Chapter 11 #2
“I’m sure Ker will apologize for nearly singeing you,” she assured as she led her toward a wash area. “She had very little room to berate you.”
Though the words were spoken gently, Alethea couldn’t help her frown. “What do you mean?”
The wash area stood in the middle of the war camp, a makeshift sanctuary.
Large, billowing canvas tents formed a labyrinth of white and beige, their sides anchored with wooden stakes and weathered ropes.
Lanterns hung haphazardly, casting a warm, flickering glow.
Within, the space was divided by tattered linen curtains, worn but still functional, offering a semblance of privacy in the bustling camp.
Wooden pallets lined the ground, elevated above the dirt and scattered with a motley collection of soap, sponges, and crude brushes.
Buckets of water, sometimes warmed over campfires or by fire mages, sometimes icy cold, were arranged along the sides, reflecting the unpredictable nature of camp life.
The air was thick with the scent of soap, mingling with the earthy aroma of damp canvas and the distant hint of smoke from cooking fires, but the washing tent was empty, leaving just the two of them. Emi’s presence felt like a shield protecting them from the outside world’s chaos.
“Maybe about eight or nine years ago, while I was still at the academy, Ker was struggling with controlling her magic. Her father had hired private tutors, but she has a strong will, and most didn’t last long before quitting.
She was traveling with Goran through a small town in the province of Edysos when she lost control of her powers and burned down half a village.
Many people lost their lives. She never forgave herself, but in her anguish, her powers only turned more chaotic.
“When a mage spirals out of control like that, it can be disastrous. And fire mages are particularly prone to it. Nakir was in Rai’Sharr with Balthasar, searching for a way to get his powers back, when he heard about it and came straight home.
He must have paid a fortune for that teleportation.
He helped her regain control of her fire.
Considering he’d already lost his powers at that point, I’m not entirely sure how he managed it.
They don’t really talk about what happened. ”
Alethea couldn’t imagine being responsible for so much destruction, but it explained the haunted look on Ker’s face at Nakir’s words.
She peeked at Emi, who had already undressed, her long brown waves hanging loose down her back, and noticed her petite figure was marred by razor-thin scars. As if she’d been struck by lightning.
“Have you ever lost control?” Alethea asked, barely above a whisper.
Emi stopped and turned to face her, eyes empty and haunted. “No.”
Something about the way she uttered that one word left no doubt in Alethea’s mind that it was the truth. Emi’s smile returned, if a bit diminished. There was a story there—one too heavy to be shared in this moment.
“Now wash up. We need plenty of rest before we leave for the capital of Meseira.”
Alethea returned to Nakir’s tent freshly washed and deeply humbled.
She was struck by a sudden new respect for this Aeshlien who wanted to take her family’s throne—to take back his family’s throne.
She entered the tent cautiously, uncertain of when he’d finally decide he was ready to have his own space back.
Nakir was poring over the documents littering his desk in the far corner.
Yet the moment she entered, he sensed her presence like a ripple in the air.
The papers were pushed to the side as he looked up, his eyes locking onto hers, a silent question lingering in their depths.
There was something profound in that gaze; something that resonated in the quiet moments between their shared breaths.
She stood there under his scrutiny. There was a strange safety in this space, stretching beyond the physical confines of the tent.
It was a safety built not upon years of shared secrets, or the familiarity of childhood friendships he clearly shared with his Dark Court, but on something far less tangible.
It was surreal how quickly Nakir had become a fixture in her life, his presence more grounding than any foundation she’d ever known.
There was an unexpected intensity in their bond, a quiet understanding that defied their short time together.
In Nakir’s eyes, she saw not a monster come to rip and rend and ruin, but a confidant—someone who understood the burdens she carried, even when unspoken.
It didn’t end with Nakir. She’d found an unexpected closeness with Emi and Balthasar too.
Her connection to the three eclipsed the bonds she’d shared with Millicent and Talia, whom she’d known her entire life.
It was as if fate had woven their paths together, turning strangers into allies, and allies into something akin to family, all in the span of a few short days.
In Nakir’s gaze, she found a silent promise: they were in this together, bound by more than duty—something deeper, unspoken, yet profoundly understood.
“You’ve had quite the adventure these past few days.”
Her gaze fell to her shoes, and she wrung her hands together.
Why did she always feel like such a child next to him?
He was only seven years her senior, yet he had a presence that reminded her how little she knew of the world—or herself.
A troubling part of her wanted him to show her everything she’d missed out on.
He stalked toward her in a few strides, his presence suddenly threatening to consume her. When he lifted her chin so she had no choice but to look directly at him, she found she could hardly breathe.
“What is it?” he asked, leaving no room for anything but the truth.
Alethea wanted to tell him everything. She wanted to tell him how she was falling headfirst into a life that terrified her, how his touch left her constantly wanting more, how his gaze nearly seared her every time she dared to meet it.
“I expected you to hate me. Yet you treat me with kindness still. You... defended me. Protected me.” She couldn’t tear herself away from his incredible amber eyes.
He moved even closer, his words just above a whisper. “I’m grateful that I’m not the kind of man you fear me to be, though I strive to be the kind of man you deserve.”
His words flustered her. What kind of man did he think she deserved?
She clearly couldn’t be trusted. After today, she was more convinced than ever that if anyone deserved to rule over Lenorea, it was Nakir Hasan.
His strength, his compassion, and his ability to see beyond her flaws made her wonder if she, too, could be more than the fears that bound her.
In his presence, she felt the stirrings of something powerful; a belief in herself she hadn’t known before.
As she met his gaze, her resolve strengthened.
Alethea leaned into him, tension buzzing like the lightning between Emi’s fingertips.
He was the only one who could free her from her bonds; from this life she’d been born into.
He could rule in her mother’s stead, and she could go and live her life...
but if her destiny was to walk away at the end of this, why was she leaning into his touch?
Why were her hands moving up his chest, trembling at the firm muscles she found there?
“Careful, Thea,” he breathed, leaning down toward her.
Their faces were inches apart. She bit her lip, and he groaned into a sigh. That name on his tongue sent a shiver down her spine. He held her by the small of her back and drew her in closer, his fingers still holding her chin, lightly grazing her neck.
“Of what?” she asked, fully aware of her heart thundering. Could he feel it too?
“Of what I will do to you if you do not tell me to stop.”
His threat sent her spiraling into desire. She inhaled sharply when he drew her even closer.
“This is your last chance,” Nakir warned, and her entire body melted into him.
“Nakir,” she murmured, head spinning at the intensity of his touch, the way his words drowned her. His fingers at her throat shifted to the back of her neck.
He kissed her.
It wasn’t brutal, but it wasn’t chaste. It was sudden like lightning, burning like fire, coursing like water.
She eagerly let it overwhelm her, hardly recognizing the moan he drew from her lips as he turned them and lifted her onto the edge of his desk, deepening the kiss until she could barely remember her own name, even as his echoed in every corner of her mind.
When they broke apart, he moved his mouth to her neck and shoulder, exploring her as she clung to the fabric of his shirt.
“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his tone low and dark. “I need to hear it, Alethea.”
A surge of desire rushed through her at his request for her consent.
“Tell me this isn’t just me.”
“Please,” she replied, chest heaving. “I want this. I want you. Don’t stop.”
Nakir groaned as if she’d released something within him, a feral beast eager to devour her.
She was unable to think past this moment into a future where they would be parted one day; unable to think about the fact, either way, success or failure, she would say goodbye to this man she’d grown to respect and admire and desire.