found.

“Did I catch you off-guard? Please forget what I have said earlier. It was just a slip of the tongue, and nothing so serious. Excuse my poor manners for failing to introduce myself to you. My name is Talon, but you may call me Tal.” The unpredictable man’s gaze remained fixated on her all the time.

She felt a little frustrated because she could not even get herself to speak and respond to him. He must think that she was impertinent, and if this kept up, who knew what could happen?

The man before her whose name was Tal, despite his eyes dancing in mischief, did not seem to be very friendly at all.

He looked playful, but his character was far different from those of the two guards who had helped her earlier. Tal’s aura was distinct—one thing that was for sure.

The fact that she could not bring herself to look away from his intense gaze became a warning that she was not allowed to lower her guard.

When he noticed her hesitation, the corner of his lips quirked even more upward—the movement was practically insignificant that Daphne almost missed it. The feeling when she got inside the dining hall, the inkling which never authorized anyone to become less tense and anxious just by being here, she felt them all from him.

Tal was the living embodiment of that restraint.

His built was truly imposing, and it did not help that his towering height was on par with Bryon. What made him scarier was the uncertain vibe he wore.

What did he need from her? She wanted to ask that.

There were questions that had to be asked. There were questions that had to revel in silence. Those that were meant to be voiced out had gotten the advantage in numbers; they were quite ample.

Most often, these uncertainties were immediately fired away due to its nature being critical. It only required one thing, and that was haste.

Tal let out a defeated sigh. “I take it that you are feeling lightheaded at the moment. You do not seem to be the kind of person who just brazenly disregards someone when speaking.”

She saw it. She was merely a second too late.

He took her hand, and guided her toward the farthest chair—located at the far-end of the table. Daphne was not able to react on time. Therefore, she had no choice, but to go along with him. His hand was huge; it effortlessly engulfed hers without a doubt.

Staring at their entwined hands, her heartbeat sped up—not in fear, and certainly not in excitement. His palm was neither cold nor warm.

This feeling was something else.

It had to be something else.

She happened to also notice the tattoo which laid comfortably on his forearm, an eagle.

Daphne came to a halt, her eyes widening in surprise—and somewhat in recognition. “Who are you?” she asked, determined.

Tal faced her, and smirked. “I am Tal.”

Her lips quivered slightly—and once again, he noticed it.

His smirk grew. “Are we going to repeat the introduction part? I do not mind.”

“I-I think I know you.”

“Really?” Tal dramatically placed his hand on his chin, thinking. “I do not recall meeting someone as beautiful as you in the line of business that I am on.” Their gazes locked, and Daphne felt something heavier than fear weighing down on her.

“You were my father’s bodyguard,” she stated, her breath shaky. “I saw you before.”

His eyes darkened considerably. “Oh, yeah?”

She tried to pull back her hand, but he was stronger—a lot stronger than she was.

“W-why are you doing this?” she questioned, her voice hoarse from all the shock and disbelief. He was not even denying her accusation for the most part.

Tal pulled her into his strong arms. She let out a yelp, and continued to struggle. When she caught a whiff of his chest, she figured that it was the confirmation that she greatly dreaded.

The scent was awfully familiar, and indeed, she could not fool herself that this Tal person was someone else—that her suspicions were wrong, and her claim had no basis.

She saw him before.

He was not like this.

He was never playful. He never showed any emotion, and she thought that he must be lonely for being confined in such a manner.

“Because I am ordered to, Ms. Daphne.” His response was cold; it sounded automatic.

Daphne shook her head, and then looked up at him, her vision blurry with hot, fresh tears. “What are you trying to accomplish? Do you really want to do this? Where is your freedom?”

She watched how his expression of tenderness slowly faded, his eyes becoming feral by the second. She watched in slow motion how his hands tightened to grab her waist and pick her up, only to slam her down on the floor with such force she could not even bear to imagine.

The unimaginable strength that he put to execute that action demanded two things: pride and conviction. Daphne heard a bone crack from the impact that it made. She bellowed in pain and exhaustion.

The look on the enraged man’s face was ruthless.

“I know nothing of freedom,” he spat harshly. “I am fueled by my desire, and if that desire includes hurting you, I will do it. I am not going to abandon this path. Never question my pride again for I cannot guarantee your survival.”

She coughed up blood, and tried to push herself up with her own hands. “Will it satisfy you if you have me tortured?”

Tal straightened up. “Strip, Ms. Daphne. We shall honor your father with a show he will never forget.”