A low growl coiled in Alarik’s throat.
“He’s assembling godsdamned legions,” Zairon muttered behind him, voice flat. “Nightbound. Fae. Vampire. Even Virellian tideborn. He’ll come to reclaim her once forces are fully aligned.”
Alarik didn’t move. “Then let him.”
Zairon approached, golden eyes catching the firelight. “He won’t stop at war, Alarik. He wants her back.”
“I know.”
Zairon gave him a long look. “I don’t want you to mistake a hunger for change with lust.”
Alarik’s jaw flexed.
It wasn’t that simple.
He had brought Maris here under the Veil of strategy and necessity, but each day she became more than prophecy. There was light in her, not just magic. A sharpness. A soul he hadn’t expected and the dream bond between them had only deepened since she arrived.
“She’s not ready,” Alarik said quietly. “He’ll use her before she understands what she is.”
Zairon stepped beside him, arms crossed. “And we won’t?”
Alarik turned sharply, but Zairon’s expression didn't falter — a challenge.
“I’m not blind,” Zairon added. “I know what she could be. I also know what you’ve become since she arrived.”
Alarik didn’t answer. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant crashing of the waves below Nerium’s cliffs.
“I’ve sent word to the Isles,” Alarik finally said. “The coastal houses. They’ll defend the western shore.”
“And here?”
“She will not be taken.” His voice was steel now. “Double the guard. No one enters her wing without going through me or Serenya.”
He moved back into the chamber, passing the great carved table of Calanthe’s rulers. Maps, sigils, and ancient relics lay scattered across it like the remnants of a lost age.
Alarik extended a hand and magic sparked, tracing a symbol into the air above the center of the table.
A crown formed of twisted light.
“She is the key,” he murmured. “But only if she chooses to be.”
Behind him, Zairon let out a slow breath. “Then you better give her a reason to choose us.”
Chapter thirty-eight
Dream Tide
-Maris-
Maris was dreaming. She knew it in the way one knows a storm is coming.
Water lapped at her thighs, warm and mineral-rich, surrounding her like liquid dusk. A stream coiled around black stone, half mist and half moonlight, nestled deep in a glade that pulsed with otherworldly magic. She stood half-clothed in the current, bare toes curling into the smooth sand. A head rising like night incarnate, was Kael.
His chest gleamed under the dripping falls, muscles slick with sheen. His hair was wet, plastered to his sharp cheekbones, silver eyes fixed on her with pure hunger.
“Mine,” he growled.
Before she could answer, he was upon her.
