CH. 18 The Offer Under the Moon
Sorien looks thoroughly unimpressed with my home, which is fair, since one wrong step could make the floorboards collapse and deliver him to my basement of questionable curiosities.
He stands in the doorway like he's afraid the house might bite—which, technically, it might.
He inclines his head slightly. "Witch."
"Prince," I reply flatly. "Careful where you stand. The house bites."
His gaze sweeps over my shelves of jars and bottles, lingering on a particularly large one containing what might've once been a human hand.
"Charming."
"Thank you," I say sweetly. "I tried to make it welcoming for guests I never wanted."
Hegar sighs beside him, looking like a man who hasn't slept since the last century. "I told you she wouldn't be cooperative."
Sorien folds his arms. "You left the Resonarium."
"I left you," I correct. "There's a difference."
"You are bound to me."
"I'm aware," I say, holding up my wrist. The faint silver mark glows faintly, pulsing like an irritated heartbeat. "Trust me, I can't exactly forget. It's like having a magical leash tied to an overconfident wolf."
"I came to make you an offer."
"Oh, how generous." I gesture to my cauldron, where something questionable is bubbling. "Let me guess—you'd like a potion that makes you less humorless? "
"I'm serious."
"That's your problem."
Hegar mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a prayer for patience.
Sorien steps closer, the moonlight spilling across his face—calm, unreadable, and frustratingly sculpted by divine bias. "The second trial begins at dawn. If you don't return with me, we both forfeit."
"So you came all this way because you need me."
He tilts his head, unbothered. "Need is a strong word."
"It's the right word."
A pause stretches. Leonardo, my baby axolotl, chooses that exact moment to burp behind me, breaking the tension.
I cross my arms. "Why would I go back? I've already risked my life once in your glorified Moon games. I'm alive. That's enough."
"You'll come back," he says simply.
I scoff. "And why's that? "
"Because you're curious," he says, eyes narrowing slightly. "You want to know what comes next."
The nerve. The audacity. And worst of all—the accuracy.
He continues, voice calm but cutting. "The winner of the Trials is granted one boon by the crown. A single request—anything within the realm's power."
I hesitate despite myself. "Anything? "
He nods once. "Land. Wealth. Title. Power. A favor from the King himself."
I try to look unimpressed, but my heart gives an embarrassing little skip. "You think I care about crowns and castles? "
"No," he says quietly. "I think you care about proving you don't."
I blink. Oh, that's unfair. That's annoyingly perceptive.
The room suddenly feels smaller. Or maybe it's just me forgetting to breathe.
"Careful, Prince," I murmur. "You almost sound like you understand me."
He meets my gaze evenly. "I don't. But I don't find you revolting, either."
That one lands. Harder than it should be.
"Most people run," I say softly. "You don't."
"Running wastes energy."
"Or maybe you're just too arrogant to fear anything."
"Maybe," he says.
Hegar loudly clears his throat. "This is all very heartwarming, but dawn isn't going to wait. Are you coming or not, witch? "
I look between them—Sorien, all poise and quiet challenge; Hegar, halfway to giving up on life; and Leonardo glaring through his glass like a floating judgmental raisin.
My cottage suddenly feels smaller, lonelier—as if the forest itself knows I'm about to do something very stupid.
"Fine," I sigh, snatching my cloak from the peg. "But only because I hate unfinished business."
Sorien's mouth twitches into the faintest smirk. "Good."
"Don't sound so triumphant. It's unattractive."
"I'll take that under advisement."
As we head toward the door, Vivi the tarantula scuttles onto the frame, waving a hairy leg. "Bring back something shiny! "
"I'll bring back trauma," I mutter.
"Same thing! " she chirps.
Hegar looks mildly horrified. Sorien doesn't even blink.
The three of us step into the moonlight. The forest hums with unseen life—whispering leaves, glowing spores, and a sky stretched wide and pale. I glance back once at my crooked little house, its chimney puffing lazy smoke into the night.
"Don't burn down while I'm gone," I tell it.
It creaks like a promise.
As we walk beneath the trees, the bond at my wrist pulses faintly—not painful, but aware, like a second heartbeat. The moonlight catches the uneven warts across my skin, making them gleam like odd jewels.
I catch Sorien glancing once, quickly away, as if unsure what to make of me.
Good. Let him wonder.
If he knew the truth—that the witch he's bound to and the radiant stranger he'd admired under the moon were the same person—he might start looking at me differently.
And I don't know whether I'd hate that...
or like it far too much.