“If you know something, tell me.”
Rune chuckled, amused as if she were a child demanding the moon. “There is no need to fret over it, songbird.” His gaze drifted lazily toward the horizon where Argyle lied. “Why mourn a kingdom that cast you aside? Mortals are dust given breath. Repugnant weeds that grow, wilt, then rot, and they call it living.”
He sneered, lip curling.
“They breed like a disease, choking whatever soil they touch with greed and piety, then beg the Heavens to save them from the corruption they plant themselves.” His eyes flicked back to hers, molten and unreadable. “Perhaps it is kinder to let them perish.”
She growled.“Rune?—”
He caught her chin between clawed fingers, tilting her face up, smirk deepening. “If you insist on rescuing your precious mortals, then have patience. The curse will break in due time.”
“Time?” Alora echoed, pushing his hand away. “My people don’t havetime. You might enjoy wasting it lounging about, indulging in wine and depravity, but I’m not one of your little pets to entertain yourself with when you deign so. I am speaking of real lives! Clearly, such trivial things you care nothing for. I came here hoping you wouldhelpme.” She cut off with a sharp breath, fighting the lump in her throat. “But all I see is a vain,selfish creature so desperate to be adored that he cloaks himself in illusions.”
Rune’s fingers paused in her hair.
“You’re a charlatan who wears a mask like armor,” Alora snapped, the words continuing to spill form her mouth. “Is it because the truth is too monstrous to look at? Or are you afraid no one could ever love what lies underneath?”
The world around them stilled.
And there it was. A crack in his perfection.
Not enough for the others to see, but palpable in Rune’s stillness, in the tiny flex of his jaw. The way his eyes, for the first time, didn’t gleam like rubies, but dulled like dying embers left in the dark.
The quiet that followed was absolute.
Even the shadows didn’t dare move.
Then Rune chuckled softly. The sound was dry. Harsh.
“Ah,” he murmured, looking away. “So, you do bite. My poisonous little bloom.”
She swallowed, uncertain. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Oh, but you did,” he said, voice quieter now. “And you are not mistaken. I have worn many faces, Alora. Some more beautiful than others. This one was chosen for you.”
Rune finally met her eyes again, and this time, there was no smile. For a moment, she saw the weight behind the crimson. Something old, and tired, and full of self-loathing.
Then the mask slid back over his features.
He patted her thigh and stood with effortless grace, setting her gently on her feet.
“Well,” Rune said, voice smooth once more as he gave her chin a final caress. “This was a pleasant evening. We must do it again sometime, shall we?”
Then the shadows wrapped around him, and he vanished.
CHAPTER 24
Alora
Days bled together in the mountain.
At first, Alora counted them. Then she stopped when she found no reason to.
The palace of shadow had a rhythm of its own. Day and night blurred, marked by the rising and dimming of braziers and the whisper of unseen wings in the corridors. Alora learned Karag Dûr’s moods as one learns a lover’s: the way the air grew colder before a storm of magic, how the walls breathed when the shadows shifted, how the dark itself could feel alive.
Rune no longer called for her after that night on the balcony.
No explanations, no visits, not even a glimpse of his cloak in the halls. At first, she told herself it was a mercy. But the longer the avoidance stretched, the more her prison closed in.
