Serenya walked a step ahead, her crown of braids shining gold beneath the morning light — only occasionally stopping to pointing out a garden path or the name of some flowering vine curling up the marble walls.
They stepped into a quiet courtyard where the scent of salt and crushed petals clung to the air.
“This isn’t just a palace,” she said softly, eyes scanning the sculpted hedgerows and whitewashed towers.
Serenya glanced back, calm but unreadable. “Nerium has been many things. A palace. A refuge. A prison.”
“Prison?” Maris asked, voice sharp. “How fitting.”
Serenya tilted her head. “You’re not a prisoner, Maris.”
Her mouth flattened. “Funny. I don’t recall choosing to be here.”
There was a flicker of something in the other woman’s eyes regret, maybe, or sympathy held carefully at bay. “He didn’t want to frighten you.”
Maris barked a humorless laugh. “Then maybe he shouldn’t have drugged me and stolen me out of my bed.”
Serenya didn’t flinch. “Do you remember your dreams?”
Maris froze. Her heartbeat surged. “You know about those?”
“I know he’s been in them. And that you began to change afterward.” Serenya stepped closer. “That isn’t nothing.”
Maris stared at the horizon and the waves below. She hated how much of this made sense. How long had she ignored the pull in her chest? The flickers of magic? The way her thoughts weren’t always entirely her own?
“How long have you known, he would bring me here?” she asked finally.
Serenya hesitated. “I was told to prepare your rooms weeks ago. He said you would come. That you might need time. That you’d be frightened.”
“I’m not frightened,” Maris lied.
Serenya smiled faintly. “An oversight on his part, I assure you.”
Chapter thirty-four
Smoke Without Flame
-Kael-
The bed was warm when Kael stirred, one arm instinctively reaching for the smaller body that should’ve been curled against his chest.
His fingers met only rumpled sheets.
He opened his eyes, the early sun casting pale gold across the silk canopy above him. For a moment, he didn’t panic. A rare, fleeting smile ghosted across his face.
She’d let him sleep in.
A small indulgence. A mortal kindness and one that made something dangerous inside him soften.
He stretched, muscles rippling beneath his bare skin, and ran a hand through his hair. The beginnings of the bond still hummed in his chest, a ribbon of connection, warm and intact. He could feel her. Distantly
Apprehension.He realized and frowned.
Was she nervous? Regretful?
His body tensed as he rose from the bed, dressing quickly in black linen and leather, the kind he wore when he needed to move without thought of appearances. No crown. No jewelry. No mask.
Just purpose.
