Chapter 3
“A distraction I can’t afford.” ~ Trik
The palace slept, wrapped in velvet silence, but the forest beyond did not.
Nor did its king. Triktapic stood at the wide window of his study, arms folded behind his back, his gaze drawn to the wild forests of the Elfin realm.
Moonlight cut through the ancient canopy, painting restless shadows on the polished stone floor.
The trees whispered secrets, but Trik couldn’t discern what they were saying, just that they were uneasy.
He felt it in his bones, in the low hum that vibrated through the roots and boughs, a warning older than any current language.
Behind him, the Book of the Elves sprawled open on the carved table, its light flickering like a candle in a draft.
The magic that used to pulse steady and sure had gone discordant, a heartbeat that jumped and stuttered, leaving the air tinged with unease.
Trik could feel it pressing against his skin, tugging at the edges of his mind, insistent and wrong.
He turned from the window, jaw tight. “You should be quiet,” he murmured to the book, the words heavy in the hush. “Peaceful. You’re home. Why can’t you settle?”
A passing breeze should not have been possible in the stillness, yet the pages shivered, the faintest rustle curling through the room. The glow flared, sharp and gold, then dulled again to an uneasy haze.
Trik’s frown deepened. “Not reassuring,” he muttered, voice low.
This should have been the time of healing.
He’d fought for unity, for balance between light and dark, for the restoration of what was broken.
The cost had been blood—his own, and that of so many more.
And yet, with the book’s flickering glow painting the room in shades of anxiety, it was as if the whole realm was holding its breath, waiting for something to break.
He stood motionless, listening to the silence, until a soft voice slipped through.
“You’re thinking too loud, my king.”
Even if she had not spoken, Trik would have known Cassie’s presence—the gentle weight she brought to the air, the warmth that curled through him even now.
She didn’t just belong here; she was woven into him, marrow-deep, his reason to keep breathing.
Still, her voice, all silk and steel, carved fresh longing through his chest.
He turned, careful not to let the tension show, and there she was—barefoot, wrapped in his shirt, hair tumbling in golden waves over her shoulders, eyes bright in the book’s strange light. The sight struck him, as it always did, a bittersweet ache he could never quite swallow.
“You should be asleep,” he said, sharper than he meant to.
She crossed the room without hesitation, her feet a whisper on the floor. “So should you.” The book’s light caught in her hair, bringing out the even lighter highlights. “You’re agitated, Trik. And it’s making me agitated. I don’t like it.”
He pressed his lips into a line. “I’m not agitated. I’m concerned.” He forced a small smirk. “And you, beloved, are a distraction I can’t afford at the moment.”
She arched a brow, a teasing glint barely covering something more vulnerable. “Maybe a distraction is exactly what you need,” she said, but her voice had a tremor, uncertainty hiding in the playful words. “A little clarity, maybe?”
He didn’t answer. Cassie followed his gaze to the book. “Still with the book?” Irritation laced her tone, along with worry.
He hesitated. Honesty was easy with her, but not tonight.
Not with so much he couldn’t name scraping at the inside of his chest. But neither could he lie to her.
Maybe omit things, which he’d no doubt pay for later.
“It’s . . . changing. The balance feels wrong.
Like it’s drawing on something it shouldn’t. ”
Cassie came to stand beside him, close enough that her arm brushed his. “Maybe it’s just finding its place. Maybe magic that old doesn’t just slip quietly back into the world, not after being twisted for so long.”
He almost smiled at her logic—so simple, so steady. “You sound like Tamsin.”
She grinned, though her eyes never left the book. “Smart yet irritating?”
He let out a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “Wise and observant. But even Tamsin has never seen it behave this way.”
Cassie reached out and covered his hand with hers. Her touch was soft, grounding. “You’ve done enough tonight. You can’t force it to change by staring at it.”
He looked down at her hand—small, fragile, but strong enough to hold a king steady. Guilt twisted through him. He hadn’t meant to shut her out, but the book’s shadow had crept into every part of him and he didn’t want it touching her. “It’s not just the book,” he said quietly.
She tilted her head, eyes searching. “Then what is it?”
He met her gaze, and for one long, dangerous heartbeat, the truth hovered on his lips. You. Me. The way you look at me like I’m slipping away. The distance growing like a chasm between us. But he swallowed it, brushed his thumb over her knuckles—a silent apology. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Cassie studied him, her expression softening, but the worry didn’t fade. She leaned her head briefly against his shoulder, her hair warm against his skin. “You’re a terrible liar.”
He managed a smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m out of practice.”
She lingered, as if she might pull him back from the edge if she just stood close enough. “Come to bed, Trik. Your worries will still be here in the morning.” Hope filled her eyes, and he hated that he was the one to cause it to dim.
He glanced at the book, its light flickering like a dying star. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She pulled away, her touch lingering even after it was gone. “Don’t try to stare it into submission,” she called softly from the doorway. “You know how well that works on me. I doubt an ancient artifact is any more likely to cooperate.”
He watched her leave, the ache in his chest sharpening.
Only when her footsteps faded did he let the mask slip, his hand tightening on the edge of the table, knuckles pale.
It was killing him to be separated from her, not just physically, but mentally as well.
A part of him couldn’t help but worry that whatever unbalance was disturbing the book, might stir in him.
He had, afterall, spent many centuries living as a dark elf, with a black soul.
He’d never want that to touch Cassie, his light, and in many ways the thing that saved him.
The book pulsed once—bright, alive, wrong. And somewhere out in the restless dark, Trik felt something answer.
Cassie closed the door to their rooms and pressed her back to it, palms flat against the cool wood like she could hold herself together by force.
The hush in here was softer than the study’s—no flicker of anxious magic, no book humming off-key.
Just the low glow of lanterns and the sound of her own breathing, too quick, too shallow.
The ache started as soon as she left him.
It always did when the distance wasn’t chosen by both of them—subtle at first, like a stretched thread humming under the skin, then sharper, settling low in her chest. The bond pulled, unhappily.
She rubbed the heel of her hand over her sternum and told herself to breathe.
She wore one of Trik’s shirts, soft, and it smelled like him—forest and wind and something wild that called to her. She slipped her fingers through the hem, letting the familiar fabric anchor her, because she was tired of pretending the small comforts didn’t matter.
She sat on the edge of the mattress and closed her eyes. Tell him, a voice whispered—the same one that had been pushing her for three days. Go back and tell him now.
She’d tried. The memory rose clean and bright.
Two nights ago, she’d crossed the corridor to his study with her heart in her hands.
The word pregnant was still new in her mind, fragile and astonishing.
She hadn’t needed a test. Cassie had simply known.
The same way she could feel Trik’s magic brush against hers, she could feel the new life within her, quiet but vibrant, like a single note added to a familiar song.
It was wondrous, impossible, and terrifying.
She’d rehearsed what she would say a dozen times: Trik, I need to tell you something. Trik, we’re— She hadn’t decided if she would say we or I; the first felt hopeful, the second honest.
Voices spilled through the open door. Tamsin’s low and measured. Trik’s clipped, a blade trying very hard not to cut.
“. . . maybe darkness,” Tamsin was saying. “But it also could just be something foreign that we’re mistaking for darkness. The book is drawing, and what it takes has to come from somewhere.”
“It will not touch her,” Trik said, and the steel in his voice rooted Cassie where she stood. “I won’t even touch her if that’s what it comes to. Not Cassie. Not anyone. But, especially not Cassie. Whatever shadow is laced through its power, it won’t reach her.”
“You can’t command balance,” Tamsin murmured. “There’s a give and take that makes it possible.”
Silence, then the scuff of Trik pacing—she knew that sound too well. It meant his jaw was tight, his eyes dark, his thoughts a storm.
Cassie’s hand went to her stomach without permission.
Nothing showed. Nothing would for a while.
But her body knew. Her magic knew. She’d felt it the moment that second heartbeat, light, tentative, brushed against hers.
She’d expected him to sense it too, to know.
But Trik had been so consumed by the book’s imbalance, by the faint, wrong rhythm of its power, that he barely slept at all, much less beside her.
She stepped closer to the doorway and stopped when Trik’s voice came again, low and raw. “I’ve given enough to this realm. I will not give her even if I have to lock her away from myself and this damn book.”