And yet, it felt different.
Araya had never minded working on amplifiers. The bones were already processed by the time they reached her, and she only ever infused them with her own power…but she didn’t want to see the broken prince again. Not even in her dreams.
She’d been brewing herself Serafina’s tea every night, chasing the drugged, dreamless sleep it offered.
Araya moved through the desecrated temple, her footsteps nearly silent on the cracked stone floor. She did not stop, refusing to linger under the scrutiny of the shattered idols. She avoided looking at the altar and the ravaged graves altogether, eager to leave this part behind.
She quickened her steps, a strange tug behind her breastbone urging her forward—like someone had hooked her heart on a string and was reeling her in. Araya shook her head, trying to dismiss it as nerves, but the sensation only deepened further into the catacombs she went.
She was almost relieved to see the same guard standing in front of the door to Loren’s cell. His gaze flicked to hers, then dropped immediately, his discomfort palpable. Had he been punished for allowing her through last time?
“Miss Starwind,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Master Jaxon asked that you wait in the workshop until he’s finished.”
“Finished?” Araya asked, frowning. The guard shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting back to the door behind him. Araya’s stomach lurched at the realization—Jaxon was inside.
“He shouldn’t be much longer,” the guard said, clearing his throat. “The workshop is just down the hall—it will be the only open door. You can’t miss it.”
Araya hesitated. That pull in her chest surged, urging her to spring forward, to push through the door he guarded. To findhim. She clenched her fists behind her back, letting the pain of her nails digging into her palms ground her as she shook the feeling off.
“Thank you,” she said, pretending not to hear him exhale audibly as she turned away, heading further down the hall.
Bright light spilled out the open door of the workshop, casting a golden glow into the dank hallway. Araya squinted as she stepped across the threshold, half-blinded by the aetherlamps after the calculated dimness of the rest of the dungeon. Araya squinted as she stepped across the threshold, taking in a space that looked more like a field laboratory than a traditional workshop.
Long, communal workbenches stretched across the space, their surfaces cluttered with scattered tools. Mismatched shelves lined the back wall, sagging under the weight of supplies jammed haphazardly wherever they would fit. The air reeked of burning aether and damp stone, all mixed with the lingering undertone of old blood, a sickening mix that turned her stomach.
“Jaxon certainly hasn’t done much with the space, has he?”
Araya jumped, startling at the unfamiliar voice. She whirled, finding the man framed in the doorway, his black robes stark against the bright glow of the aetherlamps. His pale blue eyes gleamed, bright and cruel, as they swept the cluttered space with obvious disdain before settling on her.
“I suppose he doesn’t have particularly high standards,” hecontinued, stepping forward. “After all, he’s insisting on trusting a halfblood female with our most precious secrets.”
Araya’s stomach dropped as the door swung closed behind him, latching with a quietclickthat might as well have been a death knell. He prowled closer, his shadow falling over her as she stumbled back until her spine struck the bloodstained wall. She had nowhere else to go.
“But I can see why he’s enamored—after all, enchanting a young man rarely requires magic.” He stared down at her, his smile thin and cold. “Sometimes, a pretty face and a willing mouth are enough. I’m sure you do everything he asks… don’t you?”
Araya flinched, her face flushing under his scrutiny. Shame prickled beneath her skin, and worse—fear. She knew what happened to fae females who found themselves alone with powerful human mages—there was no one to stop him here.
“Magister Hale,” she managed to say, her voice shaking.
“You know who I am. Good.” The faint smile on his lips didn’t touch his pale blue eyes. “I’m sure you can guess that I argued vehemently against this, then. You may belong to Jaxon, but if you compromise this project, I will personally ensure the consequences are... unforgettable. Do you understand me?"
“I understand,” Araya said, forcing the words past the lump in her throat.
“Good,” Hale said again. He smiled faintly, like he could read her fear as easily as words on a page. “This place is a disaster,” he said, turning his sharp gaze back to the room. Air rushed back into Araya’s lungs the moment he stepped away, his contempt lingering like a shadow. “Sloppy benches—improper storage. Typical of Jaxon?—”
“Are you inspecting my workspaces now?” Araya’s heart leapt as Jaxon’s voice sliced through the tension, her legs threatening to buckle with relief.
Hale straightened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he turned to face Jaxon. “This isn’t your workspace,” he said coldly. “It belongsto the Arcanum. You should at least attempt to maintain some semblance of order?—”
Jaxon chuckled. “This is how your team left things, Hale.” He gestured broadly to the cluttered benches and scattered tools. “If you’d put half the effort into overseeing them as you do interfering with my bond, maybe you would have gotten results.”
Hale’s face darkened, his pale eyes narrowing to slits. His hands flexed at his sides, but his gaze was icy as it swept over them both.
“Try not to get too attached to your toys, boy.” He sneered. “Because when this all falls apart, it won’t be the golden son they come for—it will be her.”
With that, he turned sharply on his heel, his black robes flaring as he swept from the room like a thundercloud. His sharp footsteps echoed down the hallway, fading quickly into silence.
Araya released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She stumbled forward, and Jaxon caught her easily, his arms wrapping around her like steel bands as she pressed her face into his chest, trembling.
