Chapter 21
Knocks echoed down the corridor before the door finally swung open, revealing Eilrys in the frame.
Eilrys took one look at me and her expression shifted, from casual greeting to sharp concern in the space of a heartbeat.
“Gods below, Isara.” She pulled the door wider, stepping aside to let me in. “You look like death warmed over and served on a funeral pyre.”
I probably did. My hair was a tangled mess, my clothes rumpled from sleeping in them, and I could feel the phantom warmth of Varyth’s chest against my cheek like a brand.
The guilt must have been written all over my face because Eilrys’ eyes narrowed, that too-perceptive gaze cataloguing every detail.
“I’m fine,” I lied, crossing the threshold into the suite.
The space was larger than I’d expected. All warm woods and deep greens, with windows that overlooked the northern gardens. It felt lived-in in a way most quarters didn’t, scattered with books and weapons and the casual disorder of people who’d actually made themselves at home.
Darian was reclined on a burgundy sofa near the fireplace, his torso wrapped in clean white bandages that stood out stark against his skin.
He looked better than he had yesterday, the grey tinge of blood loss replaced by something closer to his normal colouring.
But there was a tightness around his eyes that spoke of lingering pain.
Before I could say anything, a blur of copper and chaos launched itself at me from somewhere near Darian’s feet.
“Isara!”
Fionn collided with me, his small arms wrapping around my waist with enough force to nearly knock me over. I caught myself against the doorframe, one hand automatically going to steady the boy as he beamed up at me with that infectious grin that made my chest ache.
“Hi Fionn,” I started, but he was already pulling away.
“Gotta go find Eryx and Mireth.” He bounced on his toes with enthusiastic energy. “We’re gonna explore! Mama said there might be kittens in the barn but we have to ask first and—”
“Breathe, wildling,” Eilrys interrupted, but there was fondness in her voice. “Go find them. But if I hear about any fires, floods, or structural collapses, you’re all doing lessons with me for a week.”
“No fires. Promise!” Fionn shot me one more brilliant smile before taking off down the corridor like his heels were on fire, his footsteps echoing long after he’d rounded the corner.
“I’ll make sure they don’t burn the castle down,” Eilrys said, moving to follow him. Then she paused, glancing back at me with a smirk that was far too knowing. “Though you’ve already given it a solid attempt.”
“I didn’t—” I started, but Eilrys was already heading toward the door.
“Relax. Varyth will rebuild it quickly. Just... maybe work on that before you accidentally level the place.” She threw a wink over her shoulder. “In the meantime, perhaps you can make sure he doesn’t do anything to tear that wound open while I’m gone.”
Darian groaned and threw his head back against the cushions. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
Eilrys and I exchanged a look.
He absolutely did.
Then Eilrys slipped out, closing the door behind her.
The moment she was gone, Darian sighed dramatically, letting his head fall back again. “Great. Now I have two of you hovering.”
“Try not to do anything stupid,” I snorted, moving to perch on the edge of the armchair across from him. “And maybe you won’t need it.”
Darian let out a low, amused laugh. “I’m not sure I’m capable of doing anything smart.”
He was watching me with the kind of lazy interest that suggested he was cataloguing every detail. The wrinkled sleep clothes, the tangled hair, the way I couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“So,” he drawled, one eyebrow arching in a way that was far too knowing. “Are you going to explain why you’re here looking like you wandered through a hurricane? In your sleep clothes, no less.”
My flush deepened, burning up my neck and across my cheeks in a wave of mortification. “I—it’s not—”
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with you spending the night in our High Lord’s chambers, now would it?” The smirk that curved his mouth was absolutely wicked, all sharp edges and mischief.
My stomach dropped. “How could you possibly know that?”
Darian stretched, then immediately winced, one hand going to his bandaged ribs. But the self-satisfied smile didn’t fade. “I have eyes everywhere, darling.”
“It’s not like that,” I said quickly, hating how defensive I sounded. “I just needed somewhere to sleep. That’s all.”
Darian’s expression spoke volumes of doubt. “Yes. That’s why you’ve turned up to my chambers looking like—” He gestured vaguely at my general state of disaster. “This.”
I looked away, my fingers twisting in the fabric of my rumpled shirt.
The guilt was still there, gnawing at my ribs.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, forcing the words out past the tightness in my throat.
“If I keep getting Varyth’s people injured, he’ll probably just ship me off to Nyxaria to avoid the stress. ”
“He would never.” Darian’s tone went serious so fast it was like watching storm clouds roll across clear sky. The playfulness vanished, replaced by something almost fierce. “Don’t even suggest it.”
“Surely I’m not worth the trouble,” I said quietly, not looking at him. “I’m a liability. A danger to everyone around me.”
“You’re not.” Darian shifted on the couch, grimacing slightly. “And even if you were—which you’re not—it wouldn’t stop us anyway. We have a long history with Nyxaria. Most of it unpleasant.”
That made me look up. I’d read about some of it in the archives. The centuries-old tensions, the territorial disputes, the blood feuds that ran deep as bedrock. But reading about something in old tomes was different from hearing from someone who’d lived it.
“Have you been involved?” I asked. “In that history?”
Darian sighed. “Too much. Did you ever read about Raivelle Valley?”
I frowned, the name stirring at the edges of my mind. It was familiar, but distant, a half-remembered dream. “I remember the name,” I admitted, “but I can’t recall the event.”
“What about the Slaughter of Raivelle?”
Recognition slammed into me. The Slaughter of Raivelle. A battle between Nyxaria and Luceren, mentioned in one of the history books I had read. A passing reference. A footnote.
My fingers tightened around the arm of my chair. “That was a massacre against Luceren by Nyxaria,” I said. “But there weren’t many details. It was just… mentioned.”
“Yeah,” Darian ran a hand through his blonde hair. “It’s only in a few books, so that doesn’t surprise me.”
“You were there.”
Darian’s lips formed a tight line. “Yeah, I was.”
His gaze drifted toward the window, looking past me. “It was a few days after Eilrys and I had accepted our bond. I was still... adjusting to everything. The intensity of it. What it meant.”
His fingers traced idle patterns against the cushion beside him, a restless energy I hadn’t seen in him before.
“There was supposed to be a meeting between our court and theirs at Raivelle. Neutral ground. To discuss a possible truce.” His jaw tightened. “Varyth was meant to attend, but a matter came up at the last minute. He sent me in his place.”
Ice slithered into my stomach.
“It wasn’t a meeting,” Darian’s voice dropped lower. “It was an ambush.”
“What happened?”
Darian didn’t answer right away. He pushed off the couch instead, his steps deliberate as he crossed the room to one of the high shelves. His fingers closed around a small, dark box tucked behind a row of worn books. He pulled it down, turned it over once in his hands, and came back to where I sat.
He held it out without a word. I took it, the wood cool beneath my fingers. The latch gave with a soft click, and inside.
A silver orb, glimmering in the light.
I looked up at him.
“Ever used one before?” he asked grimly.
I nodded. “Varyth showed me a battle. Said words wouldn’t be enough.”
Darian let out a breath, more sigh than air. “That tracks. This one… it’s up to you if you want to see it. But fair warning, it’s not pretty.”
I hesitated.
Every instinct in me told me to put the box down. To walk away. That whatever was locked in this had carved its way into Darian and never left.
But he was offering it to me. And if he trusted me with this, I didn’t want to look away.
I reached for the orb. It pulsed faintly in my palm. I braced myself as best I could. The world tilted, and the room vanished.
I was dropped into hell.
The scent of burnt earth filled my nose, heavy and choking. The sky above was blackened with storm clouds, sizzling with energy that made my skin prickle.
Darian stood in the centre of it. He looked the same, but his eyes were hard in a way I’d never seen before. His clenched jaw tight as he stood among his soldiers, Luceren fae, poised but uncertain. They hadn’t drawn their weapons yet. Hadn’t realised.
Not until he stepped into view.
The male on the opposite side of the field didn’t walk.
He prowled. Confident. Lethal. His hair, dark as midnight, fell in wild waves around his face.
His features were almost too beautiful to be real, until you looked closer and saw the cruelty etched into every line of him.
His skin was burnished bronze, gleaming faintly beneath the stormy sky.
Power rolled off him in waves. He was grinning.
Lightning cracked across the sky.
A dozen soldiers dropped instantly, bodies contorting, smoke rising from their armour as they hit the ground without ever lifting a blade. The rest of the Luceren forces shouted, panic igniting, weapons finally drawn. But it was too late.
I could barely track the male’s movement. One second, he was across the field, the next he was in it. Lightning arced from his fingers, from the sky, from the blades that danced through the air. Death followed in his wake like a loyal hound.
Warriors fought fiercely, desperately. But it wasn’t enough.