C H A P T E R F I F T Y – O N E
She looks like a dream. She looks like she’s walking through a nightmare.
C H A P T E R F I F T Y – O N E
Olwyn
I glance at Altair, a warning in his two-toned eyes, a reminder that I should be polite.
Turning back to the stranger , I plaster a small smile on my fac e? —despite the fear and fury that rages through my vein s? —and say, “It would be my pleasure, King Sovran.”
I take King Casius's offered hand, my fingers trembling slightly as we walk together to the centre of the dancefloor. The eyes of the other guests follow our every move, their whispers a low hum in the background. I try to maintain a composed facade, but inside, my mind is a whirlwind of emotions.
As we come to a stop, the music begins—a slow, haunting waltz that fills the air with its melancholic melody. Casius places his hand on my waist, his touch firm yet strangely gentle. I try not to grip his shoulder too hard, placing my other hand in his as we begin to move in time with the music. He moves his hand, threading his long fingers through mine.
There's a tension palpable in the air as we glide across the polished floor. I’m suddenly thankful for Crista’s dance lessons during all the ball prep.
I can feel Casius’s gaze on me, searching, probing, as if trying to make me bite. Trying to get me to acknowledge who he is. But I keep my expression carefully neutral, unwilling to give anything away.
Even though I want to stamp on his foot.
“How are you enjoying your stay with Altair? We both know your residence here isn’t one of your choosing,” he says bluntly, the words rolling off his tongue with a nonchalant boldness.
He’s either naturally very forward… or very brave. But panic does blast through me as I wonder how he knows this. When Altair had taken me, he had told the king and queen that everyone would believe it was an arranged marriage. That if anyone thought otherwise and sought to ‘save me’ he would return to Avantra and destroy them.
“That’s quite bold of you to say, Your Maje s? —”
“Casius,” he interrupts, his lips twitching into a subtle smirk. “Call me Casius.”
I force a tight smile in return, though his presumption unsettles me. “Very well. Casius.” His satisfaction grows at the sound of his name on my lips, his perfectly white teeth flashing in a way that feels both predatory and amused. “My marriage to the king was well arranged by my parents. It’s a good match.”
He scoffs softly, and I catch the glimmer of something sharper in his eyes. “Is that why you just referred to him as ‘the king’ instead of by his name?” He leans down slightly, his breath warm against my ear, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Is that why you needed air?”
The blood drains from my face, my heart skipping a beat. My lips part, but no words come out. His question hangs between us, damning and dangerous. I’ve slipped—he knows too much, or at least suspects more than I’m willing to admit. Swallowing the rising panic, I say, “I just needed a moment to breathe. I knew I would be in a crowded ballroom all night and wanted some privacy to compose myself. I called him ‘the king’, because that is what he is.”
The knowing gleam in his gaze suggests he knows I am lying. And then I see it—a ring of silver only in his right eye, a sparkle almost imperceptible but unmistakable.
“What? No pet name for your beloved?” he asks, raising a brow as if daring me to deny the truth. His hand is warm at my waist as he pulls me closer, his breath causing a tickle along my neck as he whispers against the shell of my ear. “No name he likes you to call out in the middle of the night.”
I gasp and jerk back a little, his hands keeping me steady. Over his shoulder I can see Iolas clamp a hand down on Altair’s shoulder, the latter’s face a living fury.
“I would appreciate it, if you would keep your teeth away from my neck.” I grin through a gritted smile. “It’s not polite.”
Casius chuckles, but the sound is devoid of humour, his smile not reaching his cold eyes. “Do you know what I think?”
“No,” I snap quietly, my voice low and edged with frustration, “but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
His amusement deepens, and there’s something dark and dangerous lurking beneath it. “ I think the polished little queen needs unleashing. Needs help losing control.”
That’s exactly the opposite of what I need, if he knew the truth.
“And you think you’re the one to do that?” I ask impatiently, my vision briefly swimming with white as frustration flares hot and fast within me. My hands warm, itching to do something, anything. I know Altair won’t intervene—not now. For political and peaceful reasons, I’m left to fend for myself. And that’s fine, I can handle one more egotistical man.
Casius’s gaze softens, just a fraction, as if he’s finally seeing something in me that intrigues him. “I think you never know who can bring out the worst in you… or the best. But maybe one day you’d like to try.”
I’ve had enough. The song, mercifully, comes to an end, and I step back, eager to break free of his hold. But before I leave, I offer him one last parting shot.
“Perhaps. I’ll make sure to try later—with my husband .”
Casius chuckles again, though there’s no amusement in it. “Or your guard,” he says smoothly, “from the way he’s approaching.”
I glance over my shoulder, just in time to see Iolas parting the crowd, his expression unreadable but his posture taut with tension.
I turn back to Casius and scoff. “You don’t know as much as you think you do,” I tell him, trying to shake off the disquieting encounter.
Iolas arrives at my side, his hand brushing against my arm as he steps to me and Casius. He bows, though it’s clear from the tension in his shoulders that it’s more out of duty than respect. “Your Majesty. The king has requested Olwyn’s presence.”
Casius offers a tight smile, though his eyes linger on me for a moment longer, as if he’s calculating something just out of my reach. “Of course,” he says smoothly, inclining his head slightly toward me.
Iolas sighs in relief, guiding me with his hand on my lower back until we reach Altair again. I link my arm with Altair’s, turning to watch the room.
“Can I please go now?” I practically beg.
“What did he say to you?” Altair asks in a whispered rush.
“Nothing of importance.”
“What did he want with you?” He seems a little frantic, and I look at him confused.
“Why are you so panicky? Want with me? Why would he want anything from me?”
“Because of your natural char m? —” Iolas starts joking, but Altair interrupts him.
“Isn’t it obvious? Everyone wants you for your magic. He knows you are the only living direct descendant of Atha. If we weren’t wed, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had tried to claim you for himself once he found out you were alive.”
Iolas winces, and I release Altair’s arm.
It hurts.
Physically and emotionally hurts.
“You’re right,” I say calmly, taking another step back. “How silly of me. Because why would anyone want anything else?”
Altair's face tightens, his frustration rising. “That's not what I meant,” he says, his voice sharp. “That's what Casius cares about, not me. I want you. I told you I loved you since we were children, grieved your death, killed my king for you. I’d hoped you'd come to know me well enough by now to never think I could want you for your magic... I guess I was wrong.”
I freeze, the words stinging more than I care to admit. For a long moment, silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating.
“It’s hard to know someone who hides from me, lies to me,” I snap, my voice bitter. The words hit harder than I intend, but I don't take them back.
We’re at an impasse now, the gulf between us wider than ever, and neither of us knows how to cross it.
“Olwyn—” Altair begins to interject, but I speak over him, my voice firm.
“Please excuse me, Your Majesty ,” I say a little loudly, but falsely polite with a smile. “I think I shall retire. The wine has gone straight to my head.”
I see his mouth tighten, but he doesn’t stop me as I turn away, the eyes of nearby guests flickering towards us, and I nod and smile, keeping up appearances like the good little queen I should be.
Iolas stands close by, his gaze snapping back and forth between me and Altair, assessing the tension that hangs in the air. I barely acknowledge him, pushing through the crowd, my steps brisk and purposeful as I make my way out of the main hall.
The grandeur of the palace corridors blurs around me, opulent decorations and ornate tapestries becoming a meaningless backdrop to my frustration. My heart races, each beat pounding in my chest like a drum, echoing the torrent of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Iolas’s footsteps are a steady, unrelenting rhythm behind me, a shadow that refuses to be shaken.
“Little witch,” he calls after me, his voice a low murmur that bounces off the marble walls as I leave the main hallways and start to ascend the grand staircase. I grit my teeth, willing myself to keep moving. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter—not yet. Not until I reach the sanctuary of my room.
I run up the stairs, hearing Iolas’s steps following closely as I burst through my chamber doors, not bothering to quell my anger as I attempt to slam it, the door catching Iolas instead as he entered the room behind me.
And break down I do, launching into a tirade so overdue, I feel like I could rip my hair out.
“Little witc h? —”
“All my life,” I growl in my frustration at the tears coming to my eyes. “ All my life, I have been nothing but a tool in other people’s plans. As soon as my par—as soon as anyone knew of my powers, my childhood was done. I was hidden.
“Not allowed to practise. Not allowed to learn how to protect myself. Not allowed friends , gods forbid. And then taken because of that power I can’t even fucking use.”
“That’s not why, little witc h? —” Iolas’s hands take a firm grip of my arms.
“It’s like I’m nothing but a weapon to them.”
Iolas’s face softens, a flash of anger momentarily crossing his features before he tamps it down. “You’re not just a weapon, Olwyn. You’re not.”
I let out a bitter laugh, though it’s more of a choked sound. “Feels like it. Altair practically said it, didn’t he? That’s all I’m good for—my magic.”
He takes a step closer, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “That’s not true. That’s not who you are.”
“Not once has someone asked me what I wanted.”
“What do you want?” his eyes are wide, asking me desperately.
“Cared about who I am.” My hands rise instinctively, clutching the white fabric of his shirt, grounding myself in something, anything, in this storm of emotion.
“ I care little witc h? —”
“Stop fucking calling me that!” I snap, the nickname that once felt teasing now feels like a reminder of everything I can’t control, everything that’s been stolen from me.
But instead of stepping back, instead of backing down like I expect, Iolas moves closer, his fingers sliding up to take hold of my chin, tilting my head up towards him. The motion is gentle, but firm, his eyes searching mine for something, some answer I haven’t yet found myself.
And then, his lips press against mine.
The kiss is soft, tentative at first, like he's testing the waters. His mouth moves over mine, and I feel his tongue briefly brush against my lips, coaxing, tasting. It’s so different from anything I’ve ever experienced, this sudden tenderness cutting through the anger like a knife through cloth. My breath catches, my heart stumbling over itself, unsure whether to race or stop altogether.
Iolas swallows my gasp, his touch reverent, almost hesitant, as if he's afraid to push too far. Yet, at the same time, there’s a quiet urgency in the way his hands frame my face, pulling me closer. His tongue sweeps against mine briefly, and I feel my knees weaken, betraying the torrent of emotions swirling within me.
I close my eyes, and for a moment, I’m not thinking about the palace or my decisions. I’m thinking about Iolas—the way he’s always been there. In the beginning, when Altair left me here, leaving me trapped in a marriage I didn’t want at the time, it was Iolas who stepped in. He was the one who trained me, the one who kept me grounded when everything felt like it was slipping away.
His presence has been a constant, a steady source of support in a world that has felt more like a cage than a home. The weight of that support, the quiet way he’s always protected me, intensifies the way I respond to him now.
He jumps when my fingers brush against the skin of his neck. Groans deeply when I stand on my tiptoes to reach him properly, to return the kiss he starts anew with a vigour. His lips are soft. He tastes like warmth and sweetness.
And he pulls away too soon, dropping my arms like they are on fire.
“Fuck,” he curses, walking away. His hands reach up to run through his hair. “Fuck!”
“Iolas,” I breathe quietly, starting to reach out but unsure if I should touch him. But he turns, his eyes skipping between my raised hand and my face.
Before I can say anything, he storms the few feet towards me, his hand clasping the back of my neck. He looks at me, his thumb gently brushing against my cheek, his gaze soft, but filled with something deeper. “Olwyn,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I care. I’ve always cared.”
He kisses me again.
His hand finds my thighs, lifting me with ease as I wrap my legs around his waist, not feeling him move until my back presses against the stone wall behind me. And he’s so big, so powerful as he towers over me, his hips holding me in place as one of his large hands grips both of mine to hold them above my head, taking my every breath for his own as he kisses me like he has starved for me for an age.
And I kiss him back.
I take something for myself.
I let him have a piece of me. I give it willingly. Eagerly.
Because for the first time in days, I don’t feel numb.
His hard cock presses against me as he pins me with his hips, and I gasp into his mouth, feeling myself throb between my thighs.
“You smell so fucking good,” he nibbles at my bottom lip and my eyes nearly roll back in my head.
He tugs the fabric of my dress up and up until my leg is exposed. His broad, calloused hand glides over my skin, the tips of his finger brushing ever so softly at the junction between my thigh and where I want to be touched the most.
He laughs darkly. “Innocent little witch indeed,” he says when he realises I am not wearing any undergarments.
He unwinds my legs from around his waist, allowing me to slide down the wall carefully until I’m standing, as his fingers slide between my slickness, before circling around my clit.
I cry out, the noise swallowed by another one of his kisses.
But Iolas moves back, his hazel eyes darting between mine.
I gasp when his finger enters me, pushing up and dragging a bolt of pure pleasure up my body.
“What you want matters,” he whispers against my lips. “ You matter.” He continues, pumping his finger with every sentence until he adds another one, his thumb circling around the most sensitive part. “Don’t let anyone let you think any differently. Not even fucking Altair. Not even me.”
His ministrations speed up, and my head falls back against the wall, my eyes closing as pressure builds in my entire body.
“Eyes on me, little witch,” he commands, and it’s the most serious I have ever heard him. “I want to see your eyes roll back as you come on my hand.”
I catch his eyes and that’s all it takes.
I shatter.
I call out his name, his lips claiming mine to muffle the sound as my hips circle against his hand, riding out the waves of my orgasm.
The intensity in Iolas’s eyes doesn’t fade, even as I come down from the high, my breath still ragged, my body trembling. His fingers remain inside me, still, but his words linger more heavily than anything physical could.
What you want matters. You matter.
His voice echoes in my mind, louder than the pounding of my heartbeat, louder than the fire that still burns low in my belly. For so long, I’ve craved this—craved the validation, the reminder that I am more than just a pawn, more than just a prophecy, more than what others see when they look at me. I thought Altair had proved that wasn’t what I was. The thought of Altair brings guilt, sharp and unyielding, rising like a tide, threatening to drown me.
Iolas, seemingly sensing the shift in my emotions, pulls his hand away gently, his hazel eyes searching mine for answers. His breath comes hard and fast as he towers over me.
“Olwyn,” he whispers, voice gravelly but soft, “if this isn’t what you want—if I’ve gone too far—"
“Iolas,” I interrupt, my voice shaky but firm. “I wanted this. I wanted you.” I press my forehead against his chest, needing the connection, needing to ground myself in this moment, despite the storm of thoughts swirling inside me. “But I need to think. About everything.”
His hands drop to my waist, steadying me, and for a moment, he’s quiet, just breathing me in. Then he nods, his lips brushing softly against my temple. “You take all the time you need, little witch,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. “I’ll be here. Whenever you’re ready.”
For a few beats, we stand like that, pressed together against the cold stone wall, the heat of our moment slowly fading but leaving behind a different kind of warmth.
Iolas’s hands linger at my hips for a moment longer before he steps back, creating some space between us.
I should say something—thank him, apologize, anything —but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I find myself looking at the door, feeling everything I’ve been holding back—the responsibilities, the secrets, the lies, and now this... new, uncharted territory with Iolas.
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to fill the silence with platitudes or promises. He simply nods once, his hazel eyes softening just a little, and then he turns, giving me the space I so desperately need.
The door clicks softly as he leaves, and I’m left alone, my heart racing, my mind a whirlwind of everything that just happened. Everything that could happen.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, my legs still trembling. And then, just like that, the tears come—silent, heavy tears that blur my vision and burn as they spill over.
I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. Who I want to be.
Everything presses down on my chest, tighter and tighter until I can barely breathe. I gasp, but the air doesn't come, my lungs constricting as if the walls are closing in on me.
I can’t stay here. I can’t sit in this room and drown in all that’s happened—the kiss, Iolas’s touch, the storm inside me.
I need air.
Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I stumble to my feet. My hands tremble as I grab my cloak and throw it around my shoulders. I don’t think, I just move—out the door, into the hallway, away from the suffocating emotions clawing at my throat.
The distant hum of the ball is just a murmur now, fading with each step I take. My shoes echo in the quiet corridor and down the spiral staircase, and I thank the Gods that the guards I know Iolas will send up aren’t here yet. I’m grateful for their absence. I just need to be alone.
I push forward, my pace quickening, the panic starting to rise again. I need to escape, to get away from everything. I rush down the winding hall, weaving through dimly lit passages, away from the grand hall, away from the music and laughter, away from the prying eyes of the ballroom.
I don’t think, I just move—toward the back door, the one I know leads to the gardens. The one I Casius must have entered earlier.
The gardens are my favourite place. The place where I can think, breathe, and be alone. Away from all the noise, the people, the expectations. I can just be.
I don’t even glance down the small corridor, not caring to check if any guards are around. The ball is in full swing, and I know they’ll be distracted by the festivities. I want this space to myself, away from everything burdening me.
My steps quicken as I approach the back door. The air in the hallway is stifling, and the silence here feels like a release. When I reach the door, I push it open with ease, stepping into the cool night air.
For a moment, the chaos of the palace fades away. The weight on my chest lifts, replaced by the serenity of the gardens that I’ve always cherished. I breathe deeply, grateful to be away from everything—away from the palace, away from the expectations, away from the confusion swirling in my mind.
To breathe.
To just be alone.
Only… I am not.
“Well, well. This is unexpected.”
I spin around, my heart lurching, and audibly groan when I see Casius leaning casually against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me with an amused glint in his eyes.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath.
Casius’s smirk deepens, his red eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something more predatory. He peels off the wall and takes a step forward, his silver hair catching the faint light from a nearby sconce. “What has you sneaking, my queen?” His voice drips with mockery, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Especially smelling as delicious as you do right now.”
What?
He can scent what I did.
Fuck.
I square my shoulders, trying to steady myself under his piercing gaze, aware of exactly what he must be sensing—what happened with Iolas. A wave of shame crashes over me. If he can smell it, then Altair will.
“I could ask you the same question, Your Majesty,” I retort, forcing steel into my voice, even as a flicker of uncertainty flutters in my chest. “Needed some air again?”
Casius lets out a low chuckle that seems to vibrate through the air, filling the area with an unsettling tension. His gaze never leaves mine as he steps closer, his movements graceful, calculated. “I did,” he says softly, his fingers reaching out to tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Looks like we both wanted to escape.”
My heart races at his proximity, the heat of his hand sending an involuntary shiver through me. His touch is surprisingly gentle, but the intensity in his eyes betrays the cruelty lurking beneath the surface.
“Well,” I pull away, stepping backward toward the door, trying to maintain whatever distance I can. This man makes me feel unnerved. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be returning to my own chambers.”
His smile widens, his gaze tracking my every move like a predator watching its prey. “Leaving so soon?” His tone is low, almost too sweet, yet there’s a mocking edge to it that sends a chill down my spine.
He steps forward again, his fingers brushing the air where I had just stood. Before I can process what’s happening, Casius’s hand moves quicker than I can react, and suddenly he’s standing in front of me, his thumb brushing against my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t even realised had fallen.
“Why do you cry, sweetie?” His voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it, almost patronizing. The question is loaded, as if he’s toying with me, savouring the power he holds in this moment. “Surely not over your guard…”
I jerk back, anger bubbling up inside me, but he continues. “It is amusing. You can’t deny that fate has brought us together again tonight.”
I roll my eyes, annoyed. “And why is that?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but my nerves are raw, my composure slipping.
Before he replies, my vision blurs. My head swims, the pain from an impact causing blinding light behind my eyes, and I stumble, seeing his raised hand.
“Careful now,” Casius murmurs, his strong arms catching me before I can fall. His grip is firm, too firm, and I try to push away, but my limbs feel heavy, uncooperative.
As darkness tugs at the edges of my consciousness, his deep voice whispers in my ear, smooth as silk.
“Because you came to me, before I could come to you.”
The world fades.