Chapter 7
Maar’Drés
Seraphae stepped through the dome of mist.
Cool mountain air rushed around her wings.
Across the clearing, Mareth was already preparing the dragon for the journey back, tightening straps along the saddle with sharp, efficient movements.
Nearby, Aldric stood with one shoulder resting against the carriage. His gaze stretched far beyond the summit, over the valleys and mountains below. Quiet. Lost somewhere in his own thoughts. He didn’t turn when she approached.
“Let me guess. The oracle didn’t paint you a very cheerful picture either.”
Seraphae tried to shrug it off.
Tried to look unfazed.
She failed.
“Something like that,” she muttered.
Aldric frowned slightly.
“Why does everyone here treat those oracles like their words are law anyway?”
Behind them, Mareth let out a quiet chuckle.
He pulled a leather strap tight across the dragon’s saddle.
Really tight.
His knuckles turned pale.
“An understandable question,” he said calmly, “coming from someone whose culture is barely three millennia old.”
Aldric shot him a look.
Mareth continued without missing a beat.
“Our ancestors learned long ago that the gods expect more from us. Harmony. Balance. Growth.” He tightened another buckle. “So a few chosen souls are allowed to glimpse what may come… and what choices truly cost.” A pause. “And offer guidance to those who need it.”
Aldric crossed his arms.
“You’re saying our lives are carved in stone.”
Mareth nodded once.
Aldric snorted.
“I don’t believe in that.”
Mareth’s laugh was soft.
Hollow.
“The gods don’t care what you believe in, knight.”
Silence followed.
Seraphae hadn’t said a word.
She seemed closed off.
And there was something else in her eyes now.
Something Aldric rarely saw.
Fear.
He turned toward her and pulled her into his arms.
Held her.
Her body settled against his, and some of the tension in her shoulders softened beneath his touch.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“Mm,” she said quietly. “I am now.”
But he felt it.
Something still lingered beneath the surface.
The oracle must have said something to her.
Seraphae wasn’t ready to share.
Not here.
Not now.
He pressed a kiss to her temple.
She managed a small smile.
“I think,” Aldric said after a moment, “I need a drink. I want to forget this place exists.”
Mareth’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Easily the smartest thing you’ve said all day.”
Seraphae blinked.
“Wait—are you thinking of—?”
Mareth was already climbing onto the dragon.
“The only place within a thousand miles,” he called over his shoulder, “where you can drown your doubts, your fears, and your bad decisions in equal measure.”
Aldric huffed.
“At this point, I’m open to anything.”
He pulled open the carriage door.
Seraphae gave him a small smile as he extended his hand and helped her inside.
Then Aldric turned toward Mareth.
“Lead the way.”
By the time the night fell, they had arrived.
Aldric found himself standing on the highest balcony of their private chamber, overlooking the northern marvel.
Maar’Drés.
Both Mareth and Seraphae had made the arrangements in advance.
No questions asked.
No explanations needed.
Every building below was a masterpiece of opulence and excess. Towers of marble and gold rose into the night, their windows glowing with warm light. Music drifted through open terraces. Laughter, voices, and temptation filled the air.
Every citizen seemed draped in silk, jewels, and confidence.
Pure indulgence.
Debauchery.
A city without restraint.
Mareth had left them the moment they arrived.
“I have my own place here,” he’d said lightly. “I’ll see you both in Nerathys tomorrow.”
He gave Aldric a meaningful look.
The kind that said: We plan tomorrow.
Aldric nodded slightly in agreement.
And then Mareth was gone.
Their chamber had been prepared in advance. Spacious. Elegant. The air scented with rare oils and soft incense.
The moment the door closed behind them, clothes disappeared in a careless pile.
They began with a long, relaxing bath.
Seraphae was quieter than usual, still lost somewhere in her thoughts.
Aldric noticed.
“You don’t have to listen to that oracle,” he said eventually. “What credentials does she even have? Who verifies any of this? Is there a council that decided who becomes an oracle? Someone who can attest that these predictions come to be? Some ancient guild of prophecy auditors?”
Seraphae stared at him.
Then she giggled.
Actually giggled.
Aldric blinked.
“What?”
“You,” she said, shaking her head with amusement. “Trying to logically dismantle the entire oracle caste.”
He shrugged.
“Well, someone has to. If their predictions ruin people’s lives, I’d at least like to know they’re based on more than vague guesses.”
That made her laugh again.
Then she moved.
She slid closer in the bath and straddled him, pressing herself against his chest.
“I’ve always liked this about you,” she murmured. “How you try to use logic against anything that refuses to behave according to plan.”
Aldric huffed as her breasts settled dangerously close to his face.
“Well the thing is—”
She giggled again and placed a finger over his lips.
“You don’t need to explain it to me, my love.”
Aldric stilled.
He looked up at her.
“My love?”
She winked.
“Well, someone needs to start progressing this relationship forward. And yes… you are my love.”
She leaned down and kissed him.
Slow.
Deep.
Her fingers sliding into his hair.
His hands settled on her hips.
A firm squeeze.
She smiled, biting her lower lip.
“Mmm… I’ve heard enough bad news today,” she said softly. “But this moment right now…” She trailed off. “I don’t want it to end.”
Aldric wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her fully against him.
“Me neither, sweetness.”
She gasped theatrically.
“Sir Aldric?! Wha—what is this?” she laughed. “Sweetness?”
He answered by kissing what was in front of his face.
She hummed in approval.
After a few indulgent moans, he looked up at her, stopping the gentle caress.
She had been playing with his hair.
Her hand stilled.
One eyebrow lifted in mock outrage.
Her expression practically screamed How dare you stop right now!
“Rae?”
The way he said it made her shiver.
Her expression softened.
Her eyes melted into that familiar look, the one that said she was completely, hopelessly in love with him.
“Hm?”
“Let’s do something fun,” he said gently. “Something different. Why don’t you pick a teasing outfit?”
She blinked.
“Okay… but how is that any different from—”
“And go out. I’ll leave soon after you,” he added.
Her mouth snapped shut.
Her eyes lit up.
“Ohhh,” she breathed. “You want me like that? All dressed up… and out, waiting for you?”
He nodded.
A delighted giggle escaped her.
Instantly, she was energized.
Giddy.
Excited.
She sprang from the bath, water vanishing from her skin with a flick of her fingers, already digging through her travel case and makeup bag.
Aldric leaned back, watching her with quiet amusement.
She glanced over her shoulder.
“Hey! No peeking,” she warned playfully. “You’ll see me down in the city.”
With a snap of magic, a soft divider shimmered into place between them.
Aldric smirked.
? ? ?
For the first time in weeks, he felt like himself again.
Away from Nerathys.
From judgment.
From expectations.
From endless scrutiny.
Here, with her, it was simpler.
Real.
He descended the stairs in a loose dark evening tunic, the fabric soft against his skin, the neckline left slightly undone. Leather trousers. Polished boots. Messy hair.
He knew she liked it that way.
The thought drew a faint smirk to his lips.
He exhaled slowly.
He would do anything for that girl.
Then, unbidden, a shadow crossed his thoughts.
And yet… when the anger came, it came fast.
Red.
Blinding.
Relentless.
A part of him feared that one day he wouldn’t be able to stop it.
That he would lose control.
Then the thought of the brand surfaced again.
Either he walked willingly toward almost certain death at the hands of the Inquisitors and the Holy Order…
Or he spent the rest of his life battling the rage growing inside him.
A short life.
Shorter than hers.
Something twisted painfully in his chest at the thought of dying before Seraphae.
No.
There has to be another way.
He wouldn’t succumb to this.
He would find a way to complete the damned brand—
A huge, broad-shouldered demon staggered past him on the stairs, drunk and careless, slamming into Aldric’s shoulder.
Aldric’s attention snapped instantly.
His fist clenched.
Hard.
For a heartbeat, heat surged through him.
The demon was drunk.
No threat.
Calm yourself.
A breath.
Slow.
Controlled.
The anger slowly ebbed as he reached the entrance to the lounge.
He knew she would be there.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
The Dark Haze was the only lounge in the city that served the zesty drinks she liked, and entry was by invitation only.
Two demon guards stood at the door, their massive frames resting casually against a reinforced metal archway. Even at ease, they radiated quiet menace, their eyes tracking every movement in the corridor.
One of them looked him over.
Slowly.
Then shook his head.
“No invitation. No entrance.”
His gaze dropped, lingering briefly on the faint outline of the brand beneath Aldric’s tunic.
“…Unbranded.”
Anger surged instantly, heat blooming across Aldric’s chest like a raging flame. For a heartbeat, he imagined exactly what he would do to their smug faces with the help of the metal frame they leaned against.
How easily it would bend.
How easily they would.
He clenched his jaw.
Then exhaled.
No.
Not like that.
A different approach.
“You’re smart demons,” he said calmly. “Do you really think that as an unbranded I’d be able to set foot in Maar’Drés without accompanying someone who could vouch for me?”
The younger guard hesitated.
Aldric pressed on.
“I’m here with Princess Seraphae of the Velvet Flame. And her brother, Prince Mareth.” He tilted his head slightly. “Would you like to explain to them, personally, why I was held outside?”
The older guard stiffened.
“We… heard of their arrival.”