Chapter 15 Secrets and Smoke
SECRETS AND SMOKE
Ella paced the narrow span of stone, cloak clutched tight, heart still pounding with the echo of Jakobav’s words.
Rest was out of the question. From the way his gaze had dropped to her chest, to the way he’d said Princess like he was testing the taste of it on his tongue, she knew she was in deeper trouble than she’d ever dared imagine.
There’s no way he knows.
And yet there had been no trial or dungeons. No interrogations. Not even a summons from the Dravaryn crown demanding allegiance. There had only been warm food, thick blankets, and a brooding commander who looked at her like he could strip her down to bone and still find something worth savoring.
Ella shivered and pushed the disturbing thought aside.
Why hadn’t he turned her in? Ella stopped pacing, breath snagging as the thought looped wild inside her.
He’s hiding me.
He’s protecting me?
Fuck. He knows.
She pressed her palm to her temple, the weight of it crushing.
Maybe it had been obvious from the beginning.
Was it her accent or the remnants of her magic that had betrayed her?
Maybe Jakobav had smelled it in her blood, and gods, what if that hadn’t been a metaphor?
What if he had known from the moment she collapsed at his feet?
She thought about Bryn’s words. “It hadn’t behaved like claimed magic. It had pushed back, defended her before she even realized she was in danger.”
Her magic had chosen in a feral, instinctive rush, reaching for Jakobav without her command. It had flared in a place where there should’ve been nothing but silence, smothered within Dravaryn soil.
What is wrong with my magic?
The question swelled until it eclipsed the room, the walls, the night, even the prophecy that had dragged her into the dark and refused to let her go. She’d come for an artifact, a relic buried beneath enemy soil.
Perhaps the relic was never an object, but a path.
A jarring knock split the air, and Ella flinched, her heart leaping into her throat.
Jakobav didn’t wait for permission, although to be fair, he never did.
He stepped inside clothed in black leathers, dark hair pulled back in a low tie that once again left his jawline criminally exposed, the kind of jaw sculptors might chase their whole lives and still never capture.
His presence devoured the room, towering and composed, every line of him radiating a leather-clad threat.
And his mouth, gods. Full lips, shaped with a kind of impossible artistry, promising either sin or salvation.
Tonight, they looked more defined than ever, unbothered and utterly unfair.
Ink wound down his arms from beneath his sleeves, dark symbols she hadn’t truly seen before.
When he shifted, the leather tightened across his forearms, and veins rippled like lightning trapped beneath skin.
“Put on your boots,” he said.
“No greeting? No explanation?”
His eyes found hers. “We’re leaving.”
She straightened, spine stiffening. “And where exactly do you think you’re taking me?”
“The southern ridge. A breach just opened outside Velmire’s old pass.”
She blinked, mind snapping into the training that had been drilled into her since childhood. “That’s neutral ground?”
“Was.” His voice was clipped. “Now it’s a crater. Trees snapped at the roots. Steel melted to slag. Blood...wrong.”
Heat surged through her veins, spiked and unsettled. “What is it with you and blood?” The question came out hard, brimming with accusation.
Gods, he was obsessed.
Silence.
“And what do you mean, wrong?” she demanded.
He bit his lip. Just barely. Like he was debating whether to answer.
The pause stretched, scraping at her nerves. Ella despised silence more than anything.
“What kind of magic could do that?” she pushed, refusing to back down, tired of unanswered questions.
His eyes locked on hers. “The kind that isn’t supposed to exist anymore.” His voice was flat, his gaze unreadable. “Not since the realms were sealed.”
They stared at each other, cautious and measuring.
He tossed her the cloak, thick and fur lined. She caught it midair without breaking eye contact.
“I know you understand what’s happening,” she said. “Tell me why you’re hiding it from your kingdom.”
Jakobav’s jaw tensed, but she pressed on.
“I’ve spent time with your people. No one has said a single word about Threadshifting.”
He flinched at the word and didn’t answer right away.
But that silence was all the answer she needed.
“You knew,” she said quietly.
Jakobav’s voice dropped and he looked deadly serious. “It’s being dealt with.”
She folded the cloak in her arms. “Then why haven’t you warned Dravaryn?”
His gaze deepened. “I suspect you already know the answer to that, Princess.”
“Fuck.” She swallowed.
He knows.
Jakobav stared into her eyes, then stepped closer.
Ella’s breath caught, and she braced herself.
If there was ever a moment to destroy her, this was it. He loomed over her, massive and unrelenting, his strength obvious in the set of his shoulders. She was weaponless and unprepared, but she drew herself as tall as she could and met him with narrowed eyes, unflinching.
He leaned in slowly, deliberately, and whispered against her ear.
“I’ve known since the moment you crossed my wards…breached my castle…gutted my guard…and bled on my sheets.”
A shiver raked down her spine.
Jakobav pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. Her heart stuttered. Her breath came in shallow pants. His voice was a low hum of velvet. “You know what they say about keeping your enemies closer…”
His mouth curved into a slow, menacing smile.
“And I’ve been keeping you in my bed.”