Chapter Twenty-Four
Farah
For a long moment, Farah did not open her eyes.
She lingered in that fragile space between sleep and waking, where the world remained soft and indistinct.
The air was warm—far warmer than it should have been in the dead of winter—and something against the palm of her hand rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.
Awareness came gradually after that. The weight of another body beside her.
The faint scent of pine and clean linen threaded with something unmistakably Chloe.
The warmth tickled up her palm where their skin met beneath tangled blankets.
Farah’s breath caught, and when she finally opened her eyes, the pale morning light filtered through frost-kissed windows, spilling across the bed in silver bands.
It illuminated everything—the disarray of the night before, the discarded clothing, the quiet, undeniable evidence of something she had not allowed herself in years.
Chloe.
Farah shifted just enough to see her. The Nexian princess lay on her back, silver hair spread across the pillow like moonlight.
Her features, so often composed and carefully guarded, were softened by sleep.
There was no tension in her brow, no sharpness in her expression.
And Farah—Farah felt something dangerously close to peace settle low in her chest. Happiness.
Not the fleeting satisfaction of survival or victory, not the sharp thrill of lust, but something quieter, something that refused to be dismissed.
Her gaze moved without permission, tracing the curve of Chloe’s lips, the faint rise of her cheek, the slow rhythm of her breathing.
She should move. She should put distance between them before Chloe woke, before this moment had the chance to become something more than what it was meant to be.
But she didn’t. Instead, she allowed herself one more heartbeat, then another, clinging to the stillness as if it might vanish the moment she acknowledged it fully.
Because the truth pressed too insistently at the edges of her mind to ignore.
She had promised herself she would never feel this again.
Not after Celene. Not after watching her father destroy everything she loved.
Love was a liability. A weapon. Something that could be used against her, against anyone she dared to care for.
And yet, her fingers shifted slightly against the sheets, brushing dangerously close to Chloe’s hand.
Last night had not been a mistake. That was the most unsettling part.
It had not been reckless or born purely from the chaos of the Mysteries. It had felt right.
A sharp knock shattered the quiet, and Farah stilled instantly, every instinct snapping back into place. Chloe stirred beside her, brow furrowing as she shifted, her arm brushing lightly against Farah’s waist. Another knock followed, louder this time.
“Princess,” came Markos’ voice from the other side of the door, steady but edged with urgency. “There is a matter that requires your attention.”
Farah pulled away first, the warmth vanishing too quickly.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, gathering her clothing with practiced efficiency, each movement precise despite the lingering weight in her chest. By the time Chloe pushed herself upright, blinking sleep from her eyes, Farah had already begun fastening her breeches.
“Come in,” Chloe called, her voice rough with sleep.
The door opened, and Markos stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the space. His gaze flicked once taking in the room, the proximity of their things. If he had thoughts on it, he did not voice them. Instead, he held out a sealed letter. “For you.”
Chloe took it, her fingers brushing the wax seal before recognition flashed across her features.
“Dimitris,” she murmured. “Two letters in the matter of weeks cannot be good.”
Something in Farah’s chest tightened as Chloe broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.
At first, her hands remained steady, her eyes scanning quickly—but then that steadiness began to fracture.
Farah saw it in the smallest shifts. The hitch in her breath, the tightening of her jaw, the way her fingers curled into the paper, crumpling its edges.
“What is it?” Farah asked, her voice quieter now, stripped of its usual edge.
Chloe didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes moved faster across the page, rereading as if the words might change upon a second glance.
“They’ve attacked,” she said finally, the words barely above a whisper.
Farah’s stomach dropped. “Attacked?”
“Skiatha.” The room seemed to still. Chloe swallowed, steadying herself. “It is burnt to the ground. My brother is requesting immediate aid—from Avra. From Hespali’s fleet.”
Farah exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Then we go to her. Now.”
But Chloe was already shaking her head. “She won’t allow it.”
“She has to. If Hades is moving this quickly—”
“She won’t,” Chloe repeated, more firmly this time, though strain threaded beneath her certainty.
Farah stepped closer, frustration rising sharp and fast. “Then we leave without her.”
Chloe looked up at her, something almost pained flickering in her eyes. “You know we can’t.”
And she did. That was the worst part.
Farah let out a quiet, humorless breath, pacing once before turning back. “So we stay. We finish these trials while our allies burn?”
Chloe’s grip tightened on the letter. “My brother’s first message—before we arrived—confirmed something Acacius told you.”
Farah stilled. “The relics.”
Chloe nodded. “If they are real… If they are as powerful as he believes…” Her voice faltered before sharpening again. “They may be the only weapons capable of killing a god.”
The weight of that settled between them, heavier than the news of war, heavier than fear itself. Farah studied Chloe for a long moment, something shifting behind her gaze—calculation, resolve, something darker threading through it all.
“Then we finish this,” she said quietly. “We survive the Mysteries. We find those weapons.” Chloe met her eyes and nodded.
Farah turned toward the door, pausing only when she reached it. The space between them felt different now. She glanced back. Chloe hadn’t moved, the letter still clenched in her hand, her shoulders set beneath a weight she had no choice but to carry.
Farah crossed the room in two quiet steps before she could think better of it, before instinct or fear could intervene.
She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Chloe’s forehead, letting it linger just a moment longer than it should have.
Not heated like the night before, but something far more dangerous.
“I’ll find you later,” she murmured.
Then she pulled away and left before she could decide not to.
Blood trickled down the corner of Farah’s lip and she cleaned it with her tongue, the coppery tang singeing the inside of her mouth.
Fists raised, she steadied her stance once more.
What could the third trial possibly entail?
A fight against other couples who had made it through the Mysteries themselves?
Monsters that Avra kept buried deep below these mountains?
The first two trials were mental and yet all Acacius had her do these last few days were run and fight hand-to-hand combat.
Farah didn’t need help with either of those things.
She had practiced them all her life, most especially as a katáskopos.
“Are we finished for the day then?” she heckled, spitting out what was left of the blood in her mouth.
Acacius shook his head with a grin before storming at her and Farah braced herself for that searing mental torture he manipulated her with time and time again since their training began.
It was always the last device he chose, once she was fully burnt out, knees weak and power drained.
Except this time, her mind was clear and instead his hands reached out and grabbed her by both her arms.
Moving them backward, he laughed with every step, until they were perched at the very edge of the training platform. The cloudy gray sky loomed above and the darkness of the world beneath was now clear below Farah.
Her feet slipped against the edge of the cliff, attempting to gain any semblance of a foothold. Hands clenched tightly around Acacius’s arms she screamed, “What the fuck are you doing?”
The prince’s face lit and he smiled wider than Farah had seen since arriving in Hespali. “I am doing what is necessary for survival.”
“Survival of who exactly? Because I will surely die if you let go.” This was it, then. The vengeance of a man scorned would be her downfall. She’d always assumed she would die at the hands of her father during the war, not being shoved off a cliff in some foreign land.
“You will not die. Well—I can’t guarantee that. You have all the skills you need to survive, my dearest.”
This man was mad. Absolutely mad! She was no god, and she certainly couldn’t fly. “Put me down this instant!”
Acacius pulled her closer for a moment, placing his forehead against hers.
“When I first saw you aboard that ship, I thought us to be twin flames, the missing half of me since Kalliope passed. Now I know we are, but for different reasons. You have fire in your heart, Farah Athanas. One that could sink armies and destroy worlds if you choose. You are not bound by the torments of your heritage. You are free. You are wild. You will survive. When the time comes, do not make the same mistake I did. It will cost you more than you could ever know.”
And with those final words, Acacius, Prince of Hespali, threw her off the cliff.