40. Chapter 40
R en didn’t remember pushing the doors to the throne room open. She didn’t remember walking there at all. One moment, she was dragging her bruised body through smoke and ash. The next, she was standing in the throne room, transfixed by the dais.
Four thrones.
But it was the fourth, the farthest left, carved of obsidian and adorned with slivers of starlight, that fixed her in place.
Kaelin’s throne.
Ren’s legs felt suddenly too heavy, the ache of the day’s battle catching up all at once. She should’ve gone to the infirmary. She should’ve found Talen. She should’ve done anything but this.
But her feet had carried her here anyway.
Suddenly, there was the whisper of silk and heels.
Ren turned to see Kaelin poised in the archway to the right of the thrones.
Kaelin’s usually perfect hair was wind-tousled, a single braid unraveling down one shoulder.
The fae princess moved fluidly, every line of her form accentuated by the midnight blue gown clinging to her.
The fabric shimmered as though woven from shadow touched with frost, catching the light in fleeting glimmers that made her seem both untouchable and unreal.
Her eyes found Ren’s, and the world seemed to hush around them.
Kaelin’s gaze swept over Ren, trailing down to the smudges of blood along Ren’s temple, the tear in her sleeve, the dark bloom of bruises along her collarbone before her violet eyes slowly lifted to meet Ren’s eyes again.
“You look like hell.”
Ren straightened, forcing her spine stiff despite the exhaustion weighing on her limbs. “I’ve had worse days.”
“Talen said you were overrun. That you barely made it out.”
“We made it out, thanks to you,” Ren retorted, voice clipped. “That’s what matters.”
Kaelin’s lips pressed into a faint line, betraying her doubt. Her gaze lingered on Ren not with judgment, but with something else.
Something that made Ren’s throat tighten.
“You didn’t have to stay,” Kaelin stated finally.
“You could’ve run when the fight turned.
My brother was nearly overwhelmed, and yet you stayed.
” Her voice fell to a whisper, laced with incredulity, as though she could scarcely believe them herself.
“A human life burns faster, ends sooner than ours, and you despise us. So why risk your life for him?”
“Why would I leave him?”
“I’ve seen people leave others for less.”
Ren’s jaw tightened. “Well, I wouldn’t leave a friend.”
The word left her before Ren could stop it.
Friend . It caught even her off guard, hanging in the air between them.
But it was true. Talen, for all his titles and fae blood, had never looked at her the way others did.
He didn’t see her as lesser, or fragile, or disposable.
Through his actions, she’d seen the kind of person he was.
Someone good.
Ren crossed her arms and shrugged. “And because nobody deserves to die alone. I’d have stayed with him, through whatever end awaited us.”
Something shifted in Kaelin’s face, not softening, not exactly, but a flicker of respect. Admiration, even, before it was shuttered away behind her usual cool mask. “You’re hurt.”
“Why do you care? ”
Kaelin stepped forward until they stood only a breath apart beneath the empty watch of the thrones. “Because every time I think I hate you, you go and prove me wrong,” Kaelin murmured.
“Funny. I keep thinking I should hate you, too.”
The weight of the room suddenly occurred to her – the marble floors smeared with dirt from her boots. Ren forced a wry smile. “I’m just trying to catch my breath. Don’t worry, I won’t get mud or blood on the tapestries.”
Kaelin’s eyes flicked toward the throne behind her. “Strange, isn’t it. Choosing this place to catch your breath?”
Ren bristled. “Maybe I just wanted some solitude.”
Kaelin tilted her head. “Or maybe you sought me.”
The words struck like a flare – too close and far too honest.
Ren turned away, pacing toward the far column to escape the heat crawling up her neck. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Kaelin moved again, slow as a stalking cat, every step a silent command for Ren to look at her.
And gods help her, Ren did. She tried to keep her gaze fleeting, but it lingered on the graceful outlines of Kaelin’s legs beneath her gown, the effortless authority in her posture, the gleam of challenge in those violet eyes.
And when Kaelin sank into her throne, crossing one long leg over the other, it was a predator settling into its vantage point.
Eyes never leaving its chosen quarry.
Kaelin leaned forward, resting her elbow on the armrest, her chin balanced lightly against her knuckles.
“Stay,” Kaelin murmured. “Just for a moment.”
For one reckless second, Ren considered turning and walking out the way she came. But something in Kaelin’s gaze held her rooted to the spot.
Ren stepped forward.
Kaelin reclined back against her throne, chin lifting in subtle challenge as Ren ascended the steps.
Ren didn’t break eye contact as she came to stand over the fae princess, close enough that the air seemed to hum. She leaned down, bracing one hand on the armrest beside Kaelin’s thigh, the other settling on the back of the throne .
“You know, I was wondering. Why are you here? Don’t tell me you just happened to stumble across me. Maybe you were looking for me .”
Kaelin went utterly still. There was no sharp retort, no immediate bite.
Ren’s lips lingered just at the shell of Kaelin’s ear, close enough for Kaelin to feel the heat of her breath, before she straightened and stepped back, her smirk pure provocation.
“Despite all the trouble you’ve given me since stepping foot into this court, when I saw you riding that black beast of a horse today, I thought I might just kiss you.”
Kaelin’s eyes darkened at Ren’s words.
Ren’s smile faltered, her tone sobering. “Thank you. For saving us.” She winced as she straightened. “As fun as this heart-to-heart is, I should probably limp my ass to the infirmary.”
With a long, dramatic sigh, Kaelin rolled her eyes. “Yes, go,” she urged quietly. “You’re one breath away from collapsing, and I refuse to carry you.” Yet her brow creased, the faintest sign of worry slipping through.
“What, you won’t be valiant and carry me off? I’m wounded .”
Kaelin’s stare went flat enough to level kingdoms.
Ren only winked. “Relax, Princess. I’ll try not to bleed on anything expensive.”
Ren turned and sauntered toward the door. She didn’t need to look back to know Kaelin’s eyes were still on her.
And perhaps Ren’s stride held a deliberate sway, a parting taunt she knew Kaelin wouldn’t miss.
The door of Kaelin’s bed chamber clicked shut behind her.
She exhaled, shakily. And then again, like it might calm the ache in her chest.
It didn’t.
“Damn it,” she muttered, pacing to the window. She threw it open, letting the cold wind slap her flushed face. The scent of frost and pine did nothing to extinguish the lingering scent of Ren against her cheek, warm and heavy.
Like spiced wine.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not this hollow yearning every time Ren walked away. Not this tether Kaelin couldn’t seem to cut, no matter how many sharp words or mocking jabs she used to cover it. Not this awful, aching need.
Kaelin braced her hands on the windowsill, her breath fogging against the pane.
It skyrocketed the moment Ren refused to abandon Talen during the fight, when every sensible instinct should’ve told her to run, to save herself, to leave Talen behind if it meant surviving.
But Ren didn’t.
She’d planted her feet beside him, despite all odds, defiant and stubborn and brave in a way Kaelin had rarely ever seen.
Kaelin couldn’t shake the image of it. Ren standing between her brother and death, snarling like she’d carve the world apart before she let death take them.
Most people bowed to power.
Ren spat in its face and fought until her body gave out.
Kaelin admired that. Saints, she hungered for it.
Because beneath all her irritation, beneath the sharpness and the mockery and the cold facade, something inside her had cracked open.
And every time Ren turned her back, every time she slipped out of reach, Kaelin felt that impossible, infuriating pull – something she didn’t want, something she didn’t ask for, something she could no longer deny.
Yes, she wanted more.
She wanted to trace every scar on Ren’s skin, learn the history behind each one. She wanted to be let in, to see the whole of her.
With a guttural sound of frustration, Kaelin turned from the window and kicked over the nearest chair, the crash echoing off the marble. She stood amidst the silence that followed, chest heaving.
And then she sank onto the bed, hands trembling in her lap.
“I don’t want to just look,” she whispered into the dark. “I want… her.”
But wanting her might cost everything. And she had never been good at wanting without taking .
She leaned back against the velvet pillows and stared at the ceiling for a long time, the image of Ren burning behind her eyelids.
In the throne room just minutes prior, seeing Ren standing before her, head lifted in defiance, Kaelin had wanted to reach out and pull Ren onto her lap right there.
To feel the warmth of her pressed against her, to taste the heat of her breath, to claim her mouth in a kiss to make her understand – you’re mine .
The desire had struck like lightning, hot and merciless.
And when Ren turned to leave, hips swaying with deliberate insolence, Kaelin had nearly sworn aloud. She’d watched Ren walk away with that infuriating swagger, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.
As if she enjoyed teasing Kaelin to the edge of her sanity.
It took every ounce of Kaelin’s restraint not to rise from the throne, grab Ren by the wrist, and drag her back. She’d gripped the armrests so tightly the carved wood creaked.
Kaelin shut her eyes, breath shaking. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to her. Not like this.
But the truth simmered beneath her ribs, undeniable and consuming: She wanted Ren.
And no amount of denial was going to smother that truth.