Chapter 13
HADRIEN
I’d thought about it all day.
How I’d let Lilia into my library, into my personal space. I tried to rationalize that it was merely a strategic move for a better chance of survival, but I knew better.
Because I’d asked her to dinner that evening. No matter how many times I’d tried to tell myself it was nothing and simply a meal, my explanation grew more flimsy as sundown approached and both my nerves and excitement took flight.
Once I was freed by the light of the moon, I soared down and entered my room, then tried on two different shirts. To cover my scars and not look so intimidating, I told myself. A lie. Because deep down, I wanted to look my best for her.
And that irked me all the more. Why was I wasting my time on something that could never be?
When she appeared in the doorway of the dining hall that evening, that question rushed out as fast as the air from my lungs.
She’d done something with her hair—pinned some of it back, let the rest fall in loose curls.
The candlelight caught it and added a warm hue to the dark reddish-brown.
She wore a simple green dress that Genevieve must have procured from one of the storage chests of those who had lived here long before.
I lumbered to my feet and bowed forward awkwardly. “Lilia.”
She smiled and it jolted me in a strange way, lodging deep in my chest.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said, glancing at the table covered with our fine china and silverware. When I’d asked Genevieve to help late last night, she was all too eager to do so.
“It’s been so long since you’d dined in there,” she’d said, clasping her hands together in glee.
Back when the castle had been filled with life. People. Hearts. Not cold as the stone that held it together.
“It’s dinner,” I said with a modest shrug.
“With candles.” Lilia arched her brows.
“Better than eating in the dark,” I said with a grin.
Lilia gave me a look, one that I sensed meant she saw through me, but wouldn’t call it out. For now.
She inhaled. “It smells so good.”
It did indeed. Genevieve had prepared a roast with vegetables from the garden and freshly baked bread. I’d selected a bottle of burgundy from the long-neglected cellar.
I tried to remember how to act as a gentleman would and pulled out her chair for her.
“Thank you.” She sat and we began to eat.
Now what was I supposed to do? Converse. It had been so long that I’d sat with anyone across the dinner table that rust had formed on those vocal cords. I typically ate something quick on my own that Genevieve had prepared for me.
I took a large gulp of wine. “Did you return to the library today?”
She nodded. “I did. Spent some time in there and then tried to identify some plants in the gardens.”
“Did you have any luck?”
“Yes. With some.” She tipped her head. “But not one that fascinates me. Do you know anything about the tree with silvery leaves in the courtyard?”
I paused to think. “Only that it was a gift from my father to my mother. He planted it on their wedding day as a symbol that he’d always love and protect his mate.”
“Huh,” she replied, her brow furrowed. “I wonder…”
When she didn’t answer, I prodded, “You wonder what?”
“It seems—extraordinary. I sense magic that I don’t recognize.”
I exhaled. “That’s your field, not mine. I always thought it was just a pretty tree.”
She nodded, still appearing lost in thought.
“I tried to find it in the books, but nothing.” After a quick breath, she added, “But there were so many other fascinating books. Many that focused on magic. One passage mentioned channeling natural energy through a living medium, like a plant, specifically. Something that grows at the boundary between cultivated and wild ground.” As she spoke with her hands, getting more animated, her speech quickened and her eyes brightened.
I’d forgotten what this felt like to sit across from someone who was excited about something they wanted to share.
She paused, and her expression turned more serious. “Maybe we can try it. The two of us.” She motioned between us.
I’d been so caught up in just watching her that I didn’t know what she’d said.
I furrowed my brows. “What do you mean?”
“About the channeling of natural energy through a living conduit. A theory that certain energies didn’t dissipate; they transferred. And that under the right conditions, something dormant could be reawakened.” She set her fork down. “I want to try it. Tonight, after dinner. With you.”
I went still. “Oh.”
“I know,” she said quickly. “You’re going to say it won’t work, and maybe it won’t, but we won’t know unless we try.
What I read about—the gargoyle’s connection to stone, to protect.
The boundary between what is wild and cultivated, it sounds like you.
” She met my eyes. “Like us.” She paused and then lowered her voice to say, “Like something we might be able to do together.”
The room fell silent as she waited for my reply. I didn’t know what to say. Something about how she’d used the word us had landed deep in my chest in the same way her smile had done earlier, and I didn’t know what to do with these new sensations.
“Fine. After dinner,” I said at last.
She smiled and reached for her wine. As she took a sip, my gaze locked on the sheen on her pink lips.
We finished the meal leisurely. She asked me about Valgarde, about whether I’d grown up here.
At first, I’d answered with simple answers, but she had a way of drawing words out of me.
And soon I surprised myself by telling her about how life had been here once upon a time, with my family, with my soldiers.
It had been full of life, full of warmth—full of something I hadn’t realized I’d missed so much—until now.
The night was clear and cold, the kind of cold that sharpened everything.
Moonlight sprawled across the flagstones in long white panels.
We took a different route through La Forêt de Veillepierre to another part of the ward as she reiterated the steps for the spell she wanted us to try, using herbs she’d found in the garden and called “rare and magical.”
“I know it will be tedious work,” she explained. “The boundary around your land is huge, but I think it’s our best bet. It incorporates both of our strengths.”
I didn’t dare crush her enthusiasm, having learned better from our earlier arguments. If she wanted to try this, I’d do my best and support her efforts without any of my usual grumbling.
“Here,” I said, stopping at the boundary, which was invisible to the eye but not to the senses, at least, not to mine.
Lilia stepped up beside me and crouched down. She pressed a handful of plants to the earth and closed her eyes.
“Now you,” she directed.
I moved beside her. Close enough that I could scent her unique fragrance. I pressed one hand to the earth and the other to the carved stone marking the border of my land.
She chanted something low and indistinguishable—part of the spell she’d been practicing. For several minutes we stood there while she chanted.
Then she took my hand.
I inhaled sharply through my nostrils in surprise. Her hand was so tiny and warm in mine, and it felt so…right. For a moment, I forgot the reason she was touching me this way, and that it was all part of the spell she’d wanted to try.
Something happened.
What, I wasn’t sure. I felt it before I understood it—the tiniest spark moved from Lilia into me.
She exhaled. “Hadrien?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Do you…feel that?” Her voice was barely audible and full of awe.
I was struck just the same, not by the magic, but by her.
“I do,” I barely managed to say.
“We’re on the right track, I think.” She turned to me, eyes bright and our hands still joined. “Maybe it might work after all.”
I wasn’t prepared for her face. Her expression was so full of excitement and hope that I couldn’t help but feel it myself. A yearning to cup her cheeks in both hands and bend down to kiss her rose in me, but I wouldn’t dare break this spell she’d practiced so hard on.
Besides, I needed this magic to work.
For several lifetimes, it seemed, we stared at each other, expressing a thousand emotions without uttering a word, all while the electrifying magic flowed through us.
Lilia exhaled and squeezed my hand. Her eyes were luminous, as beguiling as a lantern through a window promising cozy warmth. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, and she was looking at me as if I’d accomplished something extraordinary, when all I’d done was stand still as stone.
She released my hand, and the cold night air replaced her warm touch. I missed the feel of her already.
But then, she reached up and placed her hands on my chest. She glanced up at me and searched my eyes, and then lowered her gaze to my lips. My gods, was this truly happening?
I cupped her cheek, tilting her head back. She didn’t pull away. Her eyes remained fixed on mine, bright with expectation, while anticipation thundered through my veins.
Her lips parted. After all this time, I had forgotten how to close the last inch.
She rose on her tiptoes, the warmth of her sweet breath tickling my chin. Ache, need, and desire coiled in me like never before, warming me like a blazing hearth after years of isolation.
Stirring me with—hope.
And that terrified me most of all.