Chapter 13
SERIS
A few days passed after I began training with Lyralei.
On the third morning, I finally felt it. A thread of the Veil brushed against my senses. Faint. Fragile. But real.
I told myself it was the breathing exercises. The discipline. The repetition.
But if I were honest, something else had shifted inside me.
Daemon.
The constant hum of anxiety that had once lived beneath my skin had quieted. My thoughts no longer felt jagged. My body, once perpetually braced for loss, had begun to soften.
And he was the reason.
After that first night, we stopped pretending. With the infirmary empty and the halls quiet, we stopped denying what had been building between us. Morning. Night. Sometimes in between. He learned my body with ruthless precision, and I let him.
He hadn’t taken me fully yet.
The restraint was deliberate.
And infuriating.
That morning, I decided I would stop letting him set the pace.
After a heated kiss that left us breathless, I shifted, guiding him back against the mattress. Surprise flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by interest.
“Oh?” he murmured.
I didn’t answer. I let my hands trace downward slowly, intentionally. His breathing changed, controlled, but thinner now.
“Careful,” he said lightly. “You look like you have a plan.”
“Maybe I do.”
When my touch turned deliberate, the composure he wore so effortlessly began to crack. His head tipped back slightly. A low sound escaped him.
Power flooded through me.
Payback.
When he finally came undone beneath my hands and mouth, it was sudden and intense, his body going taut before surrendering to it.
I sat back slightly, watching him recover, satisfaction curling in my chest.
“Well,” he said at last, breath still uneven. “That hardly seems fair.”
I arched a brow, unable to hide my satisfaction.
“Consider it repayment.”
His gaze sharpened. “Repayment.”
“For all the times you’ve left me trembling,” I clarified softly.
A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You sound very confident.”
Before I could retreat, he moved.
In one fluid motion, I was on my back, breath stolen as he hovered over me. His hands skimmed down my body with deliberate familiarity.
“You look proud of yourself,” he said against my skin.
“Maybe I am.”
He kissed lower. Slowly. Testing.
And when he reached the place I needed him most, he didn’t give it to me.
He teased.
My hand moved instinctively, but he caught my wrist with ease.
“No shortcuts,” he murmured.
When he finally relented, the world narrowed to sensation. He knew exactly how to unravel me. Every shift, every deliberate motion drew something different from my throat. My body arched, thighs tightening as pleasure built, sharp and consuming.
When I finally shattered beneath him, he didn’t stop immediately.
He never did.
When I came back to myself, trembling and breathless, he lifted his head, eyes gleaming.
“I believe that settles the score.”
“Don’t be insufferable,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
His gaze drifted lower, slow and deliberate.
“You’re not finished.”
My pulse stuttered. “That doesn’t mean you get to win.”
He leaned down, his mouth brushing mine, not quite a kiss. A warning.
“That’s not how this ends.”
The heat in his expression shifted, no longer playful but intent. Focused.
He moved over me with unhurried precision, savoring the moment before claiming it. Anticipation stretched tight between us, electric and almost unbearable. When he pressed forward just enough to test the boundary between us, my breath fractured.
“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly. This time, he meant it.
I couldn’t.
Instead, I answered by drawing him closer.
He entered only slightly, slow and deliberate, and the sensation stole the air from my lungs. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t even pleasure yet.
It was promise.
His mouth captured mine before I could make a sound.
I wanted him. Entirely.
And just as he began to move, a knock sounded at the door.
It was soft, but impossible to ignore.
Frustration came first, then panic.
We paused, and Daemon’s head snapped up. Like teenagers who’d been caught, we rushed to get dressed. Daemon went to the door.
I peeked out from the doorframe, my hair a mess and probably in need of new underwear.
It was a Fae woman.
“Hello there,” she said, bursting with excitement. “Lyralei told me to come get you for the festival.”
“Festival?” I echoed, thrown by the abrupt shift.
“To celebrate the last fifty years and the beginning of the next.” The woman’s smile widened. “There will be music, dancing, and enough food to feed an army. Everyone attends. Even the Memory Keeper.”
“We wouldn’t want to intrude,” Daemon began.
“Nonsense. You’re guests of honor.” She stepped back, gesturing for us to follow. “Come. The preparations are almost complete. Let’s head down before it begins.”
I glanced at Daemon, uncertain. He shrugged, his expression resigned but not unwilling.
“When in Vaelthorne,” he murmured.
The woman led us out into the forest, the sun high in the sky.
“You two are in for a treat. The festival happens once every fifty years during the Day of Veiled Night. The Veilblossoms are ready to bloom.”
“What is the Day of Veiled Night?” Daemon asked.
“Oh, yes. Let me explain. Once every fifty years, the Veil naturally condenses and covers the sun. The rays still reach us, but they pass through an unusual amount of Veil energy on their way down. This causes any vegetation grown from Veil energy to bloom. It’s quite the spectacle. You’ll see.”
The guide continued speaking about the preparations and the event, but I got lost in my thoughts.
My mind remained anchored on Daemon’s promise, on the impossible weight of it and the even more impossible hope it kindled.
We’ll protect you.
Lanterns floated unlit along the paths as we walked. Music drifted from deeper in the forest. Fiddles, drums, and harmonizing voices filled the space. The air smelled of roasted meat, honey, and something sweeter I couldn’t quite place.
Our guide delivered us to a wide circular clearing in the forest. Stands run by villagers lined the outer edges of the circle.
In the middle stood a massive stage where musicians played lively music.
Tables filled the space between the stands and the stage.
A path on the far side of the clearing led to what looked like a large roasting pit.
Delicious scents of roasted meat, burning wood, and smoke drifted freely in every direction.
The guide stopped us just before the entrance. Beside us stood a stall handing out dresses and tunics to those arriving.
“Choose anything you like,” she said, gesturing to racks of clothing. “Tonight we celebrate life, freedom, joy, and our bonds.”
She disappeared before I could ask what that meant.
Daemon and I stood amid strangers who welcomed us with warm smiles and offered wine.
I looked around and saw everyone dressed in festive attire. Women wore flowing dresses that stopped at the ankles, adorned with flower petals I couldn’t identify. Men wore tunics with a simple circular design in the center.
I suddenly became aware that I was dressed in a simple tunic and pants. That my hair hung loose and tangled. That I probably looked as exhausted as I felt.
Before I could spiral into my self-conscious thoughts, I felt Daemon’s attention on me.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” Daemon said quietly, appearing at my elbow. “I can make excuses.”
I considered retreating to our lodging.
Then I looked at the celebration and the joy filling every villager. Though life was good in Vaelthorne, they must have had their own struggles. Despite that, they had made a deliberate choice to embrace the beauty of life.
“No,” I heard myself say. “I’m just thinking that we’re not dressed for the occasion.”
Daemon’s expression softened. “Sounds like a problem we can easily fix. You heard the guide.”
Before I could respond, Daemon grabbed my wrist. My chest fluttered at the casual grip.
He led me to one of the clothing stands and began shuffling through the rack of dresses. He circled the stall, examining the fabrics, occasionally lifting one and holding it against my chest as he assessed the fit while weaving through the crowd of villagers, his hand never letting go of mine.
After making a full round and getting a sense of my size, he selected a gray-blue dress adorned with silver petals. He chose a tunic for himself with far less effort.
“Get changed and meet me in front of the stall.” He placed a hand on my lower back and guided me into the changing area, pulling the curtain closed behind me.
I heard him thank the shop owner before drawing the curtain for his own stall.
I changed and looked in the mirror. I had never worn something like this before. The sleeves had openings that left my shoulders exposed, the fabric flowing freely halfway down my forearms. The dress hugged my figure, outlining my curves down to my hips before flowing loosely again to my ankles.
I never really had the luxury, or the reason, to care about how I looked.
I looked… good?
I wasn’t sure. It all felt unfamiliar, and my anxiety returned. Will I stand out?
I fixed my hair into a braid, not trusting it to behave otherwise. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the changing room.
I thanked the shop owner on my way out. She seemed happy, satisfied that others were wearing her work.
A few steps away, I saw Daemon, dressed in a dark green tunic and matching pants. The colors suited him perfectly. Different from his usual black clothing, but the deep, masculine tones fit him well.
Though the clothing fit him nicely, it was still his eyes that stood out. Everything else felt like an accessory to those dark eyes.
Those same eyes met mine.
I stopped a few steps away and felt his gaze travel slowly over me, lingering where the dress traced the lines of my figure.
Then he stepped toward me.
“You look beautiful.”