He sees them, and hestays.
I tuck myself into his chest, into the warmth of him, and for the first time... I start to believe.
That maybe there is so much more life beyond the prophecy.
That maybe I don’t have to bury who I am to become who I’m meant to be.
Kael unfurls me from his arms, covering me with a blanket, “Stay and rest, Duskae.” His voice is tender and warm, “I’ll return with food and ale.”
“Okay,” I agree in a whisper, voice raw with emotion.
I watch as the towering warrior—my Prince of Zerynthia—heads for the door. The armor across his broad shoulders catches the moonlight seeping through the window, illuminating him in silver. He looks back at me briefly and winks at me with that infuriatingly handsome smirk, before closing the door after him.
For the first time in what feels like weeks, I am left alone to my own thoughts.
Perhaps in another world, at another time, I might’ve made a home here, nestled amongst the trees. Seren seems to have found a friend in Rubi, Ronyn would find a role here in the rebellion, and me? Well, waking up next to Kael, living beyond the prophecy... it’s a reality I never thought I could have. Never let myself believe Icouldhave.
My thoughts are interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. I climb out of bed, dragging my aching bones and tired muscles to the door.
I throw it open, lips curling into a smile. “You really can’t stay away for too long, can you, my prince?—”
Zak.
Not Kael.
His fists clenched, knuckles white with the pressure. His mouth is twisted into a sneer, and his nostrils are flared as if he’s barely leashing his fury.
“Lightborne,” he snarls, pressing one of his wide palms flat on the door, barring me from closing it.
I slide my hand down to my thigh inconspicuously, feeling for my dagger, and feign nonchalance, “Your Prince has gone to the feast momentarily, but he’ll be back soon. What can I do for you, Zak?
I feel for my blade again, but I know it’s not there. I can’t sense its presence or feel its weight at my thigh. Kael must’ve taken my thigh holsters off while I was unconscious.Fuck.
He takes a step towards me, but I hold my ground, keeping my rising panic in check.
“You are getting in the way, Elyssara,” he seethes.
I try desperately to make a plan to either get to my blades, or diffuse him, but I’m blank, my mind still hazy from losing consciousness.
“What exactly am I getting in the way of, Zak?” I spit the words at him.
His breathing is ragged, his teeth bared, and I can smell the faint hint of alcohol on his breath.
He steps closer, and for a moment, I think he might strike. Then he says it—quietly, cruelly, “He will never get Nalya as long as you are alive.”
“Kael loves his sister. He will not leave her to rot!” My pitch heightens, no longer able to quell my panic. Though Kael hasn’t told me his plans to rescue her, I know he wouldn’t leave her. Not for me. Not for anyone.
“He was always too much like his father—soft, weak,” the words flood out of him as if they’ve been pent up for years. “Too eager to look after every poor charity case that comes begging.”
Something inside me snaps, and my magic springs to attention. I try to summon it, but it’s like reaching through thick water—my magic is there, but it won’t obey. Something about it feels sluggish, slow. Still, the air cracks around us, and my fury roars to life.
I take a step towards him, closing the gap between us, “What makes you think she’d even want you, Zak?” I say the words with mocking malice, every word chosen to inflict pain. “She’d take one look at you, at what you’ve become—arrogant, jealous, deceitful—and turn away. Perhaps Maldrak’s cell would even be preferable to her?”
His jaw twitches.Good.I’ve struck something real.
I keep going, “You’re already dead, Zak.” I smile—bravado masking the terror in my bones. I’ve dealt with brutes before. Rage makes them sloppy. And it’s the only edge I’ve got. “Whenhehears about this, you have no chance. You’re a walking fucking corpse, Zak.”
He tilts his head. A slow, predatory smile creeps across his face.
