FIVE #2
I sit up, my heart still caught in the remnants of my dream. The woman’s voice, calling from the dark. Whispers just out of reach, slipping through my fingers like smoke. I try to hold on, trying to piece them together, but they scatter the moment I grasp for them.
Then the bond tugs again, insistent.
Where is he?
I push the blankets aside and slip from bed, my feet meeting the cool floor. The air is still, but I feel the weight of his absence like a thread drawing me forward.
The sadness in the bond settles low in my stomach, the hollow feeling returning now that the dream has faded.
I’ve never felt him like this before.
And I know I won’t sleep until I find him.
I pull on my robe. When I open the door, the hallway is quiet. It’s late and the castle rests.
I step into the corridor, closing the heavy door behind me.
My fingers trail along the cold stone as I walk, the hem of my robe brushing against the polished floor.
The torches burn low, their golden light flickering across black stone walls, stretching shadows long and thin. The stronghold sleeps.
But the bond does not, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs only I could follow.
Autumn is near, and the nights have begun to cool. Yet inside the Ember Throne, the warmth of the day lingers in the stone, clinging to the last remnants of summer.
I turn down another corridor, my bare feet silent against the stone.
The bond knows the way before I do.
And then I see him.
Or rather, I see the firelight outlining his broad frame, flickering against the dark.
Thane stands at the edge of a grand balcony overlooking the city, arms braced against the stone railing, his gaze fixed on something far in the distance.
The doors to the balcony are cracked open, letting in a cool night breeze. The wind stirs his dark hair, pushing loose strands across his forehead. He doesn’t brush them away. He doesn’t move at all.
I pause in the shadows, watching him. My heart stutters—caught between ache and awe.
Even now, without his armor, he’s all warrior.
The way his body holds its strength, the quiet power coiled beneath his skin.
His bare back is all sharp, defined lines, muscles shifting as he braces his arms against the railing.
The moonlight catches on the scars scattered across his skin—faint reminders of past battles fought and won.
His sleeping trousers hang loose, but nothing about him is relaxed. Half-dressed in the cool night air, Thane looks like he belongs in the heart of battle.
He looks like he was carved from the same dark stone as the keep. Strong. Immovable.
But I feel the storm inside him—heavy and restless. Like a sky on the verge of breaking, holding its deluge for just a moment longer.
I wonder how long he’s been standing here. How often he comes to this place, alone, staring into the night like it holds something only he can see.
I should turn around; let him be alone with whatever thoughts hold him in the dark.
But I don’t. The bond won’t let me.
I step forward.
Thane looks over his shoulder before I can speak. His eyes lock onto mine, and the air between us shifts. Something unspoken lingers there.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs, offering a tired smile.
“So are you.”
I step out onto the balcony, the cool air wrapping around my skin, lifting the loose sleeves of my robe. He watches me for a beat, his eyes unreadable, before turning back toward the city.
I cross the balcony to him.
Without a word, I wrap my arms around his waist, resting against his back. He stills for a moment, muscles tensing beneath my touch—then he exhales, his body easing as he turns in my arms. His embrace is quiet strength. His bare chest is warm against my cheek where I rest my head.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks.
I hear the beat of his heart beneath my ear, feel the way his hands settle on the small of my back, holding me there.
We stand like that, looking out over Volcaris together.
The city stretches beyond the cliffs, golden lights flickering in the darkness.
The wind moves around us, cool against my skin, but Thane is warm, solid, and real.
And for a moment, it feels like the bond isn’t pulling me toward him. It’s holding us here, together, existing in the same space, breathing the same air.
The wind carries the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs beyond the city, the deep bellows of the forges burning in the lower districts.
“You grew up here,” I say, my voice soft.
Thane rests his chin on the top of my head. “Yes.”
“It must have been . . . ” I hesitate, searching for the right word. “ . . . different. Back when your mother was alive. When your father was still well.”
His arms tighten slightly around me. “It was.”
I shift, tilting my head back to look at him, my hands resting lightly against his solid chest. His hold stays firm as his gaze meets mine.
Gods, he looks beautiful. The moonlight turns his dark hair silver at the edges, casting soft shadows along the sharp cut of his jaw, the high angles of his cheekbones. There is so much strength in him, so much presence.
And yet, tonight, weariness lingers in his eyes.
“Will you tell me about it?”
His jaw flexes. For a moment, I think he’s going to tell me no. Then, he exhales. “What do you want to know?”
“Your family.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Thane is silent for so long I wonder if I’ve pushed too far. But then, he speaks.
“Kastiel was the best of us.” His voice is rough and quiet with vulnerability.
“I believe Rowena would fight him for that title,” I say.
His lips curve slightly, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “She would.” He exhales. “But even she knew. He was our father’s heir. The strongest. The one who always did everything right. He never hesitated, never doubted. Unlike me.”
“You doubt?” I ask. Thane doesn’t seem like someone who doubts anything, ever.
He lets out a short breath—not quite a laugh, but close. “Every fucking day. I grew up knowing I would never be him. And I was fine with that.”
A pause.
“Until the day I had to be.”
Something sharp twists in my chest. “And Rowena?”
His eyes dim.
For a moment he doesn’t answer.
Instead, he reaches for me.
His hand slides down my arm until his fingers find mine. He leans back against the railing, the city at his back, his attention fixed on me.
I shift with him, resting against the stone across from him. The wind slips between us, cool against my skin, but his warmth lingers where our hands remain joined. I pull my robe tighter around me with my free hand.
“She didn’t break,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, rougher. “Not the way my mother did. Not the way my father did.”
“But she grieved,” I offer.
“Yes, she did. But in a different way.”
The words sound like a truth he’s only ever admitted to himself.
I squeeze his hand, letting him know I’m listening. That I won’t look away.
“She didn’t let it take her,” he murmurs, gaze unfocused, caught in the past. “Rowena was always fierce. The fastest in the training yard. The one who never let anyone see her lose.”
I can picture her, the way she moves even now. Like a blade, sharp and purposeful. Wasting nothing, least of all emotion.
“But before Kastiel died, she laughed more. She was still ruthless, but . . . lighter. There was joy in all she did. In battle. In winning. In being the best. She used to taunt him—call him a stiff-assed perfectionist.”
His lips twitch faintly, like he can still hear her teasing words.
“And he’d let her,” he adds quietly. “He let our sister get away with almost anything.”
“And after?” I ask gently.
Thane’s jaw ticks.
“She didn’t cry at his funeral. Rowena became the rock we all leaned on.” He shakes his head. “She’s so small, and somehow she held all of us up.”
My heart plummets.
“She didn’t stop fighting. Didn’t stop training.” He shakes his head. “Her laugh wasn’t as loud or as often, but she was still Rowena. Still throwing jabs, still standing too close to fire like she was daring it to burn her.”
Rowena held on to herself—to her fire, to that reckless kind of joy that burns bright even in the darkest moments.
But Thane didn’t.
He disappeared into duty, war, and the weight of what he had to become. And now, standing here beside him, hearing the way he speaks about his family, in the place where he grew up, I see it clearly.
“What was your mother like?” I ask, softer now.
He breathes deeply, like the memory hurts to recall.
“My mother was kind.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “And fierce. And sometimes impossible. She sparred with us, even against my father. He was the best swordsman I’ve ever seen, and she still made him work for it. She was fast and relentless.”
His gaze drifts to the city below, where torchlight traces the winding streets.
“That’s where Rowena gets it. Her fire.”
He pauses, exhaling. “And when Kastiel died, I thought she’d fight off the curse. That she’d pull herself back together.”
His free hand clenches at his side, knuckles whitening.
“But she didn’t.” The words seem to press against his ribs. “We watched her slip away. Piece by bloody piece. First her mind, then her body. And there was nothing we could do but wait for her to either come back to us . . . or die slowly.”
I listen, holding his hand.
Because what else can I do?