chapter twelve #2
Wrapping a silk robe around my frame, I make my way into the kitchen, flicking my wrist in a familiar motion to light the hearth. I fill the kettle and place it atop the crackling flames before adding a pinch of moonleaf and rose into my awaiting cup.
The bond is quiet this morning, still and slow as Kaden’s lungs breathe in tandem with mine, his heart beating rhythmically inside my chest as he sleeps.
All night, I’d felt his emotions lashing through me. Rage, annoyance, jealousy. Every time Ronan’s lips brushed mine, or his fingers touched my skin, anger flared across the bond like molten lava, scraping at my skin as though he could burn Ronan’s touch away through sheer will.
He’d fought himself the entire night, and by the time I made it back to the suite, I was drained. Hollowed out by the storm of his emotions bleeding into me.
The kettle whistles softly, pulling me from my thoughts. I pour the water into my cup, watching the steam curl upward like pale phantoms. The scent calms me instantly, moonleaf’s sweetness lacing through the air.
I sip, and the warmth soothes my throat instantly. It’s moments like this, when Kaden’s asleep, that I can breathe. No irrational emotions crashing through me, no chaos of mixed thoughts, no infuriating man whispering venom and temptation into my ear.
Just me, my tea and my own mind.
When the last drop is gone, I set the cup in the sink and make my way to the shared bathing chambers. With a flick of my wrist, the water sprays from the spout, steam fogging the mirror as I undress. The warmth engulfs me as I step beneath the stream, washing away the remnants of sleep.
Taking hold of my shampoo and applying a decent amount to my palm, I lather it through my long hair slowly, massaging my scalp as I tilt my head back, letting the water carry away the ache clinging to me within. Roses scent the air, perfuming the bathing chambers.
Stepping out, I wrap a towel around myself and comb through my hair.
My gaze catches faint pink marks scattered across my chest, not love bites but gentle reminders of what happened beneath the stars last night.
He hadn’t meant to leave them… or maybe he had.
Either way, the sight sends a hint of excitement to wash over me.
A small smile touches my lips as I finish brushing my teeth and pad toward my room. But just as I reach my door, a familiar scent crowds my senses… cedar wood and cinnamon.
My stomach tightens. He’s awake, and he’s close.
Quietly, I push my door open, clutching the towel tighter around me as my pulse hammers in my throat.
He’ll want to get back at me for humiliating him last night, I can feel it through the bond like static before a storm.
I step inside, eyes sweeping the room, but I find it empty. Confusion prickles under my skin. My senses have never stirred me wrong before. I look around, searching for anything misplaced or missing, then I realise… my dagger.
The door slams shut behind me, the lock snapping into place with a decisive click.
I spin around.
Kaden stands to the side of my door, the morning light cutting sharply across his features.
His slacks hang low at his waist, revealing the defined V-line of his shirtless torso, his hair mussed from sleep.
He’s holding my dagger, the edge catching on his thumb as he runs a finger along the blade, testing its weight.
“The Council doesn’t take kindly to bloodbound weapons.” He murmurs, voice smooth as polished stone. “Tell me, Elysia darling. How have you managed to keep hold of this for so long?”
I glare, clutching the towel tighter around me. “It’s none of your business.”
He clicks his tongue, eyes raking over me slowly. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Fidgeting with the ring on my finger, I shift my weight to one hip, forcing a tone of casual boredom. “The Council know I have it. They tried to take it once and failed; they haven’t dared since.”
“Interesting…” his voice drops as he pushes off the wall.
My dagger twirls lazily between his fingers as he starts toward me with slow and measured steps, making the air feel suddenly thinner. “Humour me, why shouldn’t I turn this over to The Council now that it’s in my possession?”
My breath catches as anger starts to simmer under my skin. I flick my wrist, telekinesis yanking the blade from his hand and back towards me, but his shadows whip out faster than thought can catch it, slithering around the blade and guiding it back to him.
He tuts as his hand clamps back around the hilt, walking closer until he’s pushed me up against the edge of my mattress.
“Not having your dagger would appear to be a fitting punishment after how you spoke to me last night, don’t you think?”
I swallow and close my eyes, trying with everything in me not to set this whole damn room on fire with us in it. My dagger anchors me; without it, I fear I’ll lose control, and that terrifies me more than anything.
So, as much as it pains me, I decide to take the sweet and pleading approach. Looking up at him through my lashes, I give him a small, apologetic smile.
“I’m sorry for last night, Kaden. Could I have my dagger back, please?”
He brings my dagger up to my neck, tapping once on my pulse before slowly tracing it downwards, humming low and deep in his throat. The sound sends an involuntary spike of desire straight through me.
You are not attracted to violent men, I remind myself.
At least… I don’t think I am.
“Here’s the thing, Elysia darling…” his tone drips with quiet amusement, “Your pleas might sound sweet to anyone else, but you forget that I can feel every flicker of emotion and hear every stray thought, which means…” His voice dips, rough velvet against my skin.
“I know when you’re lying. You’re not sorry, you only want your dagger back. ”
The blade traces the line of my collarbone, then lower, stopping just above my chest. “And I also know that when I put your own blade to your throat, desire bled through the bond.” His lips curve, a dark smile forming on his face.
“I’d wager that if I lowered my mouth to those pathetic little marks on your chest, you’d melt beneath me and revel in how my lips make you feel. ”
My heart stutters at the implication, each beat loud enough to drown out thought, breath hitching beneath the weight of his gaze. There’s a challenge buried in those mismatched eyes, one he knows I’m too proud to meet. His smile widens, sharp canines catching the light like glass shards.
He taps the dagger once, twice against my chest. A slow and completely deliberate rhythm that matches the pulse fluttering in my throat. He’s growing impatient. I’ve been silent too long, too caught in the haze of his words and the danger curling between us.
“Careful, you’re not looking at me like you hate me right now.” He leans closer, the dagger’s point pushing harder against my chest but not quite breaking skin.
Shadows coil around his boots like smoke, creeping higher to lick at my lower thighs as his breath ghosts against my cheek.
Every nerve in my body sharpens, caught between fear and something darker… something that feels too much like an ache for the man holding my own dagger above my heart.
He slides my dagger up, the point pressing gently under my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his burning eyes. “Keep staring at me like that, and I’ll begin to think you want my lips on you.” He murmurs, studying me like he’s trying to unravel a secret.
He lowers his head slowly, lips barely skimming my neck before stopping just shy of my pulse. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath whisper against every frantic beat beneath my skin. Then his tongue traces my pulse in the lightest, most deliberate stroke.
I shudder before I can stop myself, and I feel the answering satisfaction in the way his breath shifts. Only then do his teeth catch the sensitive skin there.
Lust begins to spark low in my stomach, and my body arches instinctively into his touch.
The traitorous bitch.
A dark chuckle vibrates from his throat before his voice comes out in a low warning, breath brushing the shell of my ear. “Don’t speak to me the way you did last night again, understand?”
“Or what? You can’t kill me.” I breathe, defiant when I should know better.
He straightens, the corner of his lips tugging into a faint smirk.
“No, I can’t kill you. But if you want to keep your dagger, you might consider learning some manners.
After all…” His gaze drops pointedly to the weapon in his hand.
“It grounds you, doesn’t it? Steadies you when your magic starts to slip. ”
My chest tightens. His eyes catch the flicker of realisation before I can mask it.
“You wouldn’t want to lose control,” he adds softly, tilting the blade so its silver-blue metal reflects against my skin.
Anger flares, wild and hot. “Get out of my head.”
“I wish I could,” he says flatly. “Your thoughts are insistently loud… and quite frankly, annoying.”
I can feel the weight of his irritation thrumming through my veins, the steady thrum of his restrained fury pressing against my ribs like a heartbeat that isn’t mine.
He tosses the dagger onto the bed.
“I’d keep that on you if I were you,” he warns. “Piss me off again, and it’ll become The Council’s newest possession.”
The research archives smell of old books, parchment, and ink.
Tall, dark oak shelves line the walls in precise rows, holding decades of Celestria’s history.
The black stone floor gleams beneath patterned rugs, faintly glowing runes carved into the stone vibrate with a low, constant warmth, and the firefly lanterns hanging from every shelf cast a weak amber light across the space.
Sirena sits to my right on a worn brown leather sofa, her legs draped comfortably across my lap as she flips through a thick, timeworn volume.
Her plait is half undone, a few silver strands falling loose around her face.
She’s been buried in those pages for hours now, determined and stubborn as always.
She exhales sharply, the sound breaking the room’s quiet hum.
“I’ve gone through this book twice now.” She mutters, eyes peeking over the top of the book at me, “and so far, I’ve found nothing.
No hidden clues, no hints about what started the plague, no suggestion of how it spread.
” She tosses the book down beside her with a dull thud, rubbing the back of her neck. “It’s maddening.”
“You’ll find something,” I murmur, tracing an inked date with my finger. “If anyone can piece this together, it’s you.”
She gives me a soft smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You sound like Thane when he’s trying to keep me from overthinking.”
I look up at her at the mention of her bonded, but her expression is briefly clouded with grief. “You’re thinking about your brother again,” I say quietly.
She nods, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The first signs started the same as these early cases.” She taps the open page with a trembling finger. “Fever, tremors… then the mobility loss and magic drain. But he was careful, Elysia. He never handled contaminated objects, never entered infected wards. I still can’t place how he caught it.”
“Maybe,” I pause, unsure whether I should voice it and trust her with the knowledge.
Sirena tilts her head. “Maybe what?”
I take a slow breath. “Maybe it’s not about proximity or contact… maybe it’s something deeper. Something connected to bloodlines.”
She frowns, blinking as though trying to process the thought. “A bloodline connection?” She laughs softly, though it doesn’t sound convincing. “How would a plague target specific bloodlines, Elysia? That’s… impossible.”
“Is it?” I murmur, glancing up from my book. “This isn’t a natural illness; it targets magic because it is magic, and magic always has intent.”
She studies me for a long moment before shaking her head, a faint smirk pulling at her lips.
“You’ve been spending too much time buried in fantasy novels and conspiracy scrolls.
” She shifts, pulling her legs off my lap, arms crossing loosely over her chest. But I don’t miss the slight crease between her brows.
“If what you’re implying is true, then where do we even start?
How would we figure out how it targets certain bloodlines? ”
“That’s something I’ve been trying to work out since I first heard the theory,” I hesitate for a breath before giving her a small smile. “A few years ago, my father mentioned it to a colleague. He said he’d found records that could directly link the plague to bloodlines.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but the flicker behind her eyes gives her away. “Okay…” she says after a moment, exhaling slowly, tapping her fingers against her thigh. “So that’s where we start. How do we find these records? Does your father still have them?”
“That’s the problem,” I fidget with the ring on my finger, “My father died three years after my mother, and all his research went with him… or at least, that’s what it seems. I was hoping something might’ve been brought here, hidden deep within the archives somewhere.
” I don’t add that The Council probably burned it if they found it.
Sirena hums in thought, her gaze flicking to the shelves. “Then maybe we start with the personal archives. I’m not sure where those are kept, though. We’d have to do some digging… and probably a bit of charming to get access.”
I nod, a small spark of hope igniting inside me.
“I’ll ask around. But Sirena, if anyone asks why, let’s keep this between us until we’re certain. The last thing we need is people meddling.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand, a reassuring gesture. “Agreed. I hate people who meddle”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “You are literally the most meddlesome person I know.”
She gasps, feigning outrage. “Excuse me? I prefer the term helpfully involved.”
I laugh. “Two nights ago, you followed Thane for three hours because you didn’t trust his errand.”
Her grin turns wicked. “And wasn’t I right? He was sneaking food from the kitchens.”
I shake my head, standing to stretch my legs. “You just wanted a cinnamon bun.”
“I always want cinnamon buns!” She admits without shame, gathering her notes. “Honestly, the plague or the war may kill me, but sugar definitely will first.”
I laugh softly, feeling the heaviness of the earlier conversation lift a little. “Then I’ll make sure you’re buried with a cinnamon bun, my lady.”
“Only if it’s still warm.” She says with a soft wink.
“Deal.” I chuckle.
Silence settles over us for a few seconds before I change the subject. “At least Thane doesn’t threaten to confiscate your stuff because you embarrassed.”
Sirena tilts her head, instantly attentive. “Kaden?”
“Mhm,” I hum. “He actually suggested handing my dagger over to The Council. All because I bruised his ego last night.”
Her brows lift, then she smiles. “You know, he’s actually really sweet… once you peel back all the layers.”
I scoff. “That man has no layers. Just walls and threats.”
Sirena laughs softly. “Yeah, well, if Kaden hates anything, it's people standing their ground against him. Even when he’s right half the time.” She pauses, smirking. “Which he definitely wasn’t in this case.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No,” she agrees. “It just makes it him. You take his pride; he’ll take something you love. That’s Kaden.”
I cross my arms. “If The Council couldn’t strip me of my dagger, he sure as hell isn’t going to.”
Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. “You know I’ve known you for two weeks, and I’m still yet to get a proper look at this legendary dagger of yours.”
With a sigh, I reach to my thigh and remove it from its sheath, handing it to her. Swirls of moonshade cerulium catch the light elegantly as she moves it around in the air.
Sirena’s breath hitches.
“Okay, this is breathtaking.” Then, reluctantly, “Though… Kaden’s not entirely wrong. The Council really doesn’t like bloodbound weapons.”
I snatch it away with a smirk. “Well, keep my secret, and I promise not to tell Thane you followed him around in secret for hours.”
Sirena freezes, then laughs, gently shoving my shoulder. “You would not.”
“Oh, I would,” I say sweetly.
“Gods, fine,” She groans, though her grin gives her away. “You drive a hard bargain.”
I pull her into a quick hug before we leave, the familiar scent of moonlilies wrapping around me, sweet and bright, unmistakably her.
“Do you just bathe in pure moonlilies?” I tease when we part.
She rolls her eyes and flips me off. “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”
We weave our way out of the archives together, boots echoing softly against stone as the rune-lights dim for the night. At the first junction, Sirena slows, glancing down one corridor while I turn toward another.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, get some sleep,” she says, warmth threading her voice.
“You too,” I reply. “Try not to stalk Thane tonight.”
She laughs, already backing away. “No promises.”