C H A P T E R T H I R T Y – N I N E
How am I supposed to function? Now that I know the feel and taste of her against me.
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y – N I N E
Olwyn
A ltair and I sit for breakfast at a simple wooden table in the inn.
There’s a quietness that feels... comfortable. After everything, it’s strange to sit here, outside of the palace, to have something as normal as breakfast with him without the royal guards around. Yet, as I take a bite of the fresh bread Abbas laid out for us, last night lingers in my thoughts, heating my cheeks.
I sneak a glance at Altair across the table. He’s calm, as always, his movements graceful even in something as mundane as lifting his cup of tea. But then, just as I think I can compose myself, his eyes flick up to meet mine, a soft, amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
I immediately look away, focusing intently on the slice of bread in my hand, trying to suppress the blush that creeps up my neck. I’m thankful that he doesn’t comment, though the quiet chuckle I hear from him doesn’t do much to ease my embarrassment.
“Sleep well?” His voice is low, warm, and undeniably teasing.
My grip tightens on the bread. Of course he’d ask that. And then I panic that I might have done something embarrassing in my sleep.
“Yes,” I answer, my voice betraying me with a slight tremble. “Thanks to your... hospitality.”
I can feel his gaze on me, that intense gaze that seems to see far too much. My pulse quickens as I remember the feel of his arms around me, the warmth of his body pressed against mine all night long. The memory is too vivid, and I fight the urge to fan my face.
But then Abbas steps into the room, smiling warmly as he brings over a plate of fresh fruit. “How are my guests this morning?” he asks, his tone cheerful.
“Very well, Abbas,” I say quickly, grateful for the distraction. I offer him a genuine smile, trying to push aside my lingering embarrassment. “Thank you for the breakfast, and for your hospitalit y? ”—Altair snorts into his te a? —“The town has been... wonderful.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” he replies, his old eyes twinkling as he glances between Altair and me. There’s a warmth to his smile that makes me feel at ease, like I’ve known him for years instead of mere hours. “This village is your home now, just as much as the palace.”
I smile, genuinely touched. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Altair, who has been quietly watching the exchange, gives Abbas a respectful nod. “Thank you for having us.”
The older man nods in return. “Safe travels, Your Majesty. And you, my queen.”
My cheeks flush again at the title, but Altair seems unbothered, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for me to be referred to as his queen. I must admit I’m still getting used to it. But Abbas’s kindness, the warmth of the village—it all feels... right. More right than I’d like to admit.
Altair stands, offering me a hand. “We should head back.”
I nod, taking his hand and letting him help me up. His touch lingers just a little longer than necessary, and I swear I see his eyes flicker with that same hunger from the night before. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual calm demeanour.
We step outside, the sun rising and warm against the cobblestone streets. It’s a beautiful day, the air crisp and clean, filled with the sounds of the village coming to life. I watch as people bustle about—humans and vampires alik e? —and I’m almost reluctant to leave. The scene is peaceful, harmonious.
And that’s what hurts.
Because, deep down, I know now that Altair’s words about my parents were true—at least in part. I know there’ll be conversations to have when we get back to the palace, but we also need to get ready for the ball and speak with King Casius.
I’ve been raised to fear vampires, to believe they were monsters. But here, in this small village, I see the truth with my own eyes. They’re just... people. Some of them may be vampires, but they’re not the monsters I was led to believe they were.
A pang of sadness hits me, and I glance at Altair. He doesn’t say anything as we walk to the stables, but I feel his presence beside me, steady and solid, a quiet reassurance.
I wonder how much more of what I was told has been a lie.
Altair raises my hood over my hair, before pulling up his own. I know that on the way home we need to keep covered again, the easy, carefree energy from the village dissipating as I remember that outside of this territory, there may be those who wish to harm us.
Altair helps me mount the horse before climbing up behind me. I feel his hands settle around my waist, pulling me closer to him. The warmth of his body presses against my back, and it’s... distracting. He clicks his tongue, urging the horse forward, and we leave the village behind, the sound of hooves echoing off the cobblestone.
The ride back is quiet, but not uncomfortable. The sun is rising steadily in the sky now, and the lush greenery of the landscape stretches out before us. Birds flit through the air, their songs filling the space between us. The farther we ride from the village, the more untamed the landscape becomes—wildflowers growing in bursts of colour along the roadside, dense forests casting long shadows over the path, rocky outcrops making the road rougher.
I lean back slightly, feeling the steady rise and fall of Altair’s chest behind me. It’s ridiculous how aware I am of him.
But just as my eyes close, something sharp pierces the air—a faint whistle, followed by a sudden, sickening thunk .
Altair’s body jolts behind me.
“Altair?” I ask, turning quickly. But then, I see it—the arrow sticking out the back of his shoulder.
He grits his teeth, his hand slipping from my waist as he slumps to the side. “Olwyn—” he rasps, but before he can finish, he falls sideways from the horse, landing with a dull thud as his shadows coil up.
“Altair!” I scream, my heart stopping.
He gets to his knees, hissing. A shade darts out and captures an arrow in midair, but there is a thunk , and another arrow hits its target, embedding itself into his right side. He snarls, looking up with pure black eyes, widening with what looks like fear as he sees me still atop the horse.
More arrows whistle through the air, one hitting the rear leg of my horse. It squeals, rearing up, raising his front legs in the air as I scream.
“Olwyn!”
I brace as I am thrown from the animal waiting for the hard fall. But it doesn’t come. Altair has thrown himself across the ground to catch me, grunting as he hits the floor and the horse flees. His shades splutter .
But I feel his shudder as another arrow pierces him. He tries to kneel, looking over his shoulder and blocking me from the view of the approaching men over the hill.
“Run,” he pants.
“I’m not leaving you,” I tell him. I won’t make it far on my own, and I can’t leave him in this state. Altair’s blood stains the ground, and panic claws at my chest. And suddenly the thought of losing him, of the light in his eyes dimming forever, terrifies me more than any arrow.
I can’t leave him.
I won’t.
“Go, Olwyn!” He yells, and I unsheathe my dagger from my thigh. “For fucks sake,” he snarls, pulling shades to him as he stands, though their movement is staggered. I suck a breath in as I see the arrow sticking out of his calf.
Another whistles through the air and he jerks to the side, catching it before it can bury itself in my eye.
He roars at the approaching human men, but Altair’s movements are slower, each step a monumental effort. The witch silver must be burning in his veins, sapping his strength. Broken shadows like a dark mist coil around him, dark tendrils of his magic that flicker like a dying flame, struggling to maintain form as his body betrays him.
The men are so close now. Leaving him could be a death sentence—for both of us. I don’t know what they want, but I know they’ll likely hunt me down within minutes without Altair’s protection.
But even weakened, Altair looks absolutely terrifying, as black lines crawl up along his arms, rising his neck like tree roots.
“Touch her and I’ll rip the air from your lungs before you can take another breath.”
But the men laugh. Another arrow strikes his chest, dangerously close to his heart.
“Altair!” I cry out. He stumbles, and his eyes flash, those black lines climbing and crawling over each other…
Until he transforms into a monstrous beast of shadows and darkness, blurring toward the attackers like a vengeful wraith.
My heart leaps into my throat as I spot a black wing as I fall back… and watch the solid darkness go. He appears behind the first man near us, twisting his hands and snapping the man's neck like a twig. The remaining men scramble, trying to nock an arrow as soon as they can to fire them again.
They are human.
These men are human.
Meaning they likely belong to the group who despise our union. But them harming Altair is only going to make vampire relations with the humans worse.
“Stop!” I yell at them all, but Altair kills another, ripping a vein from his neck with long black claws and throwing it to the ground.
No one listens to me… but one man has heard me.
He faces my direction, ignoring his companions who flee from Altair, causing his hunter instinct to kick in.
But this man comes after me .
There is a single moment of panic, of fear wanting me to flee away. But I feel an instinctual thing claw through me, as hot anger blinds my rationality and I rip my dagger from its sheath.
The man laughs as he charges, a witchsilver dagger raised, and Altair’s head snaps round, his eyes wild.
But they have trained me for this, and I will not be weak again.
Just as the man reaches me, I step to the right and use my arm to deflect his attacking arm, redirecting his momentum past me. He stumbles slightly as I thrust my dagger into the side of his neck.
A quick, powerful stab, and the man falls to his knees, dropping his own blade as he tries to stop the crimson flowing from his neck.
As easy as that.
Too easy.
I just killed a man.
Altair sighs and smiles lightly at me in relief, but I cry out, unable to stop it as the last man rushes at him from behind, a witchsilver blade in his hand.
Altair’s lips pop open as it stabs between his shoulder blades. One, two, three times.
The darkness fades, his eyes flutter shut, and an unyielding anger slams into me like a rock, causing me to scream in rage and run towards them. The man pushes Altair to the ground, unsheathing a short sword from his waist as he smirks at me.
Something fierce and primal stirs within me, pushing aside the fear and filling the void with a searing, blinding rage.
I don’t care that he’s human.
I don’t care who he is.
All I care about is spilling his blood.
The dagger feels small in my hand, almost insignificant against the long blade he wields, but I grip it tightly anyway. My body moves before my brain can catch up, raw instinct driving me forward. I charge at him, my vision narrowing on his sword arm as it rises to strike.
My breath is ragged, my heart pounding like a war drum in my ears. I’ve never fought against a sword before. Altair trained me in daggers and hand-to-hand combat. I know how to throw, how to stab, how to defend myself—but this? This is entirely different.
Still, I feint low, hoping my wild strike will throw him off, but it’s sloppy and desperate, and he reacts faster than I expect. His sword swings down, and I barely twist in time, the blade cutting through my trousers and grazing my thigh as I stumble back with a cry.
The burn of the cut ignites something deeper inside me, something dark and coiled and furious. I clench my teeth, ignoring the sting, and lunge again, this time with no plan, no careful calculation—just raw, unbridled fury.
He swings again, and I flinch, throwing my dagger up to block out of sheer desperation. The force of his strike jars my arm, the vibration rattling through my bones, and I barely manage to deflect the blade enough to avoid a killing blow.
But I’m not fast enough to dodge the punch that follows.
His free hand slams into my ribs with brutal force, and I hear the sickening crack before I feel the pain. It’s sharp and blinding, stealing the breath from my lungs as I stagger back. My legs threaten to give out, but I grit my teeth, refusing to fall.
I clutch my side, my dagger trembling in my hand as he smirks, circling me like a predator.
“Is that all you’ve got, girl?” he taunts, his voice dripping with disdain.
My vision blurs, but not from tears. It’s the rage, the humiliation, the raw, aching need to survive. My entire body trembles, not from fear, but from something deeper, something ancient and powerful stirring inside me.
The air around me seems to hum, a faint crackle of energy that I can’t explain. My fingers tighten around the hilt of my dagger as heat floods through me, the pain in my ribs momentarily forgotten.
I meet his gaze, and for the first time, I see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
Because I’m no longer just a girl with a dagger.
Something inside me has awakened.
I step forward, my movements no longer clumsy or desperate but driven by something else—something primal and terrifying. And for the first time, I don’t feel like prey.
I feel like the predator.
He launches at me, but a warmth surges up from the core of my being, racing through my veins like liquid fire. My hand moves on its own, palm open, and suddenly the world explodes in a flash of golden light. Heat radiates from my skin, so intense I almost expect to see flames. The man screams, clutching his face, but all I can focus on is the sensation—this strange, terrifying power coursing through me.
“My eyes!” He shouts.
All I feel is burning, and I want to look at my hand, to see if there is redness and blisters there, like there appears to be over the man’s face. But I take the opportunity to dash behind him, driving my blade up into the base of his skull.
His hands drop and his shouts cease, his body falling forward off my blade and face down into the dirt.
They are all dead.
I helped kill them.
I cut into flesh and blood as easy as carving up my meal.
I throw up.