His eyes roll as he moves to sit on the staircase, pulling a knife from his belt and twirling it lazily. He looks so at ease, so arrogant, as if none of this matters, as if I am nothing more than an amusing distraction in his otherwise thrilling day.
I don’t move—I watch him, my patience thinning with every slow turn of the blade, every flick of his wrist. He doesn’t look at me, not directly, but I know he feels my stare, knows I am waiting, expecting something—anything—from him other than this infuriating indifference.The tip of the dagger catches the faint glow of torchlight as he spins it again, a smirk tugging at his lips, and I realize he is enjoying this.
Enjoying making me wait. Enjoying the tension stretching between us like a bowstring drawn too tight.
It’s a game.
Of course, it’s a game.
Everything with him is.
My fingers curl into fists, my breath coming sharper now, hot with irritation. The moment stretches too long, and I see it in the way his head tilts, watching me from the corner of his eye like a cat waiting for its prey to let its guard down.
I snap.
“You don’t know me at all,” I bite out, shoving past him.
In a blur of movement, he’s on his feet. One moment lounging, careless and untouchable—the next, a force before me, unshakable, immovable. The dagger is gone, vanished as if it had never existed, but something far more sinister lingers in its place. His posture is rigid, his shoulders squared, tension rippling beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break. His piercing gaze locks onto mine, as if it could strip me bare without ever laying a hand on me.
“I know you more than I ever wanted to,” he says quietly, the words sinking into the silence like a blade finding its mark.
There’s no levity in his tone this time. No teasing edge.
Something in the way he says it unnerves me. Callum is blunt, a provocateur who wields truth like a weapon, but this…
This feels different. Darker.Deeper.
Like a confession he never meant to speak aloud. I tilt my head, studying him as confusion gnaws at me. Before I can speak, he moves past me, effortlessly descending the staircase as if nothing had happened at all. His footsteps echo in the stillness, and Ihatethe way I stand there, frozen, watching him go.
Callum and I have crossed paths only a handful of times, and yet I know this much: he didn’t come here to rattle me, though hesucceeded. He came to ensure that the woman he believed me to be still lingered beneath the mask I wore.
And somehow, that thought cuts deeper than anything he could have said.
27
CASPER
Igrip the railing tightly, the cold metal biting into my palms. The world outside feels starkly indifferent to the storm within me—stars gleaming, the distant hum of the river in the background, and the bracing wind carrying the scent of frost. Just as my breathing begins to steady, I hear the soft shuffle of boots on stone. Turning slightly, I spot Callum emerging from the shadows on the far side of the balcony.
He moves with an effortless quietness, his presence more felt than heard. His features are partially illuminated by the faint glow of the smoldering darkleaf he lights. The scent drifts in the air, pungent and earthy, a reminder of Callum's ever-present confidence and the air of arrogance he wears. His coat, dark and weather-worn, flutters slightly in the breeze, revealing a blade strapped at his side—a subtle reminder of his constant readiness.
Callum leans casually against the railing, exhaling a plume of smoke as he studies the horizon. His silence is purposeful, and when he finally glances my way, it’s with an air of knowing that sets my teeth on edge.
He takes another drag, his movements unhurried, the faintorange glow of the smoldering darkleaf briefly lighting his angular face. His dark, shadowed eyes linger on me for a moment before he flicks the darkleaf over the railing, the ember vanishing into the darkness below.
“She’s in the east wing staircase. The hidden one,” he says, his voice low and even, carrying just enough weight to command attention without drawing suspicion.
I narrow my eyes at him, but Callum doesn’t wait for a response. He pushes off the railing with fluid grace, his boots making the faintest sound against the stone as he steps away. Before he disappears into the shadows again, he leans in slightly, his tone dropping to something almost conspiratorial.
“Don’t keep her waiting,” he murmurs, the softest half-smile ghosting across his lips before he straightens and vanishes into the night.
I watch the space he vacated, my frustration mingling with grudging gratitude. Callum always seemed to know more than he let on, his quiet observance unnerving yet strangely reliable.
Taking a deep breath, I steady myself, gripping the railing one last time before turning back toward the doors. I won’t let myself unravel. Not tonight. As I stalk through the dimly lit halls of the castle, I force myself to steady my breath, fighting the seething rage clawing at my insides. Jealousy fuels it—a relentless, burning fire that refuses to die.
She doesn’t truly want Jason. She can’t. Something’s happened—something I don’t understand yet—but I need to. I need to hear it from her, see it in her eyes. Because if it were true... if she really had chosen him… I don’t think I could live with myself.
My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I round a corner. The shadows stretch long, the distant hum of the feast in the great hall echoing faintly in my ears. I veer toward the hidden staircase, hoping to intercept her, to find the truth buried beneath this facade she’s wearing.
