Called.
Now she was looking at him like she wanted to understand him too with the truth he'd spoken. He knew it would complicate things but he couldn't keep it to himself. Not when she'd felt him now.
Alarik turned away slightly, running a hand through his pale hair as if the movement might cool the heat in his veins.
He hadn’t meant to let it go that far.
But her magic had answered his in a way that rattled him. Not like two foreign forces clashing but like puzzle pieces fitting into place.
Even now, in the corner of his mind, he could feel the resonance of her soft, flickering, and curious. Like she’d left the door half-open without realizing it.
Her hand glinted as she smoothed out her dress, she wore Kael’s ring.
That cursed engagement band a constant reminder of the hold Kael had.
Alarik hated it with a violence he couldn’t quite contain. He could still smell Kael on her clinging to her.
His jaw locked.
He didn’t want to resent her for it. She hadn’t known. Kael had claimed her without truth. Without giving her the full history, the prophecy. Without ever warning her who that stranger in her dreams might be.
Who I am,Alarik thought bitterly.
He exhaled slowly, trying to center himself.
This wasn’t about his pride. Or his jealousy. It was about survival. His kingdom. His people. Her future. If she remained in Calyrix, if Kael continued to use her without shaping her power what would she become? A weapon? A queen in a cage?
Here… at least she had a chance to choose.
He turned back to face her. She was still standing within the arcane circle, watching him carefully, breathing uneven.
“You're grasp on your power advancing quickly,” he said quietly.
“ I wasn't expecting it to feel that… good, the release of it.” She replied with her head slightly tilted, the silver starburst in her irises catching the torchlight.
Alarik forced a breath. “The scholars will want to continue tomorrow. I’ll inform them of the progress we’ve made. But tonight… you should rest.”
She nodded leaving the circle, her steps graceful but heavy, like the weight of what had passed between them clung to her limbs.
When the door closed behind her but Alarik remained.
Alone in the chamber, he stared at the glowing lines of the spellwork at his feet.
The raven landed with blood on its beak.
Alarik stood at the edge of his war room’s balcony, wind from the western sea tugging at his silvery cloak. The parchment tied to the raven’s leg bore Nythran wax cracked and broken.
Kael has moved.
The missive was brief. The borderland camps had been razed by night-fire, and word had spread like plague: Kael had summoned every noble house, including the ancient, reclusive ones. Worse, he had allied himself with Thauren of Virellia. Kael must have offered him something substantial to fight at his side.
Alarik’s hand curled around the edge of the stone railing.
Of all the damned kings…
Thauren.
The Storm-crowned butcher with blood and vengeance braided into his hair. The man who had once called Kael brother in arms, who had hated Alarik even before Elenwe’s death shattered every fragile tie of trust between their fractured thrones.
