“Easy, Starling,” he murmured, stroking her cheek. “I’m going to take you home now.”
Araya nodded, leaning into his warm touch. But her skin still tingled where Loren’s hands had been, his words still echoing in her mind.Don’t tell anyone—especially not Jaxon.
Chapter
Eleven
The next timeAraya opened her eyes, afternoon sunlight spilled across Jaxon’s bedroom, painting the rich fabrics with gold and casting intricate shadows over the polished wooden floor. She sat up slowly, her head pounding in time with her heartbeat.
Her power hummed under her skin—stronger than it had been, but a thick fog still clung to the edges of her mind, and even small movements made her head spin. She needed more rest—her body knew it, trying to drag her back into the warm cocoon of Jaxon’s bed.
But sleep wouldn’t fix this.
She had seen the prince in her dreams again. She had spoken to him—touchedhim. She couldn’t keep pretending that he was just a manifestation of her subconscious.
She had to tell Jaxon. Didn’t she? At least if she told him now, most of his fury would be directed at the prince instead of her. If she hid it and he found out…Gods. He could leave her like this indefinitely—drained to the point of exhaustion, a shadow of herself. No one would stop him. Most of his peers would probably applaud the decision.
Araya pressed her forehead to her knees, breathing deeply until the iron band around her chest eased.
It should have been easy to choose herself over the practical stranger who haunted her nightmares. But…she couldn’t. Loren had already survived decades of iron, pain, and solitude—he had suffered enough. He didn’t deserve to be punished for the connection neither one of them had chosen any more than she did.
She would keep it to herself. She had to. Jaxon had never asked about the dreams—never questioned the way she sometimes woke up trembling, breathless, staring into the dark. There was no reason for him to start now.
As long as she was careful… he’d never know.
Araya swung her legs over the edge of the bed, forcing her body to carry her to the bathroom. She washed her face and braided her hair back before stripping out of her sweat soaked nightgown and tugging on a chemise and a warm woolen dress. She needed to get out of the apartment, move her body, and feel the fresh air on her face.
She descended the carved marble stairs carefully, each step echoing softly in the hushed silence. The railing was cold under her palm—winter had crept inside, though the tall double doors were pulled shut against the chill, their dark wood and polished brass gleaming in the light of the chandelier that hung from the tall ceiling.
Jaxon had said this had been a seat of governance at one point—but after the Ascendancy, the Arcanum converted it to housing to meet demand. Most of the fae touches had been removed or covered up, but the sweeping architecture remained, as did the heavy, polished mahogany desk where the doorman sat.
“Miss Starwind,” Marcus greeted her, jumping to his feet as she stepped into the atrium. “Are you well? You’re quite pale.”
“Just a little woozy, Marcus. I’m sure I’ll recover quickly.” Araya forced a small smile, fisting her hands in her cloak against the urge topull her hood and hide away from his scrutiny. That wasn’t how she lived anymore. “I’m just heading out to pick up some food.”
He frowned, glancing at the frost creeping up the tall windows. “Should I call you a carriage?”
“No, thank you.” Araya gave him a real smile this time. She liked the older man, with his steady demeanor and unhurried words. Humans were often hard to read, their layers of politeness and ability to lie masking deeper motives, but Marcus always radiated genuine care, going out of his way to make her feel welcome when she bonded with Jaxon.
“The fresh air will do me good,” she added, hoping to reassure him.
Still, she almost second-guessed herself when Marcus pulled one of the heavy doors open and the wind tore through the atrium. Her old, threadbare cloak would have been no match for the chill, but the one Jaxon had bought her—lined with plush, white fur and dyed a deep, stately gray—wrapped around her like a shield despite the cold.
The walk back to her old neighborhood took longer than she expected. She had gotten spoiled, riding everywhere in the black carriages Jaxon and his father always used. By the time she finally spotted the familiar wooden sign of the Crust & Kettle swaying in the wind, her cheeks were numb, and the fur around her hood was edged with frost. But the throbbing in her head had receded to a dull ache behind her eyes.
Inside, the smell of fresh bread and simmering stew wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. A blazing fire roared in the hearth, spilling light and warmth into the dining area. Araya had spent many cold nights at one of those worn wooden tables with Serafina, laughing and talking.
Araya approached the counter, letting the warmth seep into her bones as she scanned the chalkboard menu. She ordered far more than she needed—unable to force herself to choose between the creamy comfort of the potato soup and the hearty goodness of thelamb stew, then adding on the wild mushroom soup just for good measure.
“I’ll get this all packed up for you,” the young female behind the counter said. “If you want to have a seat, I’ll bring it over.”
Araya turned, scanning the tables for a quiet place to sit and rest—then paused mid-step, heat rising to her face as she spotted Serafina tucked into a shadowed corner. She leaned forward, catching the hand of a broad-shouldered man Araya didn’t recognize.
Araya flushed deeper and took a step back—intending to turn back toward the counter and pretend she hadn’t seen them. With the way their last conversation had ended, she doubted Serafina wanted to see her at all—but her sudden movement must have caught the Healer’s attention.
Serafina’s head jerked up, her green eyes widening before she masked her surprise, smoothing her expression into something unreadable.
“Araya,” she said, her tone perfectly neutral. “I didn’t realize you were coming out this way.”
