C H A P T E R F O R T Y – T H R E E
I don’t regret it. Not for a moment.
C H A P T E R F O R T Y – T H R E E
Olwyn
B reakfast rolls around, and I sit at the table, my fingers absently trailing over the edge of my cup.
I don’t know why, but ever since I let him feed from me, it's like an invisible thread pulling me toward Altair, tightening with every passing second.
And I know, without a doubt, that he feels it too.
He enters the room quietly, his presence shifting the air immediately. As usual, he looks regal, though today there's a slight tension in his frame. The relief that floods through me is almost overwhelming. After seeing him so weak, so vulnerable, it’s a comfort to see him like this again—strong, composed.
His eyes catch mine the moment he walks in, and for a split second, the rest of the room seems to fall away. I let out a breath. I had asked a member of staff as soon as I woke if he was all right. I was assured he was, but I still asked to be taken to the infirmary to see him for myself. I had resigned myself to seeing him at breakfast when I was told he was no longer there.
But he’s better. Thank the gods, he’s better.
Our gazes hold a moment longer than they should. My heart races, and I quickly lower my gaze, hoping no one notices the heat that rushes to my cheeks.
But I can feel him. Even as he takes his seat to my right, I can feel the awareness of him pressing in on me from all angles. It’s like a hum beneath my skin, a constant pull that makes it difficult to focus on anything else.
And yet… it’s not unpleasant. It’s terrifying, yes, but not in the way I would have imagined. It’s not like the fear I felt when I was taken from my home or when the man attacked me in my chambers. This is different. It’s deeper, rawer. And though I don’t fully understand it, I can’t deny that a part of me doesn’t want to resist it.
“Good morning,” Altair’s voice breaks the silence, low and smooth, and I force myself to meet his eyes again.
“Morning,” I reply softly, my voice sounding far too breathy for a simple greeting.
A tense silence settles over the room as Iolas enters. His expression is drawn tight, his posture stiff. He nods briefly at me before sitting down, his eyes flicking toward Altair with an unreadable look. He wasn’t there to escort me this morning, something that made my chest tighten. I feel like he is annoyed at me, at us… and I hate it.
But even worse, the air between them is thick, and I know something has been said.
“How are your ribs?” Iolas asks suddenly as he starts buttering a piece of toasted bread, cutting through the awkward silence. His voice is calm, but I can feel the tension. He doesn’t look at Altair when he speaks, his focus pinned on me.
I blink, momentarily caught off guard. I hadn’t expected him to bring it up. My fingers tighten around the edge of my cup as I glance at Altair, who immediately frowns, his sharp gaze darting between me and Iolas.
“My ribs are fine. Thank you for helping.” I say quickly, trying to downplay the situation. “It’s nothing.” But I feel Altair’s eyes narrow, his attention locking onto me.
“What happened?” Altair’s voice is a low rumble, but I can hear the edge to it. His eyes darken slightly, confusion flickering across his face.
“The man who cut me also punched me in the ribs before I killed him. I could have done it sooner if he had a smaller blade. I need to start fighting with a sword.”
Iolas smiles at my enthusiasm to continue training.
When I finally look up, Altair’s expression has shifted completely. His eyes are black—pools of darkness, swirling with a restrained rage. His jaw clenches, and though he remains quiet, the tension radiating from him is palpable, crackling in the air like a storm about to break.
“Altair…” I say softly, trying to reassure him. “I’m fine. It’s not that bad. Iolas already checked me over.”
His silence stretches, the shadows in his eyes deepening. He doesn’t speak, but the shadows in the room deepen, and frankly, I’m so grateful to see them. For a moment, I think he might snap, but then he exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a second as if to rein in his control.
Iolas, sensing the tension, adds in a calm tone, “I’ll apply more salve later. It’ll help with the bruising.”
Altair's jaw ticks, but he nods, his eyes softening just slightly as they meet mine again. He doesn’t say anything more, but the concern etched into his expression speaks volumes.
“I’m fine,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time since last moon rise, this time more firmly. “Really.”
Altair doesn’t respond, but his gaze lingers on me a moment longer, as if he’s trying to convince himself of my words.
I pick at the food in front of me, my appetite suddenly gone. The memories of yesterday—the attack, the blood, the feeling of Altair’s fangs sinking into my skin—flood back to me in waves.
“Olwyn,” Altair starts, his voice unusually hesitant. His eyes flicker between me and Iolas, and there’s a tension in his shoulders that instantly puts me on edge. “I need to speak to you about these attacks. About why they keep happening.”
He leans back in his chair, exchanging a look with Iolas—one so pointed, so heavy, that my stomach tightens. My gaze narrows on them both, and Altair presses his lips into a thin line.
“I thought it was because of our union?” I say, breaking the silence, my tone sharper than I intended.
Altair exhales slowly, the weight of what he’s about to say clear in his expression. “That’s only a small part of it,” he admits. “The truth is... they work for someone. Her name is Atha.”
Atha?
The name means nothing to me, and yet it lands with a strange, ominous weight. My frown deepens.
“She’s a powerful sorceress,” he continues.
I stiffen. That can’t be true. “Sorceresses?” I say, incredulous. “They’ve been extinct for almost a century. Everyone knows that.”
Altair watches me carefully, his expression grim, as though he already knows how hard this is to believe. “She’s the last true sorceress,” he says evenly, “until the magic in your veins awakened.”
My breath catches. Until my magic awakened.
Is this another lie I’ve been told my whole life? Another truth kept from me, just like everything else about who and what I am?
“And why,” I say, my voice quieter now, though no less sharp, “would she want me dead?”
Iolas shifts uncomfortably beside me, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table in a steady, rhythmic pattern. The small, anxious movement is so unlike him that it sends a ripple of unease through me.
“That’s my fault,” Altair says. His voice is soft, but his words hit like a thunderclap.
I blink, my heart pounding. “Your fault?”
“You were being kept hidden in Avantra for her,” Altair explains, his tone steady but laced with regret. “One day, she would have come for you.”
The room spins. “What?” I whisper.
“The king and queen,” Altair continues, and there’s a hardness in his expression now, a deep anger simmering beneath his usually composed surface, “were keeping you for Atha. They were preserving you—neglecting you, yes—but alive. One day, you would have been handed over to her.”
The words take a moment to sink in. When they do, it’s like the air has been sucked out of the room.
“My parents,” I say, my voice trembling, though I fight to keep it steady, “were keeping me for a sorceress? Why?”
“You share the same powers,” Altair says. “Atha knows you’re the key to the prophecy. She wanted to control you. By finding you, by taking you from Avantra, I ruined her plans.”
His words swirl in my mind like a storm, each one heavier than the last.
Altair’s jaw tightens, and he leans forward, his eyes locking with mine. “Now, she fears I’ve turned you against her. She can’t risk the threat of another sorceress—especially one who could fulfil the prophecy—standing with the vampire king of Noctura.”
I stare at him, the pieces slowly, horribly falling into place. My entire life—every moment of neglect, every whispered warning to stay hidden—it was all for her. For this Atha.
“So, you’re telling me,” I say, my voice rising as fury sparks in my chest, “that my parents kept me locked away, neglected but alive, all so I could one day be handed over to this woman?”
The thing that hurts the most, is that I believe him. They have shown me so much, that the creeping doubts have now fully bloomed like a spring flower.
The room falls silent. Iolas stops drumming his fingers, his jaw tightening. Altair doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch under my anger.
“Yes,” he says, the single word carrying the weight of everything I’ve learned recently.
My chest tightens, my warming hands curling into fists at my sides. For once, I don’t know whether to scream, cry, or thank the gods I was taken.
Altair saved me from that fate. The realisation crashes over me, heavy and suffocating. If this Atha is so willing to kill me now, what kind of horrors would have awaited me under her control? Would she have twisted me into a weapon, a shadow of myself, until there was nothing left of who I truly am?
I swallow hard, my throat dry. My gaze shifts to Altair, who is watching me with that same infuriating, steady calm, but beneath it, I can see the strain—everything he hasn’t told me until now.
“That’s why you kept me in the palace,” I say, my voice low but firm, the pieces snapping into place like shards of broken glass. “That’s why you’re having peace talks with Casius.” I pause, searching his face, daring him to deny it. “You’re trying to unite the vampires. Against her.”
His jaw tightens, the muscles twitching as he leans back slightly. The way his hands rest on the table—steady, deliberate—tells me everything I need to know. He doesn’t respond right away, and his silence only sharpens my suspicion.
“You are, aren’t you?” I press, my voice rising just a fraction, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “This isn’t about peace between you and Casius. It’s about war. With her.”
Altair’s eyes meet mine, unflinching, and he exhales slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. “Yes,” he finally says, his voice low, almost a growl. “That’s exactly what this is about.”
For a moment, the room feels too small, too suffocating. The air between us crackles with what he’s just confirmed. My heart races, but I force myself to hold his gaze, to meet the truth head-on.
I always felt like a pawn in this game from the start. But the rules aren’t as simple as I thought, and the stakes are far higher than I ever imagined.
And I realise, I’ve never been just a pawn—I’m the centrepiece.
I want to rage, to demand why he didn’t tell me this sooner, why he let me stumble blindly through all of this without knowing the full picture.
But beneath the anger, a colder, harder truth settles in my bones. This isn’t just about me. This was never just about me.
I’ve been dragged into something so much bigger than I ever imagined. My life, my choice s? —they’ve all been threads woven into a web I never asked to be part of. For so long, I’ve been hidden from it. From the power I didn’t want.
But hiding hasn’t saved me. It hasn’t spared me from the horrors or the lies. It hasn’t stopped the world from shoving me into the centre of its games.
If this Atha is coming for m e? —if she’s willing to kill me simply because of what I could b e? —then hiding isn’t an option anymore.
The thought settles over me like a storm cloud, heavy and dark but strangely electrifying. If I can’t escape this, then I won’t cower. If I’m going to be part of this war, part of this prophecy or whatever it is they think I am, then I’m going to do it on my terms.
If I can’t run from being a queen… then I might as well act like one.
I straighten my spine, lifting my chin just slightly. Altair’s gaze sharpens, as if he can feel the shift in me, his eyes watching my every move. I can still see the tension in his jaw, the faint crease between his brows. He’s waiting for my response, as if bracing himself for an explosion that hasn’t come yet.
I exhale slowly, the storm inside me clearing just enough for a single thought to rise above the chaos. If I’m going to face this, I need to be prepared.
“So,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, cutting through the silence. “What’s the plan?”
Altair’s eyes widen slightly, just for a moment, before narrowing with approval. His lips curve into a faint, almost imperceptible smile—a shadow of relief, of respect. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and it’s hard to stay mad at him when this is Altair, the man who has trusted me, who has fought for me, who has looked at me like I’m more than just a pawn in this game.
“The plan,” he says slowly, his voice measured, “is to stop her before she gathers enough power to destroy us all.”
My stomach knots, but I force myself to nod. “And by ‘us,’ you mean…?”
Altair’s gaze flickers to Iolas, who has been sitting silently, his jaw tight and his eyes filled with a mix of concern and admiration. Then back to me. “Not just Noctura. But Casius and Vesperis too.”
A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “So, no pressure then.”
Everything rests on the talks with Casius.
Altair tilts his head, and for a moment, his eyes soften. “I wouldn’t ask this of you, Olwyn, if there was any other way.”
“Ask this of me?” I echo, my voice sharp. “You didn’t exactly ask, did you? You took me from Avantra, you’ve been keeping me here, and now you’re telling me I’m a centrepiece in some war I didn’t even know existed.” I push my chair back, the scrape of wood against stone breaking the tension in the room. “But fine. I can’t exactly call you a liar because everything you’ve shown me so far has proved you’re telling me the truth. But let’s say I accept this. What exactly do you expect me to do?”
Altair leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. “I saw it, Olwyn,” he says, his voice low, steady. “I saw the light. I saw you use your powers.”
I blink, and Iolas turns to face me, stunned by Altair’s words, realising what I wasn’t saying last night. The room feels suddenly smaller, the air thick with the truth I hadn’t yet processed. My mouth goes dry, and I can barely find my voice. “I promise, I didn’t know I could control it like that,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
Altair nods, “You don’t need to assure me, love. You believe that, so I believe you.”
“You want me to use my powers?” I ask.
“We want you to control it,” Altair. “We’ll start there. And then, if you choose to, you can fight. Not just for yourself, but for everyone who can’t.”
I stare at him, my chest tightening again, but this time it’s not just anger or fear. It’s something else—something deeper, heavier. Because as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. After what I’ve seen, and the people I’ve spoken to, I can’t pretend this isn’t my fight.
I think of the villagers we saw during the Litha celebration, their laughter and joy, their hope. I think of Sera and Thalia and all the staff here. I think of the world beyond the palace walls—the one I never thought I’d see, the one I want to protect, even if it terrifies me.
“I’ll fight,” I say finally, my voice quiet but firm. “But you can’t hold back. You need to push me.”
Altair nods once, his expression serious. “You have my word.”
“Good,” I say, sinking back into my chair. My gaze flicks to Iolas, who is watching me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “And you? Are you in this too?”
Iolas grins, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wherever you go, little witch, I’ll be right there with you.”
The tension in the room shifts, a new resolve settling over us. I don’t know what the future holds, but maybe for the first time, I feel like I have a choice in it.
If Atha wants a fight, then a fight is what she’ll get.