C H A P T E R F I F T Y – T H R E E
I will tear him apart to get her back. I will tear them all apart.
C H A P T E R F I F T Y – T H R E E
Olwyn
I wake in an unfamiliar room, the warm sandstone walls bathed in soft rays of sunlight streaming through an open balcony.
The scent of unfamiliar herbs and the sea lingers in the air, relaxing yet strangely foreign, the heady aroma soothing compared to the ache that throbs persistently in my temples.
I blink several times to clear my vision, slowly sitting up as I try to piece together what happened. The soft bed beneath me feels luxurious, too luxurious, considering the panic swirling in my mind. As the memories of my last moments in Noctura come flooding back—the encounter with Casius and impact—I feel a sharp spike of unease pierce through my exhaustion.
Where am I?
The sound of footsteps draws my attention to the doorway, where Casius stands silhouetted against the sunlight. His silver hair is slightly wet, the light catching the strands in a way that makes them shine almost unnaturally. His red eyes gleam, fixed intently on me, unreadable as ever, but his chiselled jaw is set with an expression that’s somewhere between boredom and mild amusement.
“Good, you're awake,” he says casually, like this is just another day.
A surge of frustration boils up inside me. The nonchalance of his tone grates against my nerves. I frown, swinging my legs over the side of the bed as my heart begins to pound. “Where am I?” I demand, perhaps angrier than I should considering he has harmed me, but I can’t help it. The feeling of helplessness threatens to swallow me whole.
Casius walks closer with a slow, deliberate grace, like he has all the time in the world. “You're in your private chambers. In my home,” he replies smoothly, his gaze never leaving mine. He makes it sound like I should be grateful.
His home. In Vesperis .
“My p… private chambers?” He has taken me. From Altair. Without warning, without consent. I’m alone with him.
My chest tightens. The implication of his words crashes over me, and I feel a wave of unease roll through me, leaving me cold.
“You took me from Noctura,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He rolls his eyes, an exaggerated motion that makes my skin prickle. “Like you actually wanted to be there.”
I bristle at the dismissive tone, my hands clenching into fists. The air between us crackles with tension, his gaze relentless, as if daring me to challenge him. I’m so fucking tired of this. Of being used. Manipulated.
“Why have you brought me here?” I ask, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “You were discussing peace!”
Casius’s lips curve into a sly smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Curiosity killed the cat, they say,” he replies, his voice dripping with condescension. The amusement in his tone feels like a slap in the face, the way he toys with me, as though I’m just some game for him to play with.
“I'm not a pawn, Casius,” I snap, my eyes narrowing. “Whatever your intentions are, leave me out of them.”
“First name terms already? We’re off to a good start,” he grins, his wicked amusement deepening. His demeanour is frustratingly calm, almost bored, like none of this matters.
But to me, everything feels like it's crumbling.
“I will not play your games,” I declare, voice hard, though my pulse quickens when he takes another step closer.
“Oh, but sweetie,” he drawls, his voice as smooth as silk, “you’re already knee-deep in this game whether you like it or not.”
I can feel his presence looming over me as he circles, brushing past me as though he owns the very air I breathe. My hand instinctively drops to where my dagger should be.
Should be.
Casius notices the movement, and a cruel smile dances across his lips. “Looking for your blade? Witchsilver, was it? A curious gift. From Altair I assume? Trust is such a rare commodity these days.”
His eyes bore into mine, predatory and unyielding, and I feel a rush of anger rising in me, burning hotter than the fear. I hold his gaze, refusing to show weakness. “Altair trusts me,” I say, forcing strength into my voice. “And… I trust him.”
He laughs—a low, melodic sound that feels far too dangerous. “Trust,” he repeats, circling me. “Such a fragile thing, isn’t it? One wrong move, and everything shatters.”
He blurs, moving behind me as his lips brush against my ear, and my skin crawls. “I wonder how Altair’s trust will break when he learns of your betrayal. When he learns you fled with King Casius.”
I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Betrayal?
“You bastard,” I hiss, stepping away and turning, glaring at him as I raise my voice. “You have no idea what you’re doing!”
His expression drops, amusement flickering out. “I did this to get Altair’s attention.”
The rage inside me snaps. Without thinking, I shove him with everything I have, but it’s like pushing a wall. He barely moves, though his gaze sharpens.
“You’re using me,” I accuse, my hands heating as I clench them into fists. The air around me vibrates with something powerful, something I can’t quite control. “Just like everyone fucking else!”
“You were always a pawn, little queen,” Casius says coldly. “I merely tipped the scales.”
Something inside me breaks, and before I can stop it, the heat surges from my hands. I scream, bright, blinding light shooting from my fingers, scorching across his face.
Casius grunts in pain, staggering back as he clutches his face. I stumble back too, the sharp pain shooting up my arm making me cry out, dropping to my knees as my vision swims. The door slams open, and guards rush in.
“Do not touch her!” Casius snarls, his voice raw as he waves off his men, his back still turned to me.
Blinking through the flashes of light, I toss my head back and my eyes finally focus on him, and I choke on the bile rising in my throat. His face… his face is burned, the skin peeling away from his cheek, raw and blistered from the light I’d blasted at him.
But then he laughs. The sound is manic, too loud in the room.
Too fast for me to react, he’s in front of me, his burned face twisted into something that looks unhinged. His fingers touch my cheek, surprisingly gentle, as he kneels before me.
“So good, sweetie,” he purrs. “Do it again.”
I recoil, shuffling back, gasping as his skin begins to heal before my eyes, the flesh knitting back together very slowly in gruesome detail.
“You’re insane,” I breathe, my voice shaking.
He grins, wide and predatory. “You have no idea. But don’t worry, sweetie. I have so much—”
His words cut off, his eyes widening in what looks like terror. His gaze flickers over my face again, slower this time—my hair, my eyes, my freckles—as though seeing me for the first time.
Those crimson eyes narrow as they land on the scar above my eyebrow. His lips part slightly, and in a sharp movement, he stands and pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration written all over him. “Of course, it’s you,” he mutters under his breath.
“What?” I ask, blinking at him in confusion.
“It was always you,” he replies cryptically, his tone laced with something akin to regret or disbelief.
“I don’t—”
He turns, ignoring my words to walk to the door. His guards flank him as he starts to leave. The room grows colder, the walls closing in as he walks out. “Next time, Winnie,” he says before the door clicks shut.
The name sends a jolt through me, a gasp escaping my lips before I can stop it. I don’t know why, but the sound of it—the familiarity of it—sparks a flicker of something long buried in the recesses of my mind. Something I can’t quite place.
But the anger I feel overrides everything as I scream in fury. I focus on my hand, willing the sharp pains to dissipate. As I flex my fingers, a warm sensation spreads through my palm and something sparks inside of me.
Something ancient.
Something dark.
Something awake .
I hold onto that feeling as I stare… and a small spark manifests between my fingers.