“Tell me.”
So she did. Slowly. Carefully. Describing the light, the voice, the name spoken like prophecy.
Aldwyn was quiet for a long time.
“Do you think… something is waking within in me?” she asked at last, her voice low. “Magic I wasn’t meant to have? Or — a connection?”
The Lorekeeper exhaled. “I cannot give you the full truth, child. The threads are tangled, and some are not mine to pull. But I will say this…”
He leaned closer, the scent of dry ink and sage thick around him.
“There are dreams that bind. Not all dreams are your own. Some are borrowed. Some — are planted.”
A shiver raced down her spine.
“By who?” she whispered.
“I do not know,” he lied, and she somehow knew it.
“But I will search. Quietly.”
She opened her mouth to speak again, but he raised a hand.
“Not here,” he said gently. "The stones have ears, and your shadow may not be your own.”
A silence stretched between them, long and uneasy.
Finally, he added, “Keep your dreams close. And your words closer.”
Maris rose to leave and as she did, Aldwyn touched the cover of his tome and muttered under his breath. The candle beside him flickered. Then went out.
Chapter twenty-three
A Soul Called
-Kael-
The water was nearly boiling turning Maris’ mortal flesh pink and flushed with life. Kael craved the heat of it.
Steam curled around the vast bathing chamber like mist off the spine of a dragon. The scent of crushed pine rose with every ripple as he leaned back, his head resting against the smooth obsidian edge of the tub.
And Maris—
She was in his lap.
Naked. Soft. Covered in gleaming rivulets that traced her collarbones, and the gentle curve of her back.
She laughed, low, breathy as she dipped the linen cloth again, dragging it over the pale line of his shoulder, slow and indulgent.
His nameless servants had been cast aside — replaced by her, and her divine cruelty.
“I thought you had no patience for being fussed over,” she teased, running her thumb along a scar that curved near his collarbone.
Kael hummed. “Call it fussing if you want. But I see it for what it is — preening. Subtle and entirely meant to undo me.”
She smirked, that wild little look she got only after training when her skin still glowed with sweat and victory. “Maybe I am. Maybe I like watching you crave my devotion — my ruin.”
“Careful,” he murmured, reaching to cup the back of her neck, pulling her close until her breath brushed his lips. “You tempt a monster who likes being undone — one that will show you how ruin feels when it begs.”
