I should’ve felt triumphant. Cyrene and I had mastered the dance. We’d grown closer, both physically and emotionally. The council’s ultimatum was about to backfire spectacularly.
Instead, unease crawled beneath my skin. Someone in my castle was playing a dangerous game with blood magic, and Cyrene was at the center of it.
I needed to see her.
Leaving my council room, I strode through the castle, taking the steps to the tower two at a time.
The door to Cyrene’s workshop stood open, light spilling into the stairwell. Even before I reached the top, I could hear her humming.
I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. She stood at her workbench, her hands hovering over a delicate glass lantern. Light flowed from her fingertips, swirling into the lantern where it coalesced into a small, pulsing star. Her brow was furrowed, and a smudge of something glittered on her cheek.
Beautiful. Powerful. Mine.
The lantern’s light flickered, dimming before stabilizing. Cyrene frowned, pouring more magic into it until it glowed steadily again.
“You’re fighting something,” I said quietly.
She jumped, nearly dropping the lantern. “Kieran. How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see you struggling.” I crossed to her, noting the shadows beneath her eyes, the tremor in her hands. “You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine.” She set the lantern down carefully. “I need to finish these for the ball tomorrow. They’re not holding enchantment as well as they should.”
I wiped the glittery substance from her cheek. “We know why that is. Someone’s still trying to drain your magic.”
“Then I’ll just have to create faster than they can drain.” Her chin lifted with the stubborn determination I adored. “I won’t let them win.”
“Cyrene.” I took her hands, which were cooler than usual. “You need to rest. Pushing yourself like this only makes you vulnerable.”
“I can’t rest. The ball is tomorrow, and I?—”
“You’re doing so well with the dance.”
“Well enough?”
“I believe so.” I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “The lanterns can wait. No one will notice if the decorations are a bit less magical than planned.”
She looked around at her half-finished projects. “But I wanted everything to be perfect. To show them all that a joy witch belongs here.”
The admission made my chest tighten. Despite everything we’d shared, she still felt she needed to prove herself worthy of her place here. Of me.
“You have nothing to prove,” I said softly. “Not to the court, not to the council, and certainly not to me.”
Her eyes met mine, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. “Don’t I? Your advisors still look at me like I’m an interloper. Half the court whispers when I walk by. And someone is trying to sabotage my magic.”
I pulled her into my arms, resting my chin on top of her head.
“They can whisper all they want,” I said. “After tomorrow’s dance, no one will question your place here.”
She pulled back enough to look up at me. “You sound confident.”
“I am.” I stroked her cheeks. “We’re going to give them a performance they’ll never forget.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “We have gotten rather good at moving together, haven’t we?”
“Extremely good.” I returned her smile, though worry still gnawed at me. “Right now, you need to rest. The ball isn’t until tomorrow evening. You have time.”
She glanced at her workbench again. “Maybe I could take a short break.”
