Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
For a little while, the world outside this cellar, outside this moment, doesn’t exist. There is only him.
Only us. The heat of his skin pressed against mine, the scent of salt and chocolate in the air between us.
The way his fingers still ghost over my hip as if memorizing me, as if trying to hold onto something he knows is already slipping away.
I close my eyes in an attempt to stay in this moment, tucked into this stolen sliver of time, but reality slices back into me like a blade to the gut.
Alder. The priest. The banquet. The sacrifice.
I’ve seen how the machine responds when Alderic and I are together. I’ve felt the shift. The hum beneath my skin. It doesn’t want blood. It doesn’t want suffering.
It wants connection. It wants the Lovers. Not just the card. But us, together.
But will that be enough?
Alderic’s arm tightens around me as if sensing my thoughts.
I draw a slow breath. “We should get ready.”
He sighs like he doesn’t want to move, but then he pushes up from the table.
Candlelight dances over the lines of his body—sun-kissed skin stretched over strong muscle, the sharp dips and angles of his abdomen, the light sheen of sweat still clinging to his chest. He is all strength, all beauty, and I take one selfish lingering look before he reaches for the clothes I brought for him.
“We have a plan. The people think Delphara is their savior, that the machines turning back on is divine will,” I say, finding my dress, slipping it on, and tugging my own laces tight as I force my thoughts back to our strategy.
“No one outside the castle knows the truth about what’s happening here.
We expose the queen. End the sacrifices. Free the kingdom.”
“But that doesn’t heal the Tower or the machine inside it. It doesn’t fix the problem with the magick,” Alderic says. “It doesn’t get you home.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
He watches me as I cross the room and take his coat from where it was haphazardly thrown over a chair. My thoughts tighten, pulling into shape, into something I’ve already half-mapped but haven’t yet shared.
“Delphara thinks it’s blood,” I murmur, smoothing the velvet over my arm. “She believes that blood is the price of power. But that’s not what the Tower actually wants.” I glance up at him. “At least, not what I think it wants.”
Alderic nods, linen shirt half-buttoned, eyes narrowing. “Go on.”
“Every time I go over what’s been happening, it always comes back to us. Whenever we’re together—on the island, in the kitchen, in the Tower—the machines wake up. It’s not death they react to. It’s us.”
He gives me a slow, crooked smile. “So, what you’re saying is…we were always meant to be together.”
I roll my eyes. “That is not what I’m saying.”
“But you’re not denying it.”
I scowl at him, but energy is building behind my thoughts, too strong to stop now. “The Lovers card. It symbolizes love, obviously, but it’s more than that.”
“It’s about union. Balance. Two halves making a whole. Trust and devotion. And the reverse meaning is the opposite: detachment, disconnection, general misalignment of values.” Alderic’s lips twitch. “That’ll teach Kane to say I never listen.”
I blink. “Who’s Kane?”
He waves it off. “No one important.”
He pauses, brow furrowing, the playful glint in his eyes replaced with something brighter, more urgent. “It’s choice,” he says, the word clicking into place like a key into a lock. “That’s what the card is really about. Choosing.”
“Yes.” My heart pounds. “The Tower doesn’t need sacrifice—it needs an offering. A union born not out of duty or control but out of love. A connection so deep not even different worlds can keep it apart.”
His mouth curves in that familiar, delicious grin. “It always comes back to us being fated.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m saying the Tower thinks we are.”
He chuckles, and I’m already flying through a hundred playfully smug responses to whatever cheeky, flirtatious quip he’s going to say next when his smile falters and laughter fades.
He shifts, the easy confidence bleeding out of him.
His shoulders drop slightly, arms loosening at his sides like he’s letting go of something he usually holds close.
He steps forward, just one slow step. Close enough that I see the tension at the corners of his mouth, the flicker of hesitation behind his eyes.
“Gemma,” he says softly, and the sound of my name on his tongue makes my chest ache. “Do you love me?”
The question isn’t flirtation. It’s not leverage. It’s not a line. It’s real. He’s vulnerable in a way I don’t know what to do with, raw and terrifyingly sincere.
“I—” My voice snags. I force a breath. “It doesn’t matter.”
His expression flickers. Not hurt. Not quite. But something close.
“How I feel isn’t the point. Not really,” I add quickly, trying to fill the silence. “The point is that the Tower thinks we feel that way. That we’ve chosen each other. That we’re deeply connected.”
His eyes search mine. “But are we?”
My throat tightens. I hate this. I hate how it doesn’t feel like a trap. How there’s no angle to play, no leverage to gain. Just a man offering something real, asking for nothing in return.
With Alder, everything was an exchange. Affection for admiration. Love for security. My devotion in exchange for his attention. I always knew exactly what I was supposed to give to get what I thought I needed.
But Alderic doesn’t want anything from me. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
I smile, tight, controlled. “We need the Tower to believe it. That’s all that matters.”
His gaze lingers on me, long and knowing, and I hate that he doesn’t push. That he just nods like he gets it. And it’s terrifying that he might actually understand.
“And what if we succeed? If it works?” His voice drops, rough around the edges as his fingers find mine. “What happens then?”
My chest tightens. “I go home.”
The words fall like stones, solid, immovable. But they’re not the whole truth. Even as I say them, something inside me buckles. Not at the thought of returning to my world, but at the thought of doing so without him.
This was always supposed to be about survival.
About getting back to my life, my world, my rules.
I didn’t plan for Alderic. I didn’t plan for the way he touches me like I matter or listens like my thoughts are sacred.
I didn’t plan for the warmth in his laugh or the way he watches me like I’m his favorite ending to the story he never saw coming.
And maybe I don’t know what that means yet—maybe I’m too scared to admit it out loud—but I know one thing with aching clarity:
I don’t want to leave him behind.
I came into this world with Alder… Does that mean I can leave it with someone else?
Could I leave with Alderic?
Would he even come?
I swallow the questions and the fear tangled up in them. I can’t afford to wonder right now. So I just squeeze his hand and let my silence lie for me.
His thumb skims over my knuckles. “There’s another option.”
I glance up at him.
“We run. Right now. Take the boat. Sail until we’re far from here. No evil queens. No machines. Just you and me and the sea.” His eyes search mine, pleading. “You don’t have to fight this battle, Gemma.”
I close my eyes, and for a split second, I let myself imagine it. The open ocean. A life without castles, without bloodstained machines, without the weight of responsibility pressing down on me. Just the wind in my hair and Alderic’s hands on my skin.
But when I open them, I shake my head. “I can’t run. Not from this.”
“You’d rather die to save a kingdom that isn’t even yours?”
“I’d rather live with myself when it’s over.” I square my shoulders. “I won’t be the woman who looks away when other women are suffering.”
His jaw tightens, his whole body going rigid. “Gemma—”
“No.” I meet his gaze, unwavering. “I choose the fight.”
His breath shudders, and for a moment, I think he might argue, might try one more time to convince me. But instead, his fingers tighten around mine “And I choose you.”