“I should take you to your quarters,” he said softly. “You need rest.”
“Probably,” I agreed, though rest was the last thing on my mind.
He led me back through the Thornwood Throne, this time taking quieter paths. The rooms he’d arranged for me were in one of the giant flower houses, the petals glowing soft amber in the darkness. Inside was simple but beautiful—a bed that looked like it had been grown rather than built, windows that were actually gaps between petals, and a small table with a vase of those impossible black and gold roses.
“From earlier,” he explained. “When we… they grew where we danced. The children collected them.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“They’re impossible. Darkness and light shouldn’t blend like that.”
“And yet they do.”
We stood in the doorway, neither moving to separate. The bond hummed between us, warm and electric and patient.
“Thank you,” I said. “For showing me your home. For trusting me with the truth about the barriers.”
“Thank you for not trying to fix everything immediately.”
“Oh, I’m absolutely going to fix it. Just… after the convergence.”
He laughed, soft and real. “Of course you are.”
“Someone has to save you from your own nobility.”
“And you’ve appointed yourself?”
“I’m uniquely qualified. Anomaly, remember?”
He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “How could Iforget?”
The touch was electric, sending sparks across my marks. His corruption pulsed in response, and for a moment, the very air between us felt alive with possibility.
“Elle,” he said, my name a question and a warning and a prayer.
But then he leaned down and kissed me—soft, careful, barely there. It lasted only a moment before he pulled back, but that moment was enough to make flowers bloom everywhere—on the walls, the ceiling, carpeting every surface with blossoms.
“Goodnight, Elle,” he said, stepping back before we could do something truly dangerous.
“Goodnight, Kaelren.”
He turned to go, then paused. “The meeting tomorrow—we’ll discuss the plan. What happens when we move on the Heartspire.”
“I’ll be there.”
“I know.”
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with a room full of impossible flowers and a kiss that tasted like promises we might not live to keep.
“Well,” Peeble said, landing on the table. “That was disgustingly romantic.”
“Shut up,” I said, but I was smiling.
“You know this ends badly, right? These things always end badly.”
“Maybe,” I said, touching my lips where I could still feel the ghost of his kiss. “But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the ending isn’t what matters.”
“Philosophy from the anomaly. We’re all doomed.”
