"To be handed salvation and vengeance in the shape of a mortal woman."
He seated himself in a high back chair near the hearth, light catching on the edge of his prefect face, and for the first time in a century, Alarik felt something stir inside him that almost resembled hope.
Dark. Wild, Inevitable.
Chapter seventeen
Beneath the Surface
-Maris-
The stones of the courtyard steamed under the morning sun, kissed by the fading remnants of mist from the mountains beyond.
Maris stood in the center of the sparring ring, heart thudding softly in her chest. Her blade from Kael rested in her palm with eerie familiarity, an extension of her will. His dark form circled her, shirtless save for the leather guards over his forearms. Shadows clinging to his, as if the night hadn’t quite released him yet. There was no fury in his eyes today. No cruel smile. Only a quiet intensity that stole her breath more efficiently than any blade.
“Again,” he said, voice low.
They moved in tandem now, parry, spin, pivot like two dancers threading violence with rhythm. Her blade scraped his once, twice, and Kael gave her a sharp nod of approval when she held her ground.
“You're improving little star, keep this up and I might start to take you seriously." He said.
“Maybe you're not as terrible a teacher as you look,” she shot back, breathless, wiping sweat from her brow.
He stepped closer, blade swinging. “You wound me. I promise I can teach better with my hands.”
Maris tilted her head — eyes glowing unworldly — like moonlight off steel.
"And what exactly," she murmured with a blow to his left, inching close enough for him to feel the heat of her, "would you show me with your hands that a sword couldn't?"
One breath, she was teasing him — lips parted, fire in her gaze. The next, her body was pulled by his silken shadows to the nearest stone pillar, her back resting against it. His body pressed into her, shadows flared at the edges of her sight, curling like smoke around them.
His hand gripped her waist — firm, possessive, trembling with restraint he no longer cared to hold.
"This," he growled against her ear, breath hot and jagged, "is what I can do without a sword."
Then he kissed her. It was sweet but wild and claiming, all teeth and hunger, a low sound in his chest rose like a male undone. His mouth devoured hers like he'd been starving for her, like the space between them had never existed, like he meant to write his name on her tongue. It was a war she let him win.
-Kael-
She fought back a smirk against his lips, he felt a glint of defiance and temptation roll from her. She pulled him closer, her hands pulling him closer, and her body met his in a slow deliberate grind that stole the breathe from his lungs.
Kael groaned low in his throat, the sound half-wild. Every nerve in him screamed to take her, to devour — but then her power surged.
Light burst from her skin like lightning made flesh — radiant and divine. It flared across the training yard in a wave, shattering shadows. His own magic bowed in submission. The air crackled. And Kael could only hold her tighter.
How could he keep her like this?
Fierce. Untamed. Glorious. A weapon.
What happens when the court fears her?
When her power threatens the order of their realm?
As word spreads, and others come — rulers, and monsters — each one wanting to claim what he can not even contain?
He pulled her closer, "Mine," He whispered, voice rough with need.
That evening the council chamber glowed with moonlight. The twin generals stood at Kael’s flanks, silent as ghosts. Valea entered, arms crossed, and behind her strode Lord Draeven.
