Chapter 23 Bronwen
Bronwen
August tried to fight me on this every week, trying to use every possible reason to keep me from going, or at the very least let him come with me.
I wouldn’t back down on this. No vampires would be in town in the middle of the day.
The only ones capable of it were his siblings and I thought they understood well enough now that I was off limits.
The first time I went for breakfast with Adar, August rode with me to the gate, tried to come with me, but when I threatened to spell him to the carriage bench until I returned, he complied.
I had given August everything he asked, but I wasn’t budging on this time with Adar.
We eventually settled on a compromise: one Legion soldier would accompany me into town.
It was unnecessary, and we both knew it.
I could handle myself. But August insisted, calling it a matter of “appearances.” I was the queen now, after all, and it was already strange enough that I chose to walk the streets of town once a week like I was still just a seamstress’s daughter.
I walked down the cobblestone street with my head high, even as people around me gawked and whispered, their words brushing against my ears like biting wind.
I didn’t need a crown for anyone to know who I was.
Some bowed, some turned away, and others just stared with wide, uncertain eyes.
But I kept walking, spine straight, chin lifted.
Over a month had passed since the night August and I gave in to each other again.
In that time, we’d developed a rhythm—if you could call it that.
A truce, maybe. During the day, we worked in the archives with Benedict, who served as a buffer more than anything else.
The space between us remained tense but manageable as long as we had something to focus on.
We would have dinner together, sitting on opposite ends of the table.
Other than the servants bringing in food and Halston waiting until we sat at his decorated table to leave, we were alone.
Then we would go downstairs to the parties and act as the model king and queen.
No one brought up August slamming the vampire into the ground, but the broken marble reminded everyone to be careful.
But at night—every night—we unraveled. We undressed each other with equal parts fury and hunger, like it was the only way we knew how to speak.
Each touch burned, every breath was a surrender, and when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, August would push me further, drag me over the edge again and again, only to hold me after like I was something precious.
Still, it wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t love. Just sex—violent, necessary, addictive sex. It made being around each other easier. We didn’t have to talk. We could just release all of our frustration and fear into each other’s bodies and collapse, too worn out to keep the war going.
And maybe it helped that the nightmares had stopped. That when I fell asleep tangled in his arms, I didn’t wake up screaming. We both slept like the dead now, wrapped in the very thing we pretended didn’t mean anything at all.
I stepped into the small bakery, the smells of fresh-baked pastries making my stomach rumble.
Adar sat in the same chair he did every week, waiting for me.
He always arrived before me, always made sure it was set before I arrived—just like Mama used to.
He tried to act like nothing had changed every time I saw him, but he couldn’t change his appearance.
The light hit his face in a way that showed the hollows under his eyes.
His skin was pale, not from lack of sun, but from worry.
The lines around his mouth had deepened, carved by too many responsibilities and too little sleep.
He looked thinner, too, like the weight of the coven was eating him alive.
My heart tugged. This wasn’t the same Adar who used to drag me into snowball fights or argue with me over the best kind of bread. This was a man holding too many broken things in his hands and trying to keep them from slipping through his fingers.
He tried to smile when he saw me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He had tried too hard to fight his way back to the man he was before, but I knew I wouldn’t truly see that part of him again until this was all over—if at all.
We ate in silence for a while. I went for the grape jelly as always and a puffy pastry while Adar barely touched his tea.
“I have a little news.”
I glanced up at him, wiping the jelly from the corner of my mouth.
“Talia found Shadow.”
I gasped, the pastry falling into my lap. “Is he okay?”
Tears welled up before I could stop them. I had tried convincing myself he was fine—that his instincts had kicked in and he was thriving somewhere wild and free. But a part of me always feared the worst.
“He’s okay,” Adar said softly. “I took him to Jonah’s for the time being. He’s safe.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while.”
“Apparently, Talia never stopped looking for him.”
“She’s an angel,” I said, shaking my head with a watery smile.
Adar didn’t answer, but I caught the subtle twitch of a smile tugging at his lips, the way he looked down into his tea like it suddenly interested him.
I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve been spending time with her?”
He stiffened, eyes darting away. “Why would I?”
“Adar, you only stopped seeing her because of what we were hiding. You still care about her. Don’t lie to me.”
He picked at the rim of his mug. “It’s not about what I feel. I ended things because it wasn’t safe. I couldn’t drag her into all this.”
“I know that. So I thought—”
“Thought what?” he asked. “Have you stopped Carrow yet?”
My breath caught, jaw tightening at the sharpness of his words.
Neither of us usually mentioned August. Or Carrow.
We never did when we were together like this.
It was as if the weight of everything that haunted our nights didn’t belong at this table.
Not when time was so limited, and comfort so rare.
“We aren’t safe then,” he said before I could respond. “I’m not bringing her into this. All I’ve ever wanted to do is protect her, and that isn’t changing now.”
He leaned back, rubbing his hands together like he needed to do something with them. The silence between us stretched.
So I just nodded, biting my lip as I reached down to clean the pastry crumbs from my lap. “She makes you happy. Doesn’t that count for something?”
He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders softening just a little. “It does. And everybody I love is always taken from me.”
With the snow melting, more people had begun to fill the streets.
The air was sharp but promising, carrying the scents of fresh bread, dried herbs, and something fried in thick oil that made my mouth water.
Someone was selling roasted chestnuts. I could smell the sugar glaze from across the square.
A smaller version of Market had been set up at the square, their vendors shouting prices over one another in a chaotic rhythm that almost felt familiar.
I weaved between the booths, the sound of bargaining rising in waves.
My fingers trailed across a bolt of deep blue velvet out of habit, and for just a second, I imagined Mama beside me, appraising the quality, arguing for a better price.
Papa would’ve already handed over the coin, just to make her smile.
People stared. Some whispered. A few bowed their heads. I didn’t know what any of them truly thought, and I didn’t care. But the weight of their eyes always followed me.
I paused at the empty patch where our family’s booth used to stand.
The space looked smaller than I remembered, but the memories it held were too large to ignore.
Mama scolding me for being rude to customers, Papa bringing Mama a bouquet of flowers he bought for her, and August and I arguing because he would never leave me alone.
“Bronwen.” It was a whisper but the goosebumps on the back of my neck told me it was sent through a spell and not from someone near me. I scanned the booths around me, craning my neck to look to the buildings surrounding the square.
Jonah.
I stepped to him and he pulled me into the shadows. What was he doing? Witches were free now. We didn’t need to slink through alleyways like criminals anymore. But his hands were shaking, his eyes scanning the open square like someone might be following him.
“Jonah? What is it?”
“The—the coven,” he said, the words forced like he didn’t want to say them.
My stomach twisted. “What about the coven?”
“There are some that are giving your brother a hard time.”
A pit opened in my chest. “What do you mean?”
“They’re not wanting to submit to him. I’ve listened in on some of their conversations.” He leaned in closer, voice barely a breath. “They plan to overthrow him.”
The air around us seemed to still. The noise from Market faded, replaced by the ringing in my ears. After everything, after all we had lost—how could they?
“Do you have names?”
His throat bobbed. “The one leading it is in Bodaira. Alden Gran.”
The name didn’t mean anything to me, but the location was enough. Bodaira told me where to start my hunt. I let the silence linger for a breath longer than needed, forcing the fury to settle beneath my skin instead of bursting out. “I will handle it.”
* * *
I sat in the archives with August and Benedict, looking through another tome of artifacts to find any blades that seemed like they could be used.
I finally felt like we had made some progress.
We had determined over the last few weeks that the blade must be one that was from Alentara.
I told August when we were alone how Carrow felt different when I touched him, that the magic in his veins was darker, stronger than what I felt from any other vampire I had come across.
When Benedict questioned why we thought it was a blade forged in Alentara, August admitted that I had encountered Carrow before, but he didn’t go into specifics. So we read. And read. And read. I hated it.
This was what I imagined torture to be like.
We’d come up with nothing other than a few names of blades that we decided were important enough to find more information on. It was nearing dusk, so our time had come to an end, which meant it was time for me to pay some witches a visit.
“I am going out tonight,” I said as we stepped into our chambers, already bracing myself for the argument that was sure to follow.
“Out?” He leaned in, smiling like he was teasing, but there was something tight beneath the curve of his mouth. “Does my Winnie have a date?”
The words were meant to be playful, but his eyes betrayed him. Jealousy simmered there, barely masked.
“A date with some witches that need to remember their place,” I said flatly, shrugging off the tension and turning toward the door.
He stepped behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. I didn’t need to look to know his jaw was ticking. He hated this—hated not knowing, not being in control.
“Oh, this sounds delightful. Let’s go,” he said too casually.
I spun on my heels and pressed a hand against his chest, stopping him mid-step. “I do not need your help.”
“You’re right,” he said. “But I wouldn’t miss this.”
I narrowed my eyes, folding my arms. “I am going to Bodaira. I don’t have time to wait for your guards, my dear king.”
His lips twitched, not quite a smile. “We can leave and return before they realize I’m gone.”
“August,” I warned. “They will send an army after us to find you.”
“It’s beginning to get a little boring around here, don’t you think?”
There was something desperate in his tone—like if he didn’t do something reckless soon, he might shatter. It unnerved me how often I felt the same.
“Fine. But you will keep your mouth shut and let me handle it.”
“As you wish, my queen.” He bowed, but the glint in his eyes was pure mischief.
Then, he extended his hand out in front of me, palm up, fingers wiggling like he expected me to take it without question.
I narrowed my gaze. “Really? You’ve been pouting about me pulling magic this entire time and yet you’re so willing to do it now?”
“I have not been pouting,” he muttered.
“Yes, you have.”
“There is a difference between me giving it to you and you taking it.”
My breath hitched the moment I looked up at him. He was staring at me like he was trying to memorize my face, like he didn’t know if he wanted to kiss me or kill someone just to make me stay.
My own heart stuttered in answer.
He was slipping. And the worst part was—I didn’t want to stop him either.