The liquid slid warm and smooth over her tongue, faintly sweet, spreading through her almost immediately. The sharp edges dulled first—the flickering memory of Seraphine’s blood on the cutlery, the terrified faces, the violent crack of wood and glass. It softened. Blurred. Lost its urgency.
Her shoulders dropped a fraction. The trembling in her limbs eased. The tension unwound like a thread being gently pulled free.
Caelum’s thumb brushed once across her lower lip, catching the faint trace of liquid there. Then his hand returned to her hair, smoothing it back from her face in slow, deliberate strokes.
“That’s better,” he whispered. “Good girl.”
The carriage lurched gently into motion, wheels rolling smoothly over the stone courtyard and then onto the wider road leading away from the main Collegium buildings. The outside world blurred into fog and shadow beyond the tinted windows.
“I hurt her…” The words slipped out of Lyra before she could stop them, quiet and uneven, half-formed.
Her fingers tightened again against his coat, though not as desperately as before.
Caelum didn’t hesitate. His hand continued its slow, rhythmic stroking along her back—up, down, up again—steady enough that her body began to follow the motion without thinking.
“She pushed you,” he said, voice calm and even. “You reacted. That’s all.”
Lyra frowned slightly, her brow pulling together as if trying to hold onto something that no longer quite fit.
“I… there was blood. On the table. On the cutlery. I slammed her face down and—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he interrupted softly, the certainty in his voice leaving no space for doubt. “They were all out to get you, Lyra. Seraphine, Adrian, the others—they see what we have and it terrifies them. They want to tear it apart. They want to take you away from me. You were only protecting what’s yours. What’s ours.”
The words sank into her, warm and heavy, mixing with the fresh dose ofWhisperdraught. The guilt flickered, sharp for a moment, then dulled again under his steady touch and calm voice.
“But… she was bleeding,” she whispered, voice small.
“She shouldn’t have pushed you,” he replied, softer this time. Not harsh. Simply final. “You’re mine to protect. And I protect what’s mine. You did nothing wrong, my perfect girl. Nothing at all.”
Lyra’s trembling eased further. The guilt tried to circle back—thesound of Seraphine’s face hitting the table, the blood, the fear in the other students’ eyes—but each time it rose, Caelum’s hand smoothed it down. His presence filled the carriage, solid and warm and safe. The fear of losing him, of someone succeeding in stealing him away, burned brighter than any lingering guilt.
She pressed her face tighter against his chest, breathing him in.
“They’re all out to get me,” she murmured, the words half-question, half-acceptance.
“Yes,” he said quietly, lips brushing her temple. “But they can’t reach you here. Not while you’re with me. I’m the only safe place for you. The only one who truly sees you. The only one who will keep you.”
Lyra’s eyes drifted closed. Her body softened completely against him, the last tremors fading into the rhythmic motion of the carriage and the steady stroke of his hand.
The world outside no longer mattered.
The guilt no longer mattered.
Caelum was here.
And as long as she stayed beside him, everything would be all right.
XVI. Seclusion
The carriage slowed gradually, the rhythmic motion softening into something almost imperceptible before it came to a complete stop.
Lyra barely noticed the transition.
She remained curled against Caelum, her body heavy and pliant in his lap, the second dose of the calming potion smoothing every sharp edge inside her mind into something warm, distant, and dreamlike. The memory of the cafeteria — the wet, sickening sound of Seraphine’s face hitting the table, the bright red blood spreading across the cutlery, the horrified shrieks and the violent fracture of glass and wood under her rage — flickered faintly at the edges of her thoughts like dying embers. It no longer burned. It no longer held any real weight.
It felt… far away.
Unimportant.
