"Thank you," Maris said with a curt nod, increasing her pace once more.
She shoved the heavy doors open — they slapped into the walls with a crack of sound like thunder.
Scrolls lifted, maps unfurled. The blue light sputtered.
A blast of raw energy shot outward as she stepped inside, and the chamber erupted into chaos — documents whipped through the air like startled birds. A male with golden eyes and ebony skin caught the edge of a falling banner, Lord Zairon Maris presumed. A white-robed scholar stumbled back with a cry as one of the scrolls was ripped from his hands. Alarik stood frozen at the long topography table, his eyes voiced a silent admiration.
The lord was the first to speak, breathless.
"My lady, is there something—."
But her gaze was locked solely on Alarik, eyes burning.
She spoke directly to him when she said, "I believe I've had enough of sitting."
He took her in another moment before speaking, a smirk consumed his features as his eyes roamed up her.
“Ironic, is it not.” He preened.
“You are filled with fury toward me for my actions, but if I recall correctly did your beloved Kael not do the same? He took you against your will from the Kingdom of Eryndor?”
He saw the glint in her eyes and continued. ”And yet you've blindly fallen for his every whim, you handed yourself over — with a smile on that pretty face, did you not?”
Her hands curled into fists.
“You don’t know anything about me or Kael.” She shouted, eyes glowing wildly.
Alairk didn't falter.
“I do,” he said, stepping closer. “Not all of you. But enough to know what you’ve felt —your power is growing by the day. And I think you know deep down its to great to become a mere consort.”
The air stretched taut between them. Waves crashed somewhere beyond the balcony, the sea roaring like her thoughts.
Alarik’s voice softened. “The dreams. The burning questions. The magic that doesn’t belong in your veins but courses through you anyway— you have an ache to understand what you are, Maris.”
Her mouth opened then shut at a loss for words.
“I brought you here,” Alarik continued, “because those questions matter, you matter. Not just to Kael but to this realm. To Achyron.”
“Don’t speak of him,” she whispered, her fire dimming inside. “Don’t. Say. His. Name.”
“Then tell me,” he said gently, “has he told you anything? About what you are? About what you could become?”
She faltered. And with her pause—he knew he won.
“You’ve seen the veil, and the goddess.” he said quietly. “You’ve felt the weight of old power. You’ve been called, Maris. You’re not just a girl. Not just a consort. You are the hinge on which this world will close the door on a curse that's haunted our lands too long.”
Her pulse raced.
“I brought you here because I’ve seen what happens when power like yours is left unguided. It rots. It consumes. And I will not watch another fall to the whims of men and gods alike.”
“I’m asking you to stay,” he said, eyes bright with something raw and painful. “To let my scholars and scribes help you. Let me help you —because regardless ofwhat you think of me. I swear that I will find answers to help you wield your magic, find a way for you to survive it.”
Her throat closed.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he added, “and I swear on my crown, I will never touch you or force you against your will. But if you leave before you understand who you are…”
He shook his head.
