Her stomach turned.
The bond faded with their distance and she didn’t know what would happen if it vanished entirely.
Before she could speak, the door opened.
Alarik stepped inside. He didn’t smile. But his gaze met hers with a reverence that curled the breath in her chest.
“Enough for today,” he said softly to the scholars. “She’s had her fill of prodding and prophecy.”
They obeyed bowing low as they slipped away, runes trailing behind them like water.
The chamber was quiet now.
Maris sat perfectly still on the edge of the dais, her skin still buzzing from the scholars’ probing magic, her thoughts frayed.
She watched Alarik with narrowed eyes, annoyed by his presence, fortunately he didn’t approach.
But he looked at her with a searing gaze, a thousand thoughts rippling behind his violet-blue irises.
“You're holding yourself well,” he said at last, his voice low and warm, almost private. “They are not gentle.”
“Neither am I,” she replied, chin lifting — her smirk slowly evaporated as the realization of what she implied hit her like a physical blow.
That made something flicker at the corner of his mouth.
She begged the goddess to make him fade from sight. She prayed he'd say something cryptic and vanish back to his war maps and whispered secrets — to save her the embarrassment of this conversation continuing.
Instead, he stepped forward.
“I want to show you something,” he said. “If you’ll allow it.”
Maris stared. “Is it going to hurt?”
“No,” he said. Then, after a pause, “But it may frighten you.”
She didn’t move but nodded.
Alarik offered his hand not as a king, not as a captor, but as something like a friend.
Her fingers brushed his palm heat jolted her. His magic licked against hers like a spark seeking kindling a tether between them, frayed and faint from dreams, coiled tight. He led her to the center of the room where a circle of sea-glass tiles had been laid in ancient patterns. Arcane script shimmered faintly beneath their feet as they stepped within.
“Your full power is still dormant,” Alarik said. “You’re feeling fragments, waking pulses, small ruptures, but it’s yours wield. You must learn to call it on command.”
“How?” she asked, her throat dry.
“With me,” he said, gently placing his hand just below her collarbone. “I can help you find the threads to pull.”
The contact was nothing indecent and yet her breath caught— she cursed her body for the betrayal.
His fingers were respectfully placed but the magic they stirred felt sinful. She felt its essence lift flaring outward.
Her eyes widened as a shimmer burst from her palms, golden and silver power. Her power hit between them with enough force to cause a shift in his footing. It crackled through the air before dissolving into mist.
Alarik didn’t flinch. In fact, his expression only grew more reverent.
“Again,” he whispered. “But this time, don’t hold back.”
“I’m not sure that I was.”
