I don’t wait to see where they reappear. I scramble up the stairs, my foot slipping on the wood as I push myself faster. I stumble across the bridge; the boards clattering beneath my weight, until I finally burst into my room, slamming the door behind me. Solena bolts upright from her bed, eyes wide with alarm.
“Amara? What’s wrong? Is the Legion here?”
I press my hands against the door, panting, my chest heaving as if I can somehow hold it shut, as if I can keep him out.
“Worse,” I gasp, my voice tight with fear. “The prince is here.”
Suddenly, a thunderous bang reverberates through the door, and I stumble back while Solena leaps out of bed, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Is that him?” she whispers urgently, her gaze darting to me. “Amara?”
“Princess!” Arax’s voice booms from the other side of the door. “Are you alright?”
I lunge forward, just enough to reach the knob and pull it open, my heart racing. “Close it,” I say quickly as Arax steps inside, his presence somehow grounding in the chaos.
He swings the door shut and immediately draws his sword, his eyes scanning the room. “Where is the danger?”
“Everywhere,” a cold voice cuts through the silence from behind us.
We all turn sharply to see Daedalus lounging in a chair like it’s his throne, bathed in a streak of moonlight that slices across his face. His skin is scratched and bruised, a trickle of blood running down his lip, but his eyes glint with that same dangerous calm that I’ve come to fear… and desire.
Solena gasps, stumbling backward to hide behind Arax, and even he takes a beat to catch his breath at the sight of the prince.
Daedalus taps the arm of the chair lazily with his fingers. “This was not the welcome I expected.”
“It’s the welcome you deserve,” I snarl, my voice low and bitter.
Suddenly, that pop rings out again. Ashen reappears mid-air, a blur of spectral smoke, his jaws wide as he lunges for Daedalus, but the prince doesn’t flinch. He only groans, raising his hand with a flick of irritation.
Ashen freezes in mid-leap, suspended in the air. His powerful legs thrash, claws outstretched, tentacles whipping, trying desperately to reach Daedalus, but he’s held just beyond the edge of striking. And then, with a slow, deliberate curl of hishand into a fist, Ashen dissolves. His smoke spirals into the air before sweeping back toward Daedalus, absorbed into his skin like a whisper.
“No!” I scream, my heart shattering. “You made him forme!”
“And I haveunmade him,” Daedalus snaps, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His eyes lock onto mine, burning with an intensity that turns my blood cold. “And I will unmake everything in existence if that’s what it takes to get close to you. Is that what you want?”
How could I have forgotten this arrogance?
The audacity that burns through him, unyielding and insufferable.
“You would threaten the entire world for something as insignificant as awordfrom me?”
His eyes burn into mine, unblinking. “Can you imagine what I would do for a touch?”
The room crackles with tension, heavy and suffocating, until Arax’s sword cuts through the silence. The sharp ring of metal fills the air as he steps forward. “You are not welcome here, my prince,” Arax declares, his voice solemn yet firm. “Leave now, or face me.”
Daedalus rises, unhurried and baleful, his presence so calm it sends a pulse of terror through us all. His eyes stay locked on mine, as if this entire moment is a game only he knows how to win. The power in his restraint is terrifying. His fearlessness, the lethal grace in how he holds himself, could tear down armies long before a sword is even drawn.
“Stand down, Arax.” A command, not a plea.
Arax’s face twists, torn between duty and the bond he holds with his prince. It’s written across every line in his face—the pain, the struggle. But still, he raises his sword, defying everything he’s ever known. “I will not ask again,” he grits out, the finality in his voice like a warning.
Daedalus’ calm, his unrelenting control—it’s a weapon in of itself, and I hate that I’m drawn to it. It's as if the more dangerous he becomes, the deeper my desire roots itself inside me. I despise this part of myself. And yet, I can’t turn away.
Without warning, Arax brings down his sword, and I cry out, my heart leaping into my throat. But Daedalus moves in a blur of darkness, Death Singer materializing in a swirl of black smoke just as the blades collide. The clash sends sparks flying, the sound of metal on metal reverberating through the room, drowning out everything but the wild, chaotic rhythm of my heart.
Neither gives an inch, their muscles coiled with tension as they push against each other, testing who will bend first. Arax grits his teeth, smoke rising from the corner of his eyes, every inch of him refusing to yield. His blade trembles with the effort, but the prince remains composed, his movements calculated, as if he’s always a step ahead.
“Put your sword down, Arax.”
