Before she could decide, a shadow peeled away from the wall.
Araya sucked in a sharp breath as it drifted toward her, curling lazily across the floor. She flinched as it twined around her ankles—strangely warm against her bare skin—before slipping away again, only to stop a few paces down the hall.
Araya stared after it, a strange certainty settling in her chest—it was waiting for her. Only a fool would follow a shadow—but somehow, Araya found herself stepping into the hallway, closing her door quietly behind her.
The shadow was almost playful as it led her through the empty castle—spiraling and looping through puddles of dim moonlight and darting from shadow to shadow. But when Araya paused in front of one of the shrouded paintings it raced back to her, flickering around her feet as it urged her onward.
It didn’t stop until it reached a heavy door, swirling in front of it for a moment before melting into an inky pool. Araya quickened hersteps, but before she reached it the shadow had flattened itself, sliding through the crack at the bottom of the door.
Araya gripped the handle and turned it—but the door didn’t budge.
Locked—of course.
“You know,” she muttered, aiming her voice at the door in case the shadow was still listening, “If I’d known you were just going to leave me at another locked door, I’d have stayed in my room.”
She didn’t expect an answer. But just as she turned to leave, there was a soft click.
Araya stared as the door creaked open, revealing a narrow sliver of the room beyond. A golden glow spilled through the crack, a strange tug in her chest beckoning her forward.
It was another bedroom—larger than the one they’d given her. The grand bed was neatly made, with heavy emerald curtains that matched drapes along the wall of windows. Outside, she could just make out the dark shape of a balcony overlooking the long-dead garden.
Araya crossed to the writing desk by the window, trailing her fingers over the polished wood. It was completely bare—with not even a stray scrap of parchment or a forgotten quill to tell her anything about the person who lived in this room.
She had more luck with the wardrobe.
Araya ran her fingers over the meticulously hung clothing, marveling at the array of fine fabrics and delicate embroidery. Only a king would have so many beautiful things to wear.
Or a prince.
“What are you doing in here?”
Araya gasped, slamming the wardrobe shut as she spun. Loren stood in front of a door she hadn’t noticed, the bathing chamber behind him. He’d shorn his long hair to his chin, drops of water still clinging to the inky strands and dripping onto his bare shoulders. Her gaze caught on one of those droplets, following it as it trailed over his scars—over the sharp ridges of his torso and the edge of thelow-slung pants that clung to his hips—then snapped away as heat surged up her neck.
“Maybe you should ask your shadow what I’m doing here,” she said, her voice coming out higher than she’d intended. “It was the one that unlocked my door and led me here.”
Loren tilted his head, his gaze dragging over her like he meant to memorize her. He stepped closer, the heat of him bleeding through the thin silk she wore and his scent curling around her—cold stone and storm winds, as sharp and cutting as the male himself.
“You followed a shadow through a dark, unfamiliar castle,” he said slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “In the middle of the gods-damned night?”
“Are you saying you didn’t send it?”
“I did not.” Loren’s scowl deepened, his gaze flicking toward the shifting darkness near the door. “They did this on their own.”
“Well, it’s not like I knew where it was going,” she said, lifting her chin. “If I had, I’d have stayed in my room.”
“That’s my point.” He planted one hand on the wardrobe beside her head, caging her in without touching her. “You didn’t even know where it was taking you—and you still followed it.”
He leaned in, his voice low as his breath grazed the scarred edge of her ear. “This is the last place you should be,ael’sura.”
Araya took a shallow breath, her back glued to the wardrobe as his heat burned into her. But she forced herself to hold his gaze. "You’re right," she said, her voice cutting. "Ishouldn’tbe here—I should be in the New Dominion."
“You know that’s not what I meant,” Loren snapped. But he took a step back, giving her space to breathe. “You should go back to your room,ael’sura. And next time, don’t follow things that belong to me.”
Araya folded her arms, intending to retort—but hissed through her teeth as pain shot through her wrist. She started to pull away, but Loren was already there, his fingers curling around hers with unexpected gentleness.
“Let me see,” he murmured.
Before she could protest, he was examining the splint. Araya held her breath and turned her head away, too aware of how little separated them as heat flushing her skin where he touched her.
