20. Seraphina
20
SERAPHINA
I stare the ceiling of my chamber as unease coils in my gut, almost eating me inside and out since the moment I found Lartina with Nhilian. It’s like an executioner’s axe as I wait for it to cleave at my neck, a judgment waiting to happen.
I don’t have any idea as to what Lartina is planning, but I have a feeling, she’s going to do something big. Nothing good can come out of it.
Hours ago, Rylan and I talked about trust. Can it even exist between us? I don’t think so.
I’m a thief, and he’s my so-called master. He’s a dark elf monster while I’m a slave, a mere human.
Suddenly, a voice interrupts my thoughts. I jolt off my bed, almost lunging at the intruder.
“The master summons you, human,” a dark elf servant says, shuffling on his feet.
I frown, my instincts telling me this might be what I’ve been dreading for a while now.
I follow the servant silently. The moment I step inside his bedroom, I know.
Something is wrong.
Rylan stands near the fire, shoulders tense, his silhouette carved in flickering light. His hands are clenched into fists, his knuckles stark against the dark fabric of his sleeves. On the small table and sofa on the corner, there are papers scattered.
Letters. I have an inkling as to what is this about.
Rylan stays motionless, not turning around to see me.
Doesn’t speak.
But I feel it—the shift in the air, the weight pressing down on my lungs.
He’s angry.
No.
Worse than that.
He’s suspicious.
I inhale slowly, keeping my voice even. “You summoned me?” Again. I don’t say the last word, though.
The fire crackles.
Then—he turns.
And gods help me.
His emerald eyes are dark, unreadable, but there’s a fire behind them, something dangerous and restrained.
Something that looks like a man at war with himself.
“Tell me,” he says, voice low, too calm, too sharp, “what exactly did Nhilian offer you?”
The words slam into me like a dagger to the gut.
I stiffen. “Excuse me?”
He steps forward. Slow. Deliberate. Like a predator circling its prey.
“Tell me, little thief,” he murmurs, “how much was my head worth?”
I stare at him, my pulse hammering, my mind racing.
Lartina.
She did this.
Somehow, she’s poisoned him against me, planted a seed of doubt and watched it take root. This is what she planned all along.
And now, I’m the one standing in the flames.
I lift my chin, refusing to shrink beneath his gaze. “You think I work for Nhilian?”
He doesn’t blink. “I think you’re too good at lying.”
A slow, terrible smirk curves his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
It’s not amusement.
It’s a warning.
I exhale forcefully, forcing down the frustration clawing up my throat. “You think I nearly got myself killed, risked my life for your godsdamn mission, only to be a traitor?”
“I think,” he murmurs, stepping even closer, “that I don’t like coincidences.”
My jaw tightens.
He’s close now.
Too close that I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch—like he’s holding himself back from something violent.
Or something worse.
He reaches out, gripping my chin, raising it, so that I can’t look away.
“Tell me the truth,” he breathes. “Are you working against me?”
I hold his gaze, ignoring the way my heart pounds beneath my ribs.
Ignoring the way his touch burns.
I smile.
Slow. Defiant.
I won’t beg.
Not for him. Not for anyone.
“If I were a traitor,” I whisper, “you’d already be dead.”
The words hang between us, sharp and deliberate.
Rylan’s grip tightens.
For a single, breathless second, I think he might break me.
Then—he laughs.
It’s soft. Dark. Unforgiving.
He releases me suddenly, shoving me back a step.
I stumble but catch myself against the tip of the desk, breathless, shaking—but still standing.
Still whole.
The heat of his touch lingers on my skin, even as I try to ignore it.
Even as I tell myself that none of this should matter.
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “You expect me to believe that?”
I lift a brow. “You’re the one who let me live.”
His smirk falters. I notice the doubt.
The hesitation.
The part of him that wants to believe me—but doesn’t know how.
I step forward, closing the space he created.
His breath catches.
I see the shift in him, the way his hands flex at his sides, the way his body tenses like he doesn’t know if he should push me away or pull me closer.
And gods help me, I press the blade deeper.
“Did she tell you to kill me?” I murmur.
His expression is blank, but I see the flicker in his eyes.
I see the war raging behind them.
“If I wanted to kill you,” he murmurs, voice dark and silken, “you wouldn’t have seen it coming.”
I tilt my head. “Then why haven’t you?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks.
He doesn’t answer.
That tells me everything.
He doesn’t trust me.
But he doesn’t want me dead either.
Not yet.
Not when something else is growing between us.
Something neither of us will name.
I exhale, stepping back. “You should be careful, Rylan.”
His lips twitch. “Are you threatening me, little thief?”
I meet his gaze. Unflinching.
“No,” I whisper.
“I’m warning you.”
Before he can stop me, before he can pull me back into his orbit and drown me in something I’m not ready to feel?—
I leave.
I don’t look back.
If I do, I might see the way he’s still watching me.