Chapter 22 Seraphina #2
Frema nodded. “I saw the aftermath myself. The wolves are shaken. We helped drive them back, but it’s clear—the Westerly Clan is playing a longer game. One that involves infiltration.”
Thavros spoke, voice steady but grim. “And the statue?”
Frema met his gaze. “The elder I spoke with remembered it. Said it was ‘a tribute to peace’ from the Westerly Clan. Delivered with all the pomp of a diplomatic gift.” Her lips twisted. “But it came just weeks before your parents died. And then… well, we all remember what happened after.”
Seraphina’s stomach turned. The firelight flickered across the crystal embedded in the table, now glowing faintly. She could feel its warmth even from across the room. But all she felt inside was cold.
Frema leaned forward, her gaze steady on Thavros. “There was more,” she said, voice quieter now. “That winter, there was supposed to be a ceremony.”
Thavros frowned. “What kind of ceremony?”
Khuldruk answered, arms crossed. “A transfer of power. Our parents planned to step down at Yule. I was to be officially named chief. They wanted to spend their final decades in peace, guiding from the background.”
Frema nodded. “He was there when they began preparations. The feast was to be held in the Great Hall. The crystal was to be blessed again under the bond of your lineage.” Her voice softened. “But they died before Yule ever came.”
The silence that followed was a different kind. Thavros stared at the table, his hand resting on her thigh beneath the glowing crystal.
“They died,” Frema said, “and the crystal dimmed with them. We thought it was grief. Loss. But now... maybe it was something else.”
Khuldruk’s jaw tightened. “The Westerly Clan attacked weeks later. Just enough time for grief to distract us. Enough time to make it look like bad luck instead of strategy.”
Seraphina’s fingers curled tightly in her lap. Her heart was pounding. A gift. A death. A war.
“I was already here,” she whispered, eyes wide. “I was already in the mountain when it happened.”
Thavros turned sharply to her, pain written in every line of his face.
“I don’t remember doing anything,” she said quickly. “What if there was enough magic left to throw everything into motion?”
“You don’t know that,” Thavros said fiercely. “You don’t know what they used you for.”
She met his eyes. “But we’re starting to understand, aren’t we?"
I barely heard the rest of what was said around the table. Their voices turned to echoes, muffled by the pounding of my heart in my ears.
A gift.
A death.
A war.
And me—delivered like an offering at the center of it all.
My gaze dropped to the smooth wood beneath my hands. I wasn’t even sure when they’d started trembling. I pressed my palms flat, willing the tremor to stop, willing the growing dread to be quiet.
But it wasn’t.
I remembered nothing of hurting anyone. No spells. No secret sabotage. No whispered incantations in the night.
But I was there. And so much has happened since.
Maybe I'd already done what they made me for, but I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever it was, it was just lying dormant. Waiting. While nothing was certain, it seemed that with every new piece of evidence, the picture was getting clearer. Between the nightmares and the knowledge that I’d been a gift from the Westerly Clan, it was easy to see.
I was a weapon, my purpose still unknown, but clearly not good.
I couldn’t breathe. The warmth of Thavros’s thigh beside mine grounded me for a moment, but even that couldn’t stop the twisting coil of fear in my gut.
I didn’t belong at that table.
And worse—I never would.
The meeting ended in a blur. I couldn't bring myself to meet the eye of any of the orcs at the table. In fact, the rest of the day, I went through the motions, pretending to be fine, pretending I wasn't drowning inside.
During dinner, Khuldruk had called over Thavros and whispered in a serious, hushed tone. I knew it was about me. It had to be, but in the end, Khuldruk just nodded and clasped him on the shoulder before he returned to me.
I'm not a fool. I know I'm a danger to them. To all of them.
When we retired to Thavros's chambers for the night, he busied himself getting ready for bed. We cleaned up, and he made us tea, all while checking on me.
I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching one of the pillows like it could anchor me to the present. My voice trembled before I even spoke.
“Thavros?”
He turned immediately, eyes softening like they always did for me.
“I think…” I swallowed hard. “I think you need to lock me away.”
His entire body went still.
I rushed to explain. “I don’t know what I was meant to do—but if I was a gift from the Westerly Clan, if I’m tied to the deaths of your parents, to the fall of the crystal—then maybe I already did something horrible. Maybe I’m still meant to.”
He crossed the room in two long strides and knelt in front of me, taking my shaking hands in his.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” I whispered. “But I’m scared I might. Please. If there’s even a chance—just lock me away before I do.”
Thavros's silence stretched, thick and thunderous. I couldn't look at him—couldn’t bear to see what I feared would be agreement, that he would lock me away. That he’d finally see me as the danger I was.
But instead of pulling away, he knelt in front of me and took my face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away tears I hadn’t realized had fallen.
“No.”
The word rang with quiet authority.
I blinked. “But—”
“I won’t lose you,” he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in it. “You’ve been alone long enough. You’ve been used and broken and left trapped in stone. But not anymore. Not while I draw breath.”
My mouth parted to argue, but he leaned in and kissed me softly, reverently.
“We’ll figure this out,” he murmured against my lips. “Together.”
“But what if I’m—what if I was sent to—”
“I don’t care. You’re not my enemy, Seraphina. You’re my heart. And I’ll protect you, even from yourself if I have to. But I won’t cage you. Never again.”
"Please, Thavros, you must. I don't know what I'm capable of."
He cupped my face and let out a ragged breath. "I would rather die than live without you."
A tear streamed down my face. "Your death would kill me all the same."
He took my hands, kneeling before me, and pressed his forehead to them. Just like he had done the night he rescued me from that cell. My valiant orc kneeling before me, pledging his fealty, was more than I deserved.
But when he stood before me, I had to say, "When the time comes, Thavros. Promise me. I will not hurt you or your people."
"If the time comes. But I will never leave you."
I gave a nod, and he did too.
I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to be in his arms. I needed to feel him around me. I needed this day to be over.
"Will you hold me?" I ask timidly
A warm smile spread across his face. "I want nothing more."
We crawled into bed, and he held me to him. I could feel his heart beating against my back as his strong arms held me close, and my body finally started to release some tension. While there were no answers, in this moment, all I had to do was breathe and relax into the safety of my orc.
"You’re safe now," he says, voice low and rough. "As long as I breathe, no one will harm you."
I looked up at him, eyes searching his face, as if trying to hold onto his words like a lifeline.
"I don’t deserve you," I whispered.
"You don’t get to say that," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine."
I shivered, not in fear, but in the way someone does when they hear something they’ve been craving deep in their bones.
He started to kiss me again—slow, indulgent, the way only someone fully in love dares to—and when I gasped his name, he whispered, almost to himself, “My mate…”
I stilled. The word hung between us like smoke, curling and dancing, impossible to catch.
I wasn't even sure if he knew he said it. But I heard it, and I felt it.
Just that one word echoed hope deep inside of me. Maybe being Thavros's mate would be enough to save me and, in turn, save us all.