I pull away, and my heart lurches when I see her swollen lips, my teeth marks denting her skin. Her eyes are closed, and she’s panting small gasps of pleasure. My hand on her hip slides under her shirt, gliding over her belly, my fingers slipping down under her waistband.
She reaches out to run her hands over my chest, but the moment her palms meet the centre of my chest the heat between us turns to ice.
My muscles lock, a primal instinct for distance surging through me. Whatever bridge had been forming between us burnt to ash the second her skin met mine.
I rear back as if her hands are searing a brand into my chest. My guttural roar is animalistic and primal. My Enchantra flares, and my fist slams into the ground beside her, burying deep into the soil in a spray of dirt that covers us both.
It takes every strained muscle, every iota of control I have left, to make myself rise and walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alaya
I made it back to the tent before Domanikk yesterday, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the tent door, my lips still burning from Reth’s kiss.
When Domanikk returned, he tilted his head, studying me. I busied myself with folding and refolding some clothes, avoiding his gaze. He didn’t press, and I couldn’t have explained it anyway—the way my body had responded, the way I’d kissed Reth back.
It’s mid-morning now, and we’ve been lounging in the warmth of the tent. Days are getting chillier, and it’s been raining—something I’m unaccustomed to. Being so exposed to the Barrens, the Castle of Thorns is shrouded in searing heat during the day with bitterly cold evenings. Rain is scarce, mainly having to rely on our Gifts to help the land stay fertile.
Domanikk told me Heartwood has a climate all its own, surrounded by towering mountains on nearly every side. The peaks create a natural barrier that traps weather systems and moisture, giving the region its own unique atmospheric patterns that differs dramatically from the surrounding Barrens.
He even mentioned snow, how it falls silently from the sky in delicate flakes, blanketing everything in pristine white, crunching softly beneath your feet. It made me long to see it with my own eyes, to feel its icy touch on my skin andwatch it transform the landscape into something magical and otherworldly.
My chest tightens when I think about leaving. The wild freedom here, the way the Equitae nod to me as I pass rather than turning away with whispered judgments. Domanikk’s laugh. Even Reth’s intensity.
But then Kiernan’s face surfaces—his crooked smile when I’ve said something particularly cutting, the way we crash together after our arguments, all heat and hunger. My throat constricts. Our marriage was stolen before it even started—taken before we could be us.
I press my palms to my eyes. Domanikk and Reth. Kiernan. The thought of them makes my stomach twist into knots.
Raised voices erupt outside. Rawson appears at the tent door, breathing hard.
“Domanikk, Reth wants you outside—now. The King has sent a negotiator. They’re out in the Barrens.”
Domanikk’s eyes snap to mine, his jaw tightening.
We follow Rawson out to the green. Reth paces in front of his tent like a caged animal, his hands clenching and unclenching. Domanikk goes to him. Their heads bend close together, voices too low to hear, but Reth’s shoulders are rigid, his movements sharp and jerky. Around us, Equitae gather in clusters, shifting their weight from foot to foot.
“Rawson, stay here and keep Alaya safe. Domanikk, Ceira, go and get the best warriors you trust. Quinn reports their numbers are small, half a dozen or so. We will match them and see what they have to say.”
When Reth speaks, the air itself seems to crystallise—everyone snaps to attention. His voice cuts like a blade: low, controlled, brooking no argument. The Equitae move with a synchronised precision that speaks of years of unquestioning loyalty, each Equitae becoming an extension of his will.
Reth strides towards me, his boots striking the ground with purpose. He stops, opens his mouth, closes it. His eyes search my face—his brow furrowed, his jaw working as if chewing words he can’t swallow. He turns to leave, then pauses, his shoulder brushing mine, barely a whisper of contact.
“Say the words, Alaya, and I won’t let them take you.” His voice is tinged with a desperate edge that makes it clear just how much this means to him. There’s a vulnerability there, a rawness, as if every word is carefully measured yet still trembling with emotion.
My mouth falls open, but my throat has closed around any response. Then he’s already moving away, joining Ceira and Domanikk with their assembled warriors. They head down the track to the Barrens from the green, careful not to reveal the true entrance to Heartwood, where the negotiator—and most likely Thorn Guards—await them.
We wait, the air heavy with tension. Rawson tries to lighten the mood with stories about his latest conquest, but my thoughts drift elsewhere—to two Equitae who’ve become far more to me than my captives, certainly nothing like the brutal savages I was told they were.
The wait stretches on, feeling endless, until the thundering of hooves from the Barrens pulls my attention back. Dust clouds billow as the galloping group draws closer. Relief floods through me when I spot Reth’s powerful white Horse Form, with Domanikk’s black beside him, leading everyone towards us.
As they reach the end of the track, they Shift almost midair.
Something’s wrong.
I’ve witnessed Reth’s wrath before, seen it in all its violent fury, but this is something else entirely.
His Enchantra flashes erratically, the mist inside swirling like a cyclone. His ice-blue eyes glow so brightly I can barely look at them directly. His face twists in pure, uncontrollable rage. When Domanikk reaches out to grab his forearm, Reth jerks him away, nearly sending him to the ground.
