The First Crack
Chapter 2 of "A Little Rough, A Little Ruined."
This is Chapter 2 of a free romantasy serial.
Uptight demon prince. Marked midlife heroine.
Tension. Spice. Come for the yearning. Stay for the ruin.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 2: Evander (this post)
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Chapter 2: Evander
Evander frowned at his dessert. Was he eating it wrong?
He rarely indulged. But tonight, he’d allowed himself the smallest reprieve. And apparently, his manners had been questionable enough for this female to comment.
He didn’t know what to make of her.
No one had ever spoken to him like that.
She glanced at him again, quietly chuckling as she tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, then sipped her chocolate. Her tongue swept across her upper lip, catching a smear of cream.
Even the way she drank chocolate was scandalous.
Evander was used to demure, court-bred females. The kind who daintily spooned chocolate into their mouths without ever tasting it. The kind who swathed themselves in high-collared gowns and sleeves buttoned to the wrist.
But this one?
She wore a flowing smoke grey dress the color of storm clouds on the edge of breaking. The neckline dipped into a modest V, just deep enough to spark a male’s imagination. The bodice hugged her waist, drawing attention to the elegant line of her torso before flaring into a loose, A-line skirt.
Now she was scooping a forkful of cake past wine-stained lips.
Indulgence upon indulgence.
He cleared his throat, then shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of the heat building beneath his shirt. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stretched his neck, running two fingers inside the edge of his collar. It felt too tight.
Evander rubbed a hand across his chest, then picked up his fork, determined to finish his dessert as quickly as possible.
He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to come down to the restaurant at all. Room service would have sufficed.
But after a day of trading veiled threats and political niceties with Lord Valmont, he’d told himself a brief deviation from routine would sharpen his focus. The best strategies came from a rested mind, after all. And if he’d stayed in his suite, he would’ve kept preparing for tomorrow’s meeting.
And now, look where that lapse in judgment had landed him.
Seated across from a female with no regard for restraint.
Or decorum.
Or basic etiquette.
She licked a streak of ice cream from her spoon, then met his gaze like she’d caught him staring.
Which she had.
“Want some?” she asked sweetly. “I was thinking of getting another slice anyway. We could share. Very civilized.”
He set his fork down, gaze lifting to meet hers fully.
The audacity of this female. She was confident he’d give her that. Older than him, but not by much.
As far as he could tell, she didn't want anything but company. She didn’t bat her lashes with choreographed shyness. Didn’t veil ambition behind demure smiles.
Most females coveted his name. His inheritance. His throne.
He’d learned young how to spot the hunger behind the silk.
And since he had no interest in affections that could be bought, his life had been a solitary one.
Not lonely, though.
He had plans to enact. Treaties to secure. Alliances to forge.
And contrary to his father’s incessant harping, alliances did not require a bride.
You just had to be the smartest person in the room. The most ruthless.
“Well?” she prompted, eyebrows raised. “Yes or no, dark and broody? I need to mentally prepare if I’m about to share chocolate. This cake is sacred. The chef keeps it off-menu for a reason.”
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “A gentleman never declines a lady’s request for polite company,” he said, pushing his chair back.
He crossed to her table in a few unhurried strides, gaze lingering—just briefly—on the fall of her hair. He didn’t let it stray further.
No need.
He’d taken in the curve of her hips the moment he walked into the room.
As he settled into the chair across from her, she flagged down the waiter with a flick of her fingers. “Elliot, two more slices. With ice cream. Extra judgment if you forget the strawberries.”
Then she turned back to Evander and winked. “I’ve decided not to share. It felt dishonest.”
She was… striking. Not in any traditional sense—her long hair slightly tousled, posture far too relaxed—but there was something arresting in the way she moved. Unstudied. Unapologetic. Like she wasn’t performing for anyone.
And for reasons he couldn’t name, that unsettled him.
He gripped his thigh beneath the table, fingers pressing hard into muscle as he took in her dark eyes and light olive skin. He needed to stay guarded. Especially with this female, whoever she was.
“Looks like you’re a regular here?” he said.
“Oh yes. Every night. The staff fears me.” She beamed. “You?”
“My first time,” he said evenly. “I don’t typically dine in public.”
Her eyes lit up. “Let me guess—you save the real chaos for behind closed doors. Toss etiquette to the wind. Wreak havoc on a poor, unsuspecting napkin. Am I right? I am, aren’t I?”
He laughed before he could stop himself, and the sound startled him. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.
“Not quite,” he said, adjusting his cuff. “Though that’s certainly a vivid image. It’s more that… where I’m from, I’d be recognized.”
She leaned in, cupping a hand to the side of her mouth like they were co-conspirators. “Elliot told me who you are, Your Highness.” Then she grabbed her spoon as the waiter placed a slice of cake in front of each of them. “Don’t worry. I’m not impressed.”
She nodded toward his plate, solemn as a priestess. “Given your, um… banana situation earlier, I think a little instruction is in order.”
He stilled.
“You want to start with the ice cream,” she said, demonstrating with a flourish, “then scoop a bit of cake onto the same spoon. The magic’s in the combo. Watch—”
She popped the bite into her mouth, eyes fluttering shut in exaggerated bliss. “See? Transcendence.”
His fingers tightened around the spoon as he followed her absurd instructions.
And damn it all, she was right. The ice cream hit first. Cold. Rich. Decadent. Then the cake followed—warm, dense, and far too indulgent for something served in public. He nearly groaned.
For a breath, he resented the discipline he’d been raised to worship. How had he gone his entire existence without this?
“So,” she said, already halfway through another bite, “what brings you to our city?”
“I’m here to negotiate with Lord Valmont,” he replied, lifting a scoop to his mouth. “Do you know of him?”
Her spoon paused, and she swallowed hard, shoulders going tense. Then she shrugged. “I’ve heard of him.”
“Anything useful you can share?” he asked. “I can’t go into detail, but… suffice it to say, he’s a tough negotiator.”
Somehow, the upstart vampire had achieved a monopoly over the sunsteel trade routes on the White Sea. The ore could only be mined on the coastal cliffs during the sliver of sunrise when it softened enough to extract. Evander’s kingdom relied on it to power skyships and forge weaponry. For centuries, carefully brokered trade agreements had kept the metal flowing.
Then, a year ago, Lord Valmont had appeared. And overnight, he’d taken it all.
No one knew how. Because everyone involved in the operation before he arrived was dead.
The female pushed her plate away, fingers flexing. “He’s dangerous,” she said. “And when diplomacy fails, he doesn’t negotiate. He eliminates obstacles.”
Evander quirked an eyebrow. “Pray tell?”
She tilted her head, mouth gone wry. “Let’s just say... if you push him hard enough, he won’t come himself. He’ll send something worse.”
That was good to know. Because Evander had already pushed. Had threatened to walk.
Even knowing that if the other demonarchies learned the sunsteel trade was vulnerable, they’d descend without hesitation. Valmont’s terms be damned. They’d seize it with both hands. Anything to break the Seventh Kingdom’s grip on the ore.
“Are you going to eat that?” she asked, pointing at the strawberry on his plate.
“No, please—” He reached for it at the same moment she did.
Their fingers brushed.
Heat sparked, shooting up his arm like a lit fuse. His pulse stuttered, and for a breathless second, something stirred beneath the surface of his control. Before he could stop himself, Evander turned his hand, catching hers in his palm. His thumb swept across her skin once, then again. Slower the second time.
Her eyes dropped to their hands, lips parting as her brows drew together. A flush rose along her throat, and something flickered across her face. Confusion, perhaps.
Then, slowly, she pulled away… her palm dragging across his flesh, even as her body leaned in.
He blinked. The moment shattered.
His hand felt empty.
He drew back, teeth clenching. “That was… inappropriate.”
“No, it’s okay,” she breathed, fingers tracing the spot where he’d touched her. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”
Understandable.
He’d only just met her. Didn’t even know her name. And here he was, holding her hand like she was his.
He exhaled through his nose, disgusted with himself. He’d thought she was the unruly one.
Whatever this was, it needed to stop.
“What is your name?” he asked, his voice lower now. Rougher.
She studied him, as if saying it out loud was a risk she hadn’t yet decided to take. She took a deep breath, then leaned back. “My name is M—”
Glass exploded beside him.
And a heartbeat later, an arrow slammed into his chest.
“A Little Rough, A Little Ruined” © 2025 Kestrel Caim. All rights reserved.
This is an original work of fiction. Do not reproduce or redistribute without written permission. Stealing stories is stealing souls. Don’t do it.
“I need to mentally prepare if I’m about to share chocolate.”
Truer words have never been spoken. And my husband can vouch for that, lol.
I love cliffhangers!!