“Thank you, Master Jaxon Shaw,” she murmured against his lips.
Her magic surged toward him, tangling with his in a way she still didn’t fully understand. It had been days since he’d siphoned from her, and she was too full again—bloated with power she couldn’t burn fast enough. The pressure beneath her skin was nearly unbearable, a slow burn that left her aching and restless.
“Jaxon…” she whispered, pressing her body closer, desperate for even the smallest release. “Please. I need you to take it.”
“Gods,” Jaxon groaned, his grip on her hips tightening as her magic curled around them both, greedy and insistent. “You’re the perfect woman. But I really do have work to do.”
“I know,” Araya sighed, dragging her nails over his scalp. His head dropped back, and she couldn’t resist pressing one more kiss to the exposed column of his throat. “But I need you to come home tonight. I need you.”
“I’ll be there,” he promised, squeezing her hips once more before letting her slide off his lap to claim the seat beside him. “What did you do all day?”
“I spent the whole day locked in your office—reading.” Araya nudged his plate back toward him and picked up her own. After safety and security, having an actual library in her home was one of the greatest perks of being bonded to Jaxon.
Jaxon chuckled, ignoring his plate to wrap an arm around her. “Somehow, I’m not surprised. Did you learn anything?”
“I did—” Araya rummaged in her bag until she found her sheaf of notes. “I was going over the translation you found of the Chronicles of Valendral and some other accounts of the fae royal line. I was trying to figure out how a spell could linger more than twenty years past the caster’s death. I couldn’t come up with anything. If the Shadowed Veil was part of King Corwin’s magic it would have dissipated with his death.”
Jaxon’s brow furrowed as he considered her words, his fingers idly tracing slow, absentminded patterns over the back of her neck.
“But—” Araya flipped her notes open to the passage she had marked earlier. “Shadow powers aren’t exactly rare in the royal line—the records you pulled show that every generation has at least one. And there are more than a few references to rulers ‘wreathed’ or ‘crowned’ in shadows.”
Jaxon leaned in slightly, scanning the note she pointed to. “You don’t think it’s a metaphor?”
“I don’t.” Araya frowned down at it. “The more I look at this, the less it feels like a spell. What if it’s something else entirely—some kind of hereditary force or entity tied to the royal bloodline?”
Jaxon’s eyes narrowed as he skimmed over Araya’s notes. “There’s no precedent for it.”
“True.” Araya shrugged, gathering up her pages. “But the fae were secretive. If this was something they meant to keep hidden, maybe no one outside the royal family ever knew the truth.” She hesitated, tapping one corner of the parchment. “What I don’t understand is—if the power was passed down through the royal line, what happened when the fae king died with no heir to inherit it?”
“That’s…an interesting question.” Jaxon leaned back slightly, his fingers drifting to the amulet at his throat as he stared past her. The golden setting she’d made for the bone disc gleamed, catching the light of the aetherlamps as he turned it idly between his fingers.
“Too bad there’s no way to test it,” she said, sliding her research back into her bag. “I guess we’ll never know.”
Jaxon didn’t move as she cleaned up their meal, his thoughtful expression unchanging. For the first time, silence stretched between them—not the easy, comfortable kind, but something heavier, weighted with unspoken thoughts. Like he was deciding how much to say.
“What if someone wore an amulet infused with blood from theroyal line?” Jaxon asked finally. “Do you think the Veil—whatever it is—would respond to them?”
Araya turned slowly. “The Arcanum has the fae king’s blood?”
Jaxon’s face split into a bright, reckless grin—so full of mischief and excitement it made her stomach flip.
“Tell me, Starling,” he said. “How do you feel about breaking a few rules tonight?”
“What about your work?” Araya raised an eyebrow, studying him for some sign of what he intended.
Jaxon’s grin widened, giving her no hints. “It will get done—we don’t even have to leave the Aetherium for this.” He stood, stretching lazily. “Grab your cloak, though—it gets cold down there.”
If Jaxon’sworkshop was at the top of the West Tower, then wherever he was leading her had to be buried in the depths of the Aetherium itself. She hadn’t even realized the foundation ran this deep. Every step burned, and both of them were breathing hard as they passed the landings for the third and fourth subterranean levels.
Araya sighed in relief when the stairs ended at the fifth, only to groan when Jaxon led her down the hall to yet another set of stairs.
“It’s worth it,” he laughed. He pressed his hand to the door, blue and silver runes flaring under his touch as it unlocked. “I promise.”
This stairway was steeper and longer, lit by dim aetherlamps that cast just enough light to reveal each step, plunging their descent into oppressive gloom. The chill seeped into Araya’s bones, every step heavier as if the walls were closing in on her, sealing her fate.
“Almost,” Jaxon said, tugging her forward by the hand. “Just through here. You’re going to like this part.”
They passed through yet another warded door, into a corridor that had partially collapsed. A narrow path had been cleared through the rubble, but it was so tight Araya’s shoulders scraped the stone,and Jaxon had to turn sideways in places—though his hand never left hers.
