“It seems I just missed my most trusted general,” Kaelith said lazily, rifling through the folds of my clothing.
He turned, slowly. The indifference in his posture fractured the moment his eyes met mine.
My spine went rigid before my mind caught up. Fury. Cold and sudden.
“Were you performing for him, my nýchta?”
My heart stuttered. “What?” I asked, blinking, not entirely sure what he meant.
“Ah.” A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, cruel and practiced. “So just playing alone, then. You could have told me. I am always here to offer a helping hand.”
The torment never ended. Not even in my own chambers.
“Yes, well,” I said, lifting my chin, “I’ve always been better at taking care of myself.”
Kaelith crossed the room before I could blink. One moment by the wardrobe, the next—a breath away. He loomed, forcing myhead to tilt back. Too close. Too still. His presence pressed in. I could see now the detail in the ink around his neck—jagged lines laced with gilded sigils, and the crown that crept into his hairline.
If he weren’t such a monster, I thought bitterly, he might’ve been beautiful.
“Why, thank you,” he said softly.
I froze.
“For what?” I whispered. My voice was quieter than I meant it to be.
Kaelith’s smile widened, teeth too white. “For thinking I am beautiful. It will be important, I assume, that you at least try to enjoy yourself with me. I promise to take care of you.”
The breath fled my lungs. My body locked.
The thought hadn’t left my mouth—it hadn’t even fully formed—but Kaelith reached into me anyway. I felt the scrape of him against my mind, pulling it out like thread from a wound. He smiled as if it had been a gift. He hadn’t read my fears about the village or the journey—only the thoughts I hadn’t guarded, the ones tangled in hunger and heat. That had to be the danger of the lover’s vein—not mind-reading, but vulnerability.
“You won’t touch me,” I said, voice steady, even if my legs trembled beneath the weight of his proximity.
He tilted his head. “Oh, nýchta. I already have.”
He turned. “Besides,” he said over his shoulder, “we have an agreement, don’t we? I allow you to travel freely. You bring back your brother. Care for him. And in return, you happily become my queen in every sense of the word.”
His voice was velvet. Almost gentle. Almost sincere.
“You may have had lovers before,” he continued, “but I promise—none like the love I will show you.” Something in his tone shifted. Which made my stomach turn.
“Lucky for you,” I said, keeping my voice flat, “I’ve had none. So the expectations are quite low. Even if it’s bad, I won’t know.”
I shouldn’t have said it. I knew that. But I wanted to wound him. To take the only thing he seemed to covet and make it meaningless. He might be the first, but he would never be chosen. Never be wanted. If he meant to cage me, I would make the bars sharp enough to cut him, too.
He paused in the doorway. Turned back with a grin that split too wide, teeth gleaming like bone.
“Lucky for me indeed,” he said, voice curling. And then he was gone.
38
Malachi
The saddle creakedunder my hands as I tightened the final strap. The mares were steady, dark-coated, and trained well enough to tolerate Gabriel’s unsettling magic—though fortunately for everyone involved, he’d never willingly ride one. He’d sooner take his chances in the Veil than climb onto a horse.
Before I left the stables, I made one last stop.
The library was near silent at this hour, lit only by soft glowstones set along the baseboards. Seraphine had left the books I’d asked for on the counter, bound in violet-threaded leather with no titles on the spines. Just as she’d said—unmarked, unindexed, deliberately forgotten.