Chapter 17
Where shadows linger
JUDE
I follow Lorien out of the court, the heavy doors slamming shut behind us with a low groan that echoes through the corridor.
My pulse is still thrumming from the moment in the court, the weight of the gazes, the whispers that buzzed like insects in my ears.
But it’s the feel of Lorien’s claws still tingling against my scalp that I can’t seem to shake.
Even now, with his hand no longer on me, I’m branded as his.
I’ve seen the marks underneath the collar, and I doubt they will fade with time. Lorien marked me as his from the moment I arrived here, and I wonder if he regrets not giving me the choice.
He doesn’t say a word as we walk, his posture stiff, shoulders squared. I keep my head down, trying not to stare at the elegant lines of his back, the ripple of power in his every step.
The silence between us isn’t new, but it feels different this time—charged, weighted by things unspoken.
We’re halfway down the corridor when the sound of footsteps behind us makes me turn. Orlith and Soren approach, their expressions unreadable in the dim light. The torches lining the walls cast strange, flickering shadows across their faces, giving Orlith’s sharp features an even more menacing edge.
“Lorien,” Orlith says, his voice smooth but cold, “I need a word. Privately.”
Lorien stops but doesn’t turn immediately. I see the way his jaw tightens, the flash of his teeth when he finally glances back. “It can wait.”
“The neap tides cannot,” Orlith replies, his gaze cutting briefly to me before settling back on Lorien. “You know they can’t.”
There’s a beat of tension, the kind that makes my skin crawl.
Lorien turns and looks at me, his golden eyes narrowing slightly.
Before either of us can say anything, Soren steps forward with a smirk, the flickering torchlight casting sharp shadows across his angular face. His eyes gleam with amusement, a predator sizing up his prey.
“I’ll keep him entertained,” he says, gesturing for me to follow him. “Don’t look so concerned, Lorien. I’m taking him to the library, not the gallows.”
I glance at Lorien, and he nods, turning to walk away with Orlith.
I watch him leave, listening to their low and indistinct voices, no longer sure I want the freedom I crave.
Soren coughs and I walk down the corridor, left with no choice but to follow, annoyed that his stride is annoyingly casual compared to the tension knotting in my chest.
“The library’s hardly a place of doom and despair,” Soren says, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I’d have thought you’d appreciate the change of scenery.”
The corridor widens as we walk, the walls growing darker, the air cooler. It’s strange how this place—this underwater palace—can feel both vast and suffocating at the same time.
“Has he learned?” Soren asks.
I glance up at him. “Learned what?”
Soren sighs and the look of exasperation crossing his face is infuriating.
“Jude, I’ve known Lorien longer than I care to remember.
He’s many things. He’s calculating, commanding, and so damn stubborn it’s a miracle he can bend at all, but he isn’t invincible.
For all his power, his pride gets in the way.
He’ll dig in when he should let go, fight when he should retreat. But you...”
He pauses, his smirk softening into something almost contemplative.
“You temper that, don’t you? I see it already. You don’t give ground easily either, but you steady him in a way no one else has managed. Not that it makes you any less infuriating. You’re both stubborn as hell. It’s going to be your downfall, or your salvation. Ours too.”
The corridor stretches on, the stone walls glistening faintly with a sheen of moisture, the faint luminescence from the torches casting wavering reflections.
The air grows cooler with each step, carrying with it the faint, briny tang of the ocean, mixed with something older, almost metallic.
The sound of our footsteps seems to be swallowed by the silence, leaving only the occasional crackle of the torches and the distant, almost imperceptible hum of the palace itself.
It’s alive, in a way, pulsing with a presence I can’t quite define.
Finally, we reach a pair of double doors, carved with intricate patterns that shimmer faintly in the torchlight. Soren pushes them open with a flourish, stepping aside to let me enter first.
“Welcome to the archives,” he says, his tone dripping with mock grandeur.
The room is massive, its walls lined with towering shelves filled with books and scrolls in a language I can’t read, their spines cracked and worn, some held together by fraying bindings.
But it’s not just a library. Scattered throughout the space are strange artifacts displayed on pedestals and in glass cases.
Some glimmer faintly, others pulse with an otherworldly light, and a few hum a low, almost imperceptible vibration that I feel in my bones.
The smell of vanilla and dust haunts the air, and I glance around, trying to take in the sight before my eyes.
It’s too much to absorb, and the cavernous library is an expanse of shadow and light that stretches farther than I expected.
The air feels thick here, as though the room itself holds its breath, waiting.
My skin prickles with the sense that I’m being watched, though there’s no one else in sight.
“What is all this?” I ask, stepping further inside.
Soren’s smirk widens. “Relics of the past. Stories, secrets, warnings. Some things better left forgotten, and others we can’t seem to let go of.
” He picks up a small, jagged shard of glass from a nearby table, holding it up to the light.
“This, for instance, is said to be a fragment of a kelpie’s mirror.
They use them to lure prey, showing their victims whatever they most desire. Or fear.”
I take a step back, uneasy. “Would they have—”
“Yes,” he answers, offering me the piece of glass that seems innocuous. “They would have used it on you, if only to delight in the pain it caused.”
“And you just leave it lying around?”
Soren chuckles, setting the shard back down. “It’s harmless now. Broken. But I suppose it’s still unsettling, isn’t it? Knowing the kinds of things that lurk in the depths.”
“Like Lorien?” I ask before I stop myself.
Soren laughs and it isn’t kind. “Yes, like Lorien. He’s shown you his kinder side, Jude.
He won’t show you what he’s like when he’s pushed to the brink.
When his control snaps. You think you’ve seen his temper, but you haven’t.
What you’ve seen is nothing. He doesn’t just lash out, he destroys.
He’s a force of nature, and he’s learned to wield it like a weapon.
He’s vicious, merciless and callous, like the waters he rules, and he offers no salvation from the darkness.
But then there’s you. You’ve managed to hold your ground without getting swept away, and you’ve shown him a light that he’s missed for centuries. That’s not something I’ve seen before.”
The words settle over me like a weight, heavy and cold.
I try to brush them off, to ignore the way my chest tightens, but it’s no use.
I think of Lorien’s touch, his grip that skirts the edge of possessiveness but never quite crosses it, and wonder how much of him I’ve truly seen, and how much he’s deliberately kept hidden.
“Did you want to ask me something, Jude?”
I don’t respond, my attention drawn instead to a large, leather-bound book resting on a lectern. Its cover is cracked and worn; the title written in a script I can’t read.
“Ah, that one,” Soren says, noticing where my gaze has landed. “A favorite of mine. It’s a history of Lorien’s kingdom, written long before either of us was born. Care for a bit of light reading?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, flipping the book open to a page near the middle.
The text is dense, accompanied by illustrations that are as beautiful as they are disturbing.
One depicts a battle in which mer warriors clash with shadowy, serpentine figures that resemble the haunting figures that rounded on my cottage and I can only assume are kelpies.
“The war with the kelpies,” Soren says, tracing a finger over the image. “A bloody, brutal affair. And yet, it’s not the battles that interest me most. It’s the bargains.”
“Bargains?” I echo, frowning.
Soren’s gaze flicks to me, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Take the one Helena made with Lorien. We know it was signed in blood and that her life was forfeited. But the rest, well, the rest is open to interpretation.”
My stomach twists. “Interpretation?”
He shrugs, closing the book with a thud.
“It’s quite the mystery, really. How a parchment that important, that critical, could be lost. The terms are only known by those who signed it, and one of them is dead.
Lorien wouldn’t have let Helena live without good reason, and we would have defeated the kelpies on our own.
Yet he let her live so she could spend her life defending those she’d previously fought. ”
“You doubt him?” I ask, my voice barely audible.
“I’ve never asked him,” he replies. “I’ve never needed to question my king.
But I am not Helena’s heir, nor am I his concubine, Jude.
You are both, and I also believe you are more than either.
You’re tied to him in ways neither of you seems to fully understand.
And maybe that’s why he’s kept you alive, why he’s kept you close. ”
I clench my jaw, my fingers brushing the edge of the desk.
The words feel like iron weights settling in my chest. Soren is circling me now, his eyes sharp and assessing, like a shark sensing blood in the water.
He moves to the far side of the room, absently adjusting the books on the shelf, but I can tell he’s watching me from the corner of his eye.
His movements are a deliberate contrast to the storm his words have stirred.