Gods, he was letting the Veinfire take him, devouring him from the inside out. She could already see the blaze climbing.
He’s going to burn for me.
“Jake!” she screamed, the name tearing from her throat like it could drag him back from the fire.
Caelen braced wide, both arms outstretched, fingers clawed as if he could rip Jakobav open with sheer force. Veinfire poured from him in a torrent, veins glowing like molten ore, the blaze lashing straight into Jakobav.
Ella held her breath, waiting for grief and devastation, for Jakobav to scream, to fall.
“No!” she yelled, the plea echoing through the night air.
The balcony doors slammed open.
Light and voices spilled out as King Eryndor stepped onto the terrace, half the council crowding behind him. Their laughter died instantly at the sight—Caelen stood wreathed in Veinfire, Jakobav staggering under the force of it, Ella scorched and pinned helplessly against the railing.
“Caelen, stop!” Eryndor roared. “Stand down at once!”
Caelen didn’t turn.
He ignored the king entirely, the veins in his arms burning brighter as he poured more power into Jakobav.
Jakobav raised one hand as though to ward it off, his body rigid, jaw clenched, the fire searing across his skin until Ella swore she could smell ash.
Her stomach dropped.
Jakobav’s head snapped up, teeth bared in a feral smile, and then he struck. His other hand flashed, steel gleaming as a second, smaller blade—one he must have kept hidden—arced swiftly, scoring a shallow line across Caelen’s forearm. Not deep, but just enough to open him, and blood welled bright against the heat. Jakobav angled the blade, letting a single drop roll toward its tip. His tongue flicked against the steel, and the moment the blood touched him, his veins lit like fire catching oil.
Caelen froze at the horrific sight.
His nostrils flared, his body tightening as though the blood itself was singing through him, power thrumming in his bones. Veinfire radiated from him, alive, his skin glowing with stolen flame.
Jakobav smiled wider, and Caelen looked both stunned and disgusted.
He wielded it with devastation, flaring bigger and brighter than it had on Caelen, the result of years of practice with borrowed powers and necessary brutality.
Caelen staggered back, his own veins flaring in response, his voice breaking into a snarl. “Mine!”
Jakobav’s grin was pure ruin. “It’s mine now. Just like she never was, and never will be, yours.”
He raised his hand, and flame erupted under Caelen’s skin, crawling up his neck, illuminating every vein in his body splitting apart in branching red fissures.
A court member gasped just before Caelen screamed, his arrogance melting into raw panic. His own magic betrayed him, burning through him where everyone could see.
Jakobav stepped close, his voice a growl meant for Caelen’s ears alone. “This is what you are. Hollow fire in hollow veins.”
Then he slammed the hilt of his sword into Caelen’s jaw, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious, his glowing veins dimming to nothing.
Silence swallowed the court.
Jakobav stood over him, chest heaving, dark eyes sweeping the stunned faces watching him. His mouth was stained red at the corner—a smear of blood he didn’t bother to wipe. He looked less like a guest, less like a prince, and more like a weapon forged for nights exactly like this.
No one stepped forward. No one dared.
Jakobav turned, his gaze finding the scorch mark on her arm. His jaw hardened. Without a word, he closed the distance, lifted her, and swung her over his shoulder.
A murmur of shock, courtiers parting in a wave. Her hair spilled down his back, and her fists beat once against him before she went limp.
Jake is alive.
