Ella stared at the closed door, then dropped her face into her hands. “I hate him.”
“No, you don’t,” Jakobav said, his voice unreadable, his back turned as he adjusted his tunic.
She didn’t answer because truthfully, she didn’t hate any of this, and that was the problem.
For her, and for the fate of everyone depending on her to succeed.
Her magic remained quiet.
She hadn’t come here to be saved, hadn’t come for a prince or a healer or the illusion of safety in the heart of the enemy. She had come for one thing: the object tied to the prophecy, the relic buried beneath this castle, the thing no one was supposed to remember.
And yet here she was, distracted by a man with soft brown curls and that stupid jawline.
Ella closed her eyes, forcing the words through her mind like a mantra. Focus.
The fates had already woven their part, and now it was her turn. Uncover the truth, leave before she grew too entangled to run, and definitely, under no circumstances, would she give another ounce of thought to the man who had walked in dripping from the bath, wearing nothing but a towel, and wrecked her ability to form a coherent thought.
But the fates had a way of tangling threads no blade could cut.
13
STEEL REMEMBERS
JAKOBAV
He found Maeren in the upper corridor, where the evening light cut hard across the stone. She didn’t look surprised to see him. She looked irritated.
“You want to tell me why Bryn is acting like he swallowed a secret?” she asked.
Jakobav exhaled once, low.
No point delaying it.
He didn't tell her everything, especially not the way it had felt to have Ella trapped beneath him, her breath catching at his accidental touch, but he told Maeren enough. About why he hadn’t sent Ella to the dungeons the very first night when he discovered her. And how he didn’t believe locking her up or executing her would yield anything useful.
And he told her what he’d been dreading saying out loud, that something about the girl mattered.
“I don’t know what she is yet,” he said quietly. “Spy, runaway, something else entirely. But she didn’t break into my castle to slit my throat in the night. And whatever she’s hiding, I need to know what it is and why.”
Maeren stared at him, unimpressed.
“And how long,” she said, voice sharp, “were you planning on waiting to tell me this?”
“I was hoping to discover the answers to my earlier questions,” Jakobav replied, “before I announced to my most trusted guards and friends that I have been harboring our intruder, convinced Bryn to heal her, and have been feeding her, clothing her, and housing her in secret ever since, when I should be preparing for my Claiming and protecting the kingdom from the breaches.”
Maeren huffed, seeming to accept that, but she still complained anyway. “I cannot believe Bryn knew and said nothing.”
Jakobav gave her a thin shrug. “In his defense, I told him I would revoke his potion privileges if he said anything to anyone about it. I also implied that I would tell you myself.”
“He overestimated you,” she snapped.
He didn’t bother arguing.
She dragged a hand through her hair, then finally relented with a low growl. “Fine. You owe me two things if you want this forgiven.”
“I’m listening.”
“Training. Dawn. No excuses.”
