He’d looked unto a goddess and kissed the mortal girl beneath her skin.
A noise behind him made him glance back. Just a crewman passed with a rope and averted eyes. No one would speak of what had nearly happened.
But he couldn’t pretend anymore.
He wasn’t Kael.
But he wasn’t better, either.
Not if he still treated her as something to be won.
Alarik exhaled hard, letting the spray of the sea sting his face.
If she came to him again, it would be her choice.
Not magic. Not dreams. Not fate.
Just Maris.
And if she didn’t… then he would carry this ache as a reminder.
That power without trust meant nothing.
That desire without respect was just another kind of ruin.
And he would not be her ruin.
Chapter fifty-four
Whispers
-Kael-
The tavern was loud with music and laughter. Tankards clinked, boots thudded against sticky floors, and the scent of overcooked meat tangled with smoke thick as fog.
Kael sat alone in the darkest corner, hood drawn low, shadow pressed tight around him.
He nursed a cup of bitter, watered-down ale.
He hadn’t planned to stay the night but the wound at his side had forced him to rest, just for a night. A few hours. Enough to gather strength before pressing onward toward Maris.
He hadn’t expected to hear her name beyond his thoughts. Not here, in this grimy tavern on the edge of nowhere.
“She rose right off the stone, they say,” someone slurred three tables over. A man with sunburned skin and too many rings on his fingers. “Hair of night, eyes blazing silverfire. One snap of her fingers and the Veil shut.”
Kael went ridged.
Another voice chimed in, this one younger and in awe. “They’re callin’ her Queen of the Veil. The one who sew it shut.”
“Aye,” the older man muttered, wide-eyed. “And did you hear who stood with her?”
“Our mighty King Alarik.” His voiced dropped to a whisper. “He crowned her himself. Maybe he will bond her and give us a worthy queen."
Kael’s stomach turned to ice.
His jaw tightened to the point he thought it might splinter.
Maris.
