The earth bucked beneath them, launching him into the air like a rock shot from a catapult. But Tristan, damn him, made it look effortless. He twisted midair, using the momentum like it was second nature. Every heartbeat stretched, the seconds crawling as if the gods themselves were drawing out the moment, mocking her with it.
And then he was plummeting.
Straight for her.
Elara barely had a second to brace herself, barely a breath in her lungs before Tristan slammed into her.Hard. The impact sent her reeling, the air punched from her chest in one brutal gasp. They tumbled, rolling across the grid, each hit against the shifting tiles, jarring her bones, rattling through her body.
Her mind spun, trying to catch up to what just happened, when she saw it—dark, curling tendrils of Osin’s shadows, creeping toward them, swirling in tight coils. But they were too late.
A growl ripped from Elara’s throat as she shoved at Tristan’s chest. Her palms collided with the firm muscle. “Get off me.”
He didn’t move.Of coursehe didn’t. Instead, he braced himself above her, arms planted on either side of her head, face close, that stupid grin already spreading across his lips like he didn’t just knock her flat. “Not exactly the welcome I was hopingfor,” he murmured, hair tumbling into his eyes—messy, careless,stillannoyingly perfect.
Her glare could’ve burned through steel, but all she felt was the hammering of her pulse, the rush of blood still pounding in her ears. The blaring gong cut through it all, the sound rattling through her skull as the crowd erupted in cheers. The game was over.
And Tristan had won.
Chapter 30
“Tristan!” Osin’s voice rang out, slicing through the fading buzz of the game as he crossed the grid. His boots clicked against the stone tiles, shadows curling lazily around him.
The players scattered across the board watched as Osin approached Elara and Tristan—some with bitter glares, others barely paying attention, slipping back into their drinks, their poisons, already bored.
Osin clasped Tristan’s arm and pulled him off Elara, yanking him to his feet. “I expected nothing less,” he said, “from someone of your bloodline. Though I must admit, fortune seemed particularly fond of you tonight.”
Tristan let out a low, rich laugh. "What can I say? The fatesdolove me."
Osin’s eyes gleamed, his smile stretching just enough to show teeth. “Indeed,” he murmured, gaze sliding back to Elara, pinned to the grid. “So,” he drawled, that wicked glint in his eyes, “was she worth all that fuss?”
Tristan glanced at her briefly, his eyes barely skimming over her disheveled form before flicking back to Osin. "I’d prefer not to leave her looking like a drowned rat. A proper cleanup first, then we’ll see what she’s worth."
Osin's fingers tapped against his thigh thoughtfully. "See that she isn’t...damaged. No marks, no blemishes. She already bears enough of those. But the other pleasures," his voice lowered, "those that don’t leave a trace—by all means, indulge."
Tristan dipped his head, a playful glint still in his eyes. "You honor me, my lord."
Tristan yanked Elara up fast, her legs barely catching her weight before they gave out. She almost hit the ground again, but his arm shot out, grabbing her under the ribs before she could fall. Gasping for breath, she glared at him, grinding her teeth against the pain that throbbed through every inch of her. Her fingers, trembling with effort, sank into his arm, her nails pressing hard enough to elicit a wince from him, but he didn’t let go. His amethyst ring flared to life, the air around them humming with energy as he lifted his hand to tear open a rift—when Osin’s voice slid through the tension like silk over steel.
“Oh, Tristan,” he purred, “the Hallowed is to remainhere, in the safety of my castle. After all, we wouldn’t want her wandering where she shouldn’t, would we?”
The power in Tristan’s ring flickered, the glow snuffed out as his hand dropped to his side. His jaw tightened, but only for a breath before a soft, almost careless laugh slipped out. "I am your humble servant through and through," he said smoothly, bowing just low enough to appear sincere. But as soon as Osin turned away, Tristan’s gaze flicked to Elara, a sly wink following. "When it suits me," he murmured under his breath.
Elara’s eyes widened, but no words came. She couldn’t force them past the tightness in her throat, every ounce of her energy focused on just staying on her feet, her body trembling under the strain.
Osin didn’t spare her another glance, a flick of his hand enough to summon the guards as he melted back into the party, swallowed by the swell of laughter and music.
Two of them moved in—flanking herself and Tristan, as the last dregs of Stonebrew's false warmth slipped away. She was weak, vulnerable. She tried to breathe, tried to grasp asinglethought, asinglethread of hope, but her mind was drowning in a sea of slow, choking fear. Her gaze darted frantically through the fading twilight, searching for a raven, for anyone—someone who could pull her from this waking nightmare.
But the world had turned away.
There was no winged savior, no outstretched hand. Just the cold, crushing weight of inevitability as the party carried on like she wasn’t about to be assaulted.
She was alone.
The bedroom was massive,almost overwhelming so. High, arched ceilings soared overhead as towering windows claimed an entire wall, framing the Northern Ridge in silver moonlight. But the bed. The bed was the centerpiece, sprawling across the middle of the chamber like a throne.
Elara, leaning heavily against the doorway, barely had a moment to take it all in before Tristan breezed past her, that familiar glint of trouble dancing in his eyes. Without a moment’s pause, he flung himself onto the bed, his body sinking into the layers of blankets with a casual, unbothered air, as if the room—and the night—were his to claim.
“We’ll be right outside,” one guard muttered, his eyes trailing over Elara like he half-expected her to bolt.As if she could.She didn’t bother giving him the satisfaction of a response, her attention locked on Tristan instead.
