But beneath it, a single page had been folded over, its corner bent from where Kael’s thumb had lingered.
The entry it marked read:
“Sometimes I wonder if the gods meant for me to be found. Maybe a purpose I’m yet to comprehend.“
-Maris-
Maris returned from the library with a stack of tomes tucked in her arms. Her fingers ached from copying passages that Aldwyn had asked her to review — strange riddles and fragments of lore that twisted in her mind.
The corridors felt oddly still.
Normally, by now, Kael would have appeared either waiting in the alcove where the stair curved toward their private quarters, or sprawled in the low-backed chair beside the hearth, brooding with a glass of blood-red wine in hand. She had come to know his moods in the silence, the way he watched her enter the room like he might devour her— scold her— orboth.
But now? Nothing.
A frown tugged at her lips as she entered their shared chambers. The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting the carved stone in soft orange glow. The air felt off, emptier, as if the room itself held its breath.
“Kael?” she called gently, setting the stack of books down near the armchair. No answer.
She noticed the subtle shift in the room.
The way the chair near the open balcony had been moved, only slightly, but just enough to show someone had stood there in its place. And on the low table beside it… her journal.
It sat there like a wound, half-shadowed in the firelight. Closed, but not how she normally left it.
Her stomach dropped.
She stepped forward, heart climbing into her throat, her breath suddenly shallow. She reached for it slowly, fingers trembling, not with fear, but a terrible dawning realization.
She had left it open. That morning. In her haste to reach the training yard, she’d tossed it aside with hardly a thought.
And Kael… gods above.
He’d read it.
The air seemed colder now. She could almost feel the ghost of his presence like smoke that had slipped through the walls and left her behind.
“No,” she whispered.
She opened the journal, flipping rapidly through the pages, heart thudding with every scrawl of ink. The entries were her private ramblings — thoughts she hadn’t dared say aloud. Dreams of a man with violet eyes and words that felt like prophecy. Confusion, guilt, longing.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
The thought was a blade. She stumbled backward and sank into the nearest chair, pressing her fists into her lap to stop their trembling. The journal slid to the floor beside her, pages fluttering like dead leaves.
He was gone.
No servants had mentioned a meeting. The generals hadn’t summoned her for supper. Even the wraiths had vanished into the walls.
She felt —hollow.
The heat that had once filled this space, the dark sultry connection they had spent weeks building was gone — ripped away like fabric torn from bone.
She whispered his name again, quieter this time. A prayer of return —truly. But only the wind answered, curling through the open window, brushing past her like the breath of something ancient.
Maris folded over, cradling her head in her hands. She hadn’t meant for him to read it. Gods, she hadn’t even meant to write half of it. They were the ramblings of a girl caught between two storms, her heart unraveling beneath Kael’s touch, her mind spiraling from the dream-encounters with a stranger who should not have known her name. A stranger she did not know. And now Kael was gone. Without a word. Without a goodbye.
She stared into the fire, watching the flames dance with her guilt. Somewhere beyond the walls of Calyrix, his shadow moved.
