Page 52

Just as the first shattering tremors of completion began to ripple through my body, Caspian’s restraint broke completely. The ambient silver moonbeams filtering through the window were violently executed. The room was instantly enveloped in an absolute, suffocating darkness; shadows expanded outward in a silent, explosive wave, swallowing the walls, the furniture, and the air itself. We were trapped in a private, pitch-black abyss where sight was rendered useless, leaving nothing but the visceral, deafening sound of our ragged breathing and the wet, frantic heat of our bodies colliding in the dark.

Then, the wire snapped.

The peak hit. White-hot. Star-shattering. My spine arched off the desk as the magic in my bones snapped.

Light erupted from my skin—gold, blinding, and completely out of control. The golden luminescence fractured the midnight shadows, illuminating the room in a blinding, sudden halo of solar fire.

The light caught the raw agony of desire written across Caspian’s sharp features. He let out a primal, guttural shout as the golden heat wrapped around him, his hips driving deep one final, devastating time. His entire body locked rigid as his own completion took him, his heat spilling deep inside me in heavy, pulsing waves that sent a fresh spark of ecstasy tracking straight down my thighs.

The cosmic friction fractured, and the blinding golden light violently snapped back beneath my skin, leaving the room to drop back into a quiet, shadowy dimness. The violent thrumming in my blood vanished, replaced by a profound, heavy weight that pressed down on my eyelids. My muscles turned completely to water, my fingers slipping from the hard planes of his shoulders.

My head fell back against the wood, my chest heaving in short, shallow gasps as the sheer, overwhelming exhaustion claimed every single cell of my body. My eyelids fluttered shut, and I collapsed flat against the desk, completely spent, drifting into a silent void while the faint scent of mountain pine and summer wine settled over the dark.

TWENTY-FIVE

The intoxicating haze of the Vesper-wine slowly receded from my mind, leaving behind a deep thrumming through every muscle in my body.

I blinked against the bright morning glare, waking to the lingering scent of mountain pine and spent summer wine. The ceiling above me wasn’t the familiar grey stone of my own quarters. My gaze swept past unfamiliar weapon racks and dark velvet draperies, a sudden jolt of adrenaline hitting my chest as I realized I was not in my own room.

I stirred, attempting to sit up, but my movement was instantly thwarted. A heavy weight was anchored across my torso. Caspian’s muscled arm was locked tightly over my waist, pinning me flat against the thick furs of his bed. His broad frame was curled around my back like a protective wall, his steady breaths brushing hot against the nape of my neck.

I reached down, my fingers digging into the muscle of his forearm as I tried to peel his grip off me. Instead of releasing me, a low, gravelly grunt rumbled from his chest, and he pulled me firmly back against him, tightening his hold until my spine was pressed flush against his bare chest.

A quiet, breathless laugh escaped me, the sheer possessiveness of him catching me off guard. I tried to shift my hips away a second time.

“Do we actually need to get up?” Caspian rasped against my shoulder, his voice a deep, gravelly vibration that sent a sudden shiver straight down my thighs. His eyes were still closed, his jaw resting heavily near my collarbone.

“Yes,” I said, a faint smirk touching my lips as I looked over my shoulder at him. “We are supposed to meet everyone for brunch in the Great Hall. The solstice festival doesn’t just pause because you decided to skip protocol.”

Caspian slowly opened his eyes, a dangerous, quiet amusement flickering behind his lashes. “Correction, Trouble. You are supposed to meet everyone. I was only originally planning to go to keep Aerynn from setting the high tables on fire. And now... I’m only going for you.”

He shifted his weight, allowing me to finally turn around. We sat up together against the dark headboard, the furs pooling around our waists, leaving our skin exposed to the chilly morning air. Caspian reached out, his calloused hand surprisingly gentle as he brushed a tangled lock of hair out of my face. His thumb lingered on my cheekbone, sending a subtle heat straight to my core.

“I had no idea what happened last night,” Caspian murmured, his expression turning serious, his thumb stopping its motion. “Between the sudden, suffocating shadows and that blinding light that kept erupting from your skin... it felt like the room was tearing itself apart.”

I studied his face, my breath catching as I really looked at him in the clear daylight. The physical shift was subtle, but undeniable. His hair, usually a bright golden blonde, looked noticeably darker today—veined with deep, honeyed shadows. His eyes had shifted entirely, the icy blue replaced by a profound, midnight sapphire that seemed to hold a dangerous depth. Even his skin looked more sun-kissed and bronzed than it had yesterday on the terrace. It was as if the darkness from last night had physically wrapped itself around him and refused to let go.

“I thought the shadows came from you,” I told him honestly, my fingers tracing the dark, newly deepened ink on his forearm.

Caspian’s jaw tightened under the scruff of his morning beard. He let out a low, rough breath, his gaze flicking away for a split second before locking back onto mine, flat and guarded.

“I don’t have shadow magic. That wasn’t mine.” He shifted, his voice dropping into that low, even register he used whenever he was building a wall. “Every high house has a bloodline gift. I promise you... shadow isn’t my gift.”

The words were neat. Too neat. Like a weapon wiped clean of blood before it went back into the sheath. He hadn’t technically lied—he hadn’t said the darkness didn’t exist, just that it wasn’t his. A clever, infuriating technicality.

“Then what is?” I snapped, my patience fraying as I poked a finger against his bare chest. “If it’s not yours, what is your bloodline gift, Caspian?”

He hesitated. Just for a heartbeat, his eyes flickered. “Shadehold.”

I frowned, the word tasting sour on my tongue. “Shadehold?”

“The ability to halt momentum,” he muttered, his expression locking back into absolute military detachment, even as we lay tangled in his sheets. “To freeze things—or people—in place for a few seconds. A tactical anchor.”

The blood rushed straight to my ears. Every grueling, sweat-soaked hour we’d ever spent in the training rings flashed behind my eyes—the way my blade always stalled a hair’s breadth from his throat, the phantom stutter in the air right before he flipped me onto my back.

“You bastard,” I hissed, shoving my weight against him as I glared down into his face. “You use it on me. Every single time we train, you use Shadehold.”

A dark, wicked flicker crossed his eyes, though his tone stayed infuriatingly level. “It’s a tactical advantage, Trouble.”