Her pulse echoed like a half-formed melody inside his ribs. Faint… but real. The bond between her and Kael, a tether of emotion, magic, and desire. He felt the tug on her soul.
A child born of four bloods.
A weapon.
A miracle.
And he had tried to be patient. Tried to observe, to nudge her awake through dreams and whispers, testing her resolve, her power. He’d laid the breadcrumbs with care, hoping she would see that she should question. And she had.
But Kael had gotten there first and now she lay sprawled beside the monster who had killed Elenwe.
Something in Alarik fractured.
He thought to himself, that he should have been chosen to find the mortal girl— to usher in her powers.
But maybe — the other four gods had a hand in this — maybe they had pushed Kael to her side first, knowing he would see her as a novelty, a conquest. They could stomp out the chance of a lone goddess's mercy to break the damned curse with no real effort —just hide the truth of the power that stormed under her skin.
Her true purpose, the Veil Breaker. Threat to the gods themselves.
With that thought he moved.
Faelight shimmered across his skin as he made his way to the gates of the palace, bypassing Nythra’s wards one by one. His power was old— deeper than Kael’s smoke, more subtle. He weaved between guards and patrols with nothing more than a flick of his fingers.
Until someone saw him.
A young sentry. Barely older than a boy — sword drawn half-heartedly as he stepped into Alarik’s path.
“You,” the boy started.
He never finished.
Alarik was on him in a breath, a whisper of air and blood and broken bone. The boy dropped without a sound, eyes wide with confusion as life slipped from them.
More followed.
A half dozen Calyrix city guard. Three cut down. Two thrown into enchanted slumber.
By the time Alarik reached the outer courtyard of the royal wing, his hands were slick with blood, his mind sharp with pain. He reveled in it.
His kingdom was dying and Maris was the key within reach. Each kill, each crash of his sword brought him closer.
He scaled the final wall in silence, faelight wrapping him like silk, his breath steady despite the roar in his chest. The bond hadn’t snapped into permanence yet. But he knew — one more vow, one more rushed night, and she’d be bound.
No longer reachable.
Hesaw her then.
Through the doorway of the king’s chamber. She was curled in silver-threaded sheets, the curve of her bare back rising with each breath, her black hair spilled across the pillows like night itself.
Kael lay beside her, eyes closed, his arm wrapped around her like a vice.
Alarik seethed.
This wasn’t how it was meant to be. She was meant to save them all and Kael would drown her in obsession before she ever knew who she was.
Alarik moved to her side. A whisper of light danced between them. He stepped through the barrier, between wake and sleep with the ease of a male born for it. He risked giving another strand of himself to her with his entrance into another dream.
He was in her mind then. Soft winds. A field of violets —and Maris, barefoot in a gown, turning toward him with a gasp.
