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“Ali?” Arlo’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been staring at the same herb for too long.
“Sorry,” I say, forcing a smile. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
CHAPTER 56
• King Kylian •
Three Weeks Later
THE EVENING SUN spreads across my face and neck, gentle instead of searing.
I have to resist the urge to close my eyes and simply feel it. A decade of avoiding the sun has left its mark, and even now, the absence of pain feels like a trick rather than a gift, like if I move too quickly or think too hard about it, it will be taken from me, and I will return to the shadows where the curse says I belong.
I should be out there with her. Instead, I remain at the open window. From here, I can see the field I had my guards clear two weeks ago. It is marked by scorched lines from her training, and in the center of it stands Alessia, shoulders tight, hair pulled back in a way that exposes the line of her neck.
Even from this distance, I can see the tension in her frame, the way she holds herself like she’s preparing for a fight that isn’t coming.
Eagan circles her, speaking in the slow, pointed way of a man with unlimited patience, while Arlo lingers just beyond the boundary, far closer than I would like.
Perhaps I am just waiting for her out-of-control magic to end him for me. With Alessia’s blood running through my body, my senses and powers have sharpened, and their voices carry to me over the fields with crystal-clear clarity.
“She’s tired, let her rest,” Arlo argues with Eagan.
“She is reaching outward again, that is why she is tired,” Eagan says, his voice carrying easily to me through the open window. “You are searching for something external when it needs to come from within.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Alessia snaps, frustration bleeding into every word as her hands flex at her sides.
“It does,” Eagan replies evenly, though I notice the strain beneath it. Hours of this. Hours of her fighting against herself while he tries to guide her toward something she can’t understand. “You are forcing it instead of allowing it to form.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” she says. Several golden strands of hair escape her tie, framing her face in a way that makes her look younger, more vulnerable.
“Magic is not about control,” Eagan continues, his tone shifting to something almost philosophical. “It is about connection. You must stop thinking of it as something separate from yourself, something to be commanded.”
“But I need to control it,” Alessia argues, and there’s something desperate in her voice now, something that makes the bond tighten uncomfortably. “If I can’t control it, then what’s the point? It just happens when it wants to, then people get hurt, and I get weak—”
She stops, but I hear what she doesn’t say. She can’t afford to let it control or weaken her. She doesn’t want to be at the mercy of her power because not needing to hide it anymore scares her as much as it thrills her. The irony isn’t lost on me, considering how desperately she fights against the one thing that could give her exactly what she seeks.
Arlo shifts closer, and I watch his body language change, protective instincts overriding whatever sense tells him to stand back. “Maybe you should stop for a bit,” he suggests. The softness in his voice irritates me more than it should. “You look exhausted.”
Because she is. Even from here, I can see the dark circles under her eyes, the slight sway in her stance that speaks of a body pushed too far on too little rest. I know she didn’t sleep last night. All night the bond was restless, every time she startled awake, every time she gave up and paced her room, I felt it.
Eagan doesn’t even glance at him. “She does not need to stop.”
“She looks like she’s about to collapse,” Arlo snaps, and I hate the way he notices things about her. I hate that he’s right.
“You are watching her again.” Eagan’s voice cuts through the mindlink I have been ignoring since dawn. His voice crackles with his irritation.
“I am watching the coastline,” I reply.
“You have not looked anywhere else in the last hour,” he counters. “I know because I can see you, and you are distracting her. She may not see you, but she can feel you’re close.”
I say nothing, which is answer enough.
Alessia lifts her hands again, drawing in a breath like she is preparing to try once more. Her whole body tenses with effort, and something flickers in the air around her, faint and unstable, like heat shimmering on a summer day. The magic tries to manifest, struggling to take shape, only to collapse.
“This is not working,” she mutters, and the defeat in her voice creates an uncomfortable sensation through the bond.
“Because you are still forcing it,” Eagan replies sharply. I watch him run a hand through his hair, a gesture that seems so humanlike it looks odd.
