We finally reach the General’s wing. No guards in sight; half of them are still caught up in the ball. The rest are posted outside or deployed, watching for threats. I twist the handle after quietly disarming the safety runes, a flick of my blade across my palm, a whispered word. The enchantment hums, then dies, a perk of sharing the same DNA. Pushing the door open, we step inside. The panel clicks shut, heavier than it should. Purpose guides our fingers as they trace the carved wood and stone. Eyes hunting for latches, hinges, anything hidden in the bones of this place.
There’s no time for distractions, but Kvirr, Vi is gravity, and I’m already falling. That dress should be illegal. The open back reveals the hard lines of muscle she’s earned through endless training. With her cherry-red curls tumbling over her shoulders, I nearly lose it. Thank Kvirr, the front is modest, but still enough to promise trouble, hugging her beautiful curves.
Focus, for fuck sake.
Avilyna steps toward a painting behind the desk, curiosity sharp. As she leans in, I force my pulse to calm. I push thoughts of her bare skin and the way she moved on the dance floor to the back of my mind. We’re here for answers. Vi tilts her head, staring at the oil painting hanging behind the General’s desk. It’s a sombre portrait of one of our ancestors, eyes as chipped ice, posture stiff with old pride, but something’s off. She steps closer, her fingers gliding lightly along the carved frame.
“There’s magic here,” Avilyna whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear. You can smell it in the air, that musty aroma specific to enchantments. Except that this one has a hidden spicy note that stings your nose and makes you slightly dizzy with nausea. It almost smells like…sulfur. I move to her side.
“It’s subtle, old. Hidden in the wood.” Vi adds inspecting the canvas. No wonder it didn’t trigger anything under theunravel spell;it’s a curse. I press a hand to the wall just beside the frame, brushing along the edges of the canvas until I feel it; warmth beneath the surface. A pulse, faint as a heartbeat.
“There,” Avilyna says, voice sharp, pointing to a worn scuff in the stone. Not a flaw, an ancient rune.
I’ve seen it once, buried in the forbidden texts my father kept locked tight. I trace the symbol carefully. The mark flickers beneath my fingertips, then fades with a low, humming breath. Suddenly, a crushing weight clamps my chest down. My lungs seize up, air ripped away as if it’s been stolen. I stagger, visionblurring. Panic claws through me. Avilyna’s hands grab me fast, steadying me, but her eyes are wild with panic.
“Kai! Breathe, just breathe!”
But I can’t, I’m choking from the inside, a strong something is blocking my airway. Desperation claws at my throat; nothing works, and I cough red. Without a second thought, Avilyna pulls a dagger that was strapped to her thigh, slicing her palm fast and deep. Her blood drips hot over the damned rune. The stone shivers, then roars to life, the mark flaring, catching on fire. Then, air hits my lungs, and I’m gasping, clutching my chest, eyes locked on her as the burning sensation slowly subdues, and air is allowed in.
“…Thanks,” I say roughly, barely more than a breath. Avilyna nods, then she slowly smiles.
“Now we’re even.”
At that, I let out a ragged laugh that quickly turns into a cough. Looking over my shoulder, I grab the handkerchief that was neatly folded on the desk and wrap it around her wound. The painting shifts with a low, grinding groan. Behind it, a hidden compartment with a wall-mounted safe, lined in blackened steel, etched in ancient script that pulses with faint light.
“This is it,” Avilyna murmurs, casting a glance at me over her shoulder, feeling every nerve. Stepping forward, I gently massage her neck as I mutter the incantation, slowly easing under my touch. With a drop of blood, I press my cut to the ward. The runes flicker, then fade.
A soft click, and the lock gives in. Pulling the door open, golden light spills out, heavy and humming with power. Stacks of coins, Elveronian gold and small velvet pouches filled with precious stones. Each is marked with royal crests or trade seals that haven’t been seen in decades. Wealth enough to bribe the whole city. But that’s not what makes Avilyna gasp. At the centerof it all lies a letter, sealed with black wax. Another spell, and as I analyze it, I see that the pattern is actually too sharp to be a rune.
A sigil—Vordak’s mark is pulsing faintly, almost as if it’s breathing.
“That’s asigil,” she murmurs.
I hum in agreement and add. “It’s not just a seal, it’s a defensive hex.” Vi’s gaze sharpens, her expression icing over. Without hesitation, she pulls the makeshift bandage from her hand and wraps the letter in it with care, slipping it into her purse. A direct link between the General and something far worse than politics or greed.
“I think we just found our proof,” she says quietly.
“Yes, and maybe some answers,” I add, but then, I hear footsteps. Echoing down the hall beyond the door,patrols.My training snaps into place.
“Someone’s coming,” I hiss, already reaching for the edge of the safe. In one swift motion, I slam it shut. The rune resets with a low vibration just as the painting slides back to place, wiping any trace of what we’ve found. Avilyna turns to me, her mouth parting, about to ask something, but I don’t give her time. Catching her by the waist, I spin to press her back to the desk, my body firmly against hers. My frustration’s been simmering way too long, and it ignites in an instant. She gasps softly, surprised, and that’s her mistake. Because I want to devour that sound. I want to bury it deep in my throat and never give it back, so I kiss her.
Not gently.
Not like a cover, but like she’s the only oxygen I’ve ever breathed. Her fingers twist into my collar. Whether it’s instinct or something that’s been burning between us for far too long, she kisses me back as she means it, and the room melts away. The air thickens with heat, adrenaline and the taste of her. My hand stays firm against her skin, the other braced on the edge ofthe desk. My frame hides her from any wondering eyes, locked in this illusion, except it’s not. And we both know it. The door creaks open. I don’t completely pull back, just enough to whisper against her lips.
“Don’t move.”
Heavy boots cross the floor, slow and unhurried. A voice murmurs, amused. “Figures,” one snorts. “Brackwell always did know how to use a desk.” A low chuckle, then fading footsteps. The door clicks back shut behind them.
The silence that follows is heavier than any secret. I don’t move right away; the moon glinting from the window behind casts an ethereal shadow over her. Making her look like the Goddess she is. Avilyna doesn’t move either; her breath is warm against my jaw, and right now there’s only her and me. And the way we’re still clinging to each other as if the world might fall if we let go. Then she exhales a shaky laugh.
“Was that part of the plan?”
I rest my forehead against hers, lips still tingling.“When is it not part of the plan, Princess?”
She doesn't answer, just tilts her head slightly, lips brushing mine again. Less out of strategy this time, and more because maybe neither of us wants to stop. I devour her mouth, slowly, like she’s the only thing that will ever sustain me. And it swiftly becomes not enough, I want more—I need more.
Lifting her, Avilyna sits on the desk, and I stand between her legs, my hand lost in her curls while the other holds her by the throat. Needing to feel her life coursing through her veins, the small pulse, anchoring me while my lips travel down her neck. Dancing with her moans as they get louder, kissing, licking my way to the small, sensitive nipple of her breast. Biting through the fabric, leaving her gasping, my name.
