Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
ELLIE
“The Authority's greatest weakness: it cannot imagine its own ending.”
Reflections on Captivity — Sacha Torran's Journals
“I never said that,” I breathe against his lips, the shadow still moving inside me with slow, deep strokes that make my legs shake.
His smile turns wicked. “Are you sure?”
The music continues around us, other couples dancing and completely unaware of what is happening beneath my gown. Each step sends fire spiraling through me as the shadow shifts and pulses, matching the rhythm of our movements. My grip on his shoulders tightens as I fight to keep my composure.
“Everyone can see us,” I whisper.
“All they can see is their High Prince dancing with his consort. There’s nothing scandalous about that.” His voice carries that low, husky tone that makes heat pool in my stomach. “Unless you make it obvious.”
I straighten my spine, determined not to give him the satisfaction of watching me lose control in public. The shadow curls inside me, finding spots that steal my breath, and I bite down on my lip to trap the sound building in my throat.
“Are you enjoying this?” He guides me through a turn that makes the shadow stroke deeper.
“I hate you.”
He laughs softly. “Liar.” His free hand traces patterns on my lower back, shadows following his touch. “Your body tells the truth.”
The song feels endless. He guides me around the dance floor while the shadow continues its torment, building pressure that threatens to shatter my control.
By the time the music ends, I’m trembling with the effort of staying upright.
He spins me in one last turn, then takes my hand to lead me to the side.
The shadow withdraws with agonizing slowness, leaving me aching and frustrated.
Before I can say anything to him, Mira appears at my elbow with two glasses. She hands one to Sacha and the other to me.
“You look a little flushed.” She can barely hide her amusement. “Too much dancing?”
“Something like that.” I shoot a glare at Sacha, who sips his drink and looks around, acting as though he didn’t just torture me in front of everyone.
“The celebration will continue for hours yet,” Mira continues, glancing around the throne room where people show no signs of leaving. “Parties like this are rare. People want to savor it.”
She’s right. The formal ceremony ended hours ago, but the gathering has transformed into something more relaxed. Drinks flow freely, conversations are animated, and musicians play melodies that seem to stir deep emotion in those around us.
But I’m tired, and after days of planning, and fighting, exhaustion is creeping in.
I find a seat and sink into it, while Sacha moves around the room, giving everyone time to speak to him.
Mira stays close by, refilling my drink when I want it, and ensuring anyone who speaks to me doesn’t overstep with their curiosity.
After an hour or more, my face hurts from smiling, so when Sacha reappears, I’m grateful for the reprieve.
“Ready to retire for the night?”
“More than ready.”
We make our farewells to Varam and Mira, pausing on our walk through the room to acknowledge Veinwardens and Veinbloods, until we reach the door.
The hallway beyond is blissfully quiet, and my steps echo on stone as we climb the stairs toward Sacha’s quarters. For the first time since the ceremony, I can breathe without feeling like I’m being watched by everyone.
When we enter the room, Sacha closes the door and immediately pulls me against him, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that tastes of Mountain Spirit and promise. His hands frame my face like I’m something precious, and I can feel the hunger he’s been holding back all evening.
“Do you have any idea,” he whispers against my lips, “how difficult it’s been to keep my hands to myself all night?”
“You didn’t keep your hands to yourself.”
“That was nothing compared to what I wanted to do.” His fingers find the fastenings of my gown and he works them free. “This dress has been driving me to distraction since I first saw you in it.”
He slides it off my shoulders and the material falls with a soft whisper to pool at my feet. Black bleeds across his eyes as they move over my body, and then he reaches for me. His hands slide over my waist, a smile tipping his lips up.
“You’re wearing too many clothes.” I tug at his coat.
He drags it off, then lifts his arms so I can pull his shirt over his head. My hands spread across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
“Better?” His voice is rough.
“Much.”
His mouth finds mine again, harder this time, and our tongues meet as his hands cup my breasts. Shadows curl around my thighs, cool touches that make me arch against him. When his hands slide to my waist and he lifts me, I wrap my legs around him, and he carries me across to the bedroom.
The mattress gives beneath us as he lays me down, his weight settling over me.
Shadows dance across my skin while his mouth traces a path down my throat, across my collarbone, lower.
He kisses a circle around my breast, and then takes a nipple between his lips.
My back arches, fingers threading through his hair.
“Sacha!”
“Tell me what you want.”
“You.”
His remaining clothes disappear, shadows helping to strip them away. When he finally comes back to lie between my thighs, I can feel how ready he is, how much he wants this. His fingers stroke between my legs, finding me wet and eager.
“So responsive.” He slides one finger inside me, then another. “Still wet after what I did to you on the dance floor?”
“Especially because of that.” The words come out breathless as he works his fingers deeper, finding spots that make me gasp. “Don’t make me wait.” I hook one leg around his hips and try to pull him into me.
He laughs quietly, drags his fingers free and pushes into me slowly. We both groan. He stills for a moment, letting me adjust, then begins to move. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through me, while shadows caress every sensitive spot they can reach.
“Mine,” he whispers against my ear, his pace quickening. “You're mine, Ellie.”
“Yes." My nails dig into his shoulders. “Yours.”
The pleasure builds until I'm trembling beneath him, so close to the edge I can barely think. When his thumb finds my clit, circling with just the right pressure, I shatter around him with a cry that echoes off the walls.
He follows moments later, my name on his lips as he buries himself deep and finds his own release.
When we finally still, breathless and sated, I curl against his side with my head on his chest. His fingers stroke through my hair while shadows drift lazily around us, reluctant to withdraw completely.
“You know,” I murmur sleepily against his skin, “on Earth, people usually ask before they decide to get married.”
“Ask what?”
“If the other person wants to marry them. There's a whole proposal thing. Usually involves a ring.”
His chest shakes with quiet laughter. “I gave you a crown.”
“A crown is better than a ring, I suppose.” I turn my head to kiss his shoulder. “More dramatic.”
“Everything about you deserves to be dramatic.” His hand stills in my hair for a moment, and something strokes over the ring finger of my left hand. “Though if you want a ring as well …”
Coolness wraps around my finger.
“There.” His voice is rich with satisfaction. “Now you have both.”
I lift my hand to examine his work, turning it in the moonlight. The delicate band is set with tiny shadowstones that pulse like captured stars. The dark gems absorb the moonlight, creating depths of blue and violet that shift and change as I move my fingers.
It fits perfectly, warm against my skin despite being crafted from shadow. “It's beautiful.”
“It's yours. Like everything else I am.”
“Everything?” I tease. “That's a dangerous statement to make.”
“And yet I feel no fear from saying so.”
I trace lazy patterns on his chest with my fingertips, admiring the way moonlight plays across the ring. Quiet falls between us, comfortable and warm, and eventually exhaustion wins, and I drift toward sleep still curled against him, his shadows wrapped around us both like a blanket.
The next morning I wake to find Sacha's side of the bed empty. When I get up and look around, he’s already dressed and standing at the tall window in the main sitting room, watching something outside.
“What's happening?” I join him at the window.
“More Veinwardens are arriving.” He points toward the courtyard where travel-stained riders are dismounting. “This is the fourth group since dawn. Word is spreading that Ashenvale has fallen to the Veinbloods. They're coming to see if it's true … if the Shadowvein Lord has really returned.”
I study the new arrivals from our vantage point. These people move with a wariness that speaks of spending decades in hiding, scanning for threats even within the supposedly now-safe walls of Ashenvale.
“How many do you expect?”
“Veinwardens from every surviving knot across Meridian, eventually.” His expression is neutral, but I catch the tension around his eyes. “They need to see their prince with their own eyes before they'll believe it's real.”
The stream of arrivals continues throughout the day.
Each group brings the same mixture of hope and wariness.
They want to believe their prince has truly returned, but years of loss have taught them caution.
By evening, I've watched a dozen conversations where Veinwardens stare at Sacha in wonder, some seeing him for the first time, and some recognizing a face they thought they'd never see again.
The pattern repeats over the following days.
Morning meetings with new arrivals, afternoons reviewing incoming information about Authority movements, evenings planning.
I find myself drawn into these discussions more than I expected, attending as Sacha's consort, and the person these people see as his chosen partner.