He turned from the window, jaw tight.“You should be quiet,” he murmured to the book, the words heavy in the hush.“Peaceful.You’re home.Why can’t you settle?”
A passing breeze should not have been possible in the stillness, yet the pages shivered, the faintest rustle curling through the room.The glow flared, sharp and gold, then dulled again to an uneasy haze.
Trik’s frown deepened.“Not reassuring,” he muttered, voice low.
This should have been the time of healing.He’d fought for unity, for balance between light and dark, for the restoration of what was broken.The cost had been blood—his own, and that of so many more.And yet, with the book’s flickering glow painting the room in shades of anxiety, it was as if the whole realm was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.
He stood motionless, listening to the silence, until a soft voice slipped through.
“You’re thinking too loud, my king.”
Even if she had not spoken, Trik would have known Cassie’s presence—the gentle weight she brought to the air, the warmth that curled through him even now.She didn’t just belong here; she was woven into him, marrow-deep, his reason to keep breathing.Still, her voice, all silk and steel, carved fresh longing through his chest.
He turned, careful not to let the tension show, and there she was—barefoot, wrapped in his shirt, hair tumbling in golden waves over her shoulders, eyes bright in the book’s strange light.The sight struck him, as it always did, a bittersweet ache he could never quite swallow.
“You should be asleep,” he said, sharper than he meant to.
She crossed the room without hesitation, her feet a whisper on the floor.“So should you.”The book’s light caught in her hair, bringing out the even lighter highlights.“You’re agitated, Trik.And it’s makingmeagitated.I don’t like it.”
He pressed his lips into a line.“I’m not agitated.I’m concerned.”He forced a small smirk.“And you, beloved, are a distraction I can’t afford at the moment.”
She arched a brow, a teasing glint barely covering something more vulnerable.“Maybe a distraction isexactlywhat you need,” she said, but her voice had a tremor, uncertainty hiding in the playful words.“A little clarity, maybe?”
He didn’t answer.Cassie followed his gaze to the book.“Still with the book?”Irritation laced her tone, along with worry.
He hesitated.Honesty was easy with her, but not tonight.Not with so much he couldn’t name scraping at the inside of his chest.But neither could he lie to her.Maybe omit things, which he’d no doubt pay for later.“It’s ...changing.The balance feels wrong.Like it’s drawing on something it shouldn’t.”
Cassie came to stand beside him, close enough that her arm brushed his.“Maybe it’s just finding its place.Maybe magic that old doesn’t just slip quietly back into the world, not after being twisted for so long.”
He almost smiled at her logic—so simple, so steady.“You sound like Tamsin.”
She grinned, though her eyes never left the book.“Smart yet irritating?”
He let out a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it.“Wise and observant.But even Tamsin has never seen it behave this way.”
Cassie reached out and covered his hand with hers.Her touch was soft, grounding.“You’ve done enough tonight.You can’t force it to change by staring at it.”
He looked down at her hand—small, fragile, but strong enough to hold a king steady.Guilt twisted through him.He hadn’t meant to shut her out, but the book’s shadow had crept into every part of him and he didn’t want it touching her.“It’s not just the book,” he said quietly.
She tilted her head, eyes searching.“Then what is it?”
He met her gaze, and for one long, dangerous heartbeat, the truth hovered on his lips.You.Me.The way you look at me like I’m slipping away.The distance growing like a chasm between us.But he swallowed it, brushed his thumb over her knuckles—a silent apology.“Nothing I can’t handle.”
Cassie studied him, her expression softening, but the worry didn’t fade.She leaned her head briefly against his shoulder, her hair warm against his skin.“You’re a terrible liar.”
He managed a smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes.“I’m out of practice.”
She lingered, as if she might pull him back from the edge if she just stood close enough.“Come to bed, Trik.Your worries will still be here in the morning.”Hope filled her eyes, and he hated that he was the one to cause it to dim.
He glanced at the book, its light flickering like a dying star.“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She pulled away, her touch lingering even after it was gone.“Don’t try to stare it into submission,” she called softly from the doorway.“You know how well that works on me.I doubt an ancient artifact is any more likely to cooperate.”
He watched her leave, the ache in his chest sharpening.Only when her footsteps faded did he let the mask slip, his hand tightening on the edge of the table, knuckles pale.It was killing him to be separated from her, not just physically, but mentally as well.A part of him couldn’t help but worry that whatever unbalance was disturbing the book, might stir in him.He had, afterall, spent many centuries living as a dark elf, with a black soul.He’d never want that to touch Cassie, his light, and in many ways the thing that saved him.
The book pulsed once—bright, alive, wrong.And somewhere out in the restless dark, Trik felt something answer.
Cassie closedthe door to their rooms and pressed her back to it, palms flat against the cool wood like she could hold herself together by force.The hush in here was softer than the study’s—no flicker of anxious magic, no book humming off-key.Just the low glow of lanterns and the sound of her own breathing, too quick, too shallow.
