EIGHTEEN
X-FACTOR
Magpies scream warnings through the blackening sky
Alarms cut clean through the pretense of calm
Rain understands every wound the heart once carried
Intuition whispers: the storm is already within
Armor the heart; thunder is ready to break
Hold fast while war wages against your soul
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
Aserver passes by, their tray glinting beneath the chandelier light, and I pluck a glass of wine without breaking stride. The first sip is smooth, rich, earthy—and for a breath, it reminds me a little of home.
I let my gaze sweep over the ballroom, taking in the swirl of music, laughter, and glittering finery. A world that still doesn’t feel like mine.
Laughter ripples through the air like music itself, weaving together with the spice of wine and the faint smoke of burning wicks.
Couples twirl in perfectly rehearsed steps, their voices slipping between whispered gossip and polished pleasantries.
Politics.
I’m beginning to understand how power threads through every glance, every smile, every carefully measured movement. And for a moment, I simply watch.
I was never meant for places like this. And yet, somehow, I’m here.
A quiet hollowness opens in my chest. Homesick for mornings spent watching butterflies drift from flower to flower. For straightforward conversations. For sincere looks free of calculation.
For the simple. For the truth.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
The voice is smooth and confident, carrying the kind of elegance that comes naturally to people who have spent their lives in places like this.
I turn.
A woman stands before me, poised, refined, utterly striking.
Blonde hair cascades in loose waves down her back, catching the chandelier light like spun gold.
Her piercing hazel eyes shimmer beneath the ballroom lights, framed by thick lashes and just enough kohl to make them impossible to look away from.
She is, without question, beautiful. Not in the way that’s delicate or soft, but calculated.
Curated to be noticed.
She wears a gown of deep gold, intricate embroidery curling along the bodice. The fabric shifts around her like living flame, and against her sun-kissed skin, the color seems luminous. She looks like she was born for places like this.
And gods, she seems to know it.
“It is,” I say, offering a small polite smile.
I assume she is simply another noble. Another guest to exchange pleasantries with before moving on to the next conversation.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“No,” she agrees, taking a leisurely sip of wine, watching me like she already knows everything there is to know. “But I know you.”
I stiffen slightly. “Do you?”
“Oh, everyone does.”
Her lips curve into a breezy smile.
“The Spiritborn. The legend. The woman who wields all four elements.” Her gaze travels over me. “It’s all anyone talks about these days.”
She sips her wine.
“Amara Thalor.”
Something in the way she says it catches my attention.
“I imagine it’s quite overwhelming.”
“A little,” I admit, because lying would be pointless.
Her smile widens, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You carry it well.”
“Thank you,” I reply evenly. “And you are?”
She doesn’t answer me.
Instead, she takes another slow sip of wine, angling her head as she studies me. The look in her eyes makes me feel as though I’ve walked into the middle of a conversation everyone else already understands.
“I’m sure Thane has helped with that.”
She sips her wine again, every movement purposeful and poised. I don’t neglect to notice her casual use of his name instead of his title.
“Thane is always like that, isn’t he?” she muses, her gaze flicking briefly across the ballroom to where he stands.
I don’t turn to follow it. I simply keep my smile polite. But my grip tightens instinctively around the wineglass.
“Is he?”
She hums softly, her attention sliding back to me, studying me like she’s enjoying something I haven’t yet seen.
“You know, safe,” she says lightly. “Unshakable. The kind of man who makes you feel like nothing could touch you when you’re standing beside him.”
I nod, because she isn’t wrong. I know exactly what she means. There is something about the way she says it, a quiet familiarity in her voice, the way her lips curl slightly at the memory of it—she’s speaking from experience.
“He’s always carried everyone else’s burdens so easily,” she continues, watching the wine swirl in her glass as she speaks. “It’s just who he is, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” I answer carefully.
“And yet,” she murmurs, hazel eyes sharpening slightly, “standing beside someone like him . . . what a lonely place to be.”
Unease prickles along the back of my neck. Because she is not just making an observation. This isn’t idle chatter. This is someone who has seen the man beneath the Warlord.
And by the gods, why does that realization make my stomach twist?
“He’s always been like that,” she continues smoothly. “Always putting others first. Always doing what is expected. Always standing just a little apart from everyone, as if he can never truly let himself belong.”
My magics begins to stir beneath my skin, a restless pulse building at the edges of my control. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to ground myself.
Who the hell is she?
I tip my head slightly, keeping my voice polite. “You have me at a disadvantage. What is your name?”
She smiles, a smile too knowing to be kind. “I do.”
I study her more closely.
The confidence. The ease. The way she speaks about Thane with a familiarity that no one else does. Not as an observer. Not as a court noble whispering about the Warlord from afar.
But as someone who once stood beside him.
As I do now.
And then it clicks. This is not just some noblewoman.
This is his ex.
And I have been standing here smiling like an idiot.
I don’t react. Not outwardly. Not in any way that gives her the satisfaction of knowing I’ve finally put the pieces together.
Because two can play this game. And I do not intend to lose.
“You seem to know him well,” I say lightly, as though this is nothing more than polite conversation.
Her lips curl slightly, amusement flickering there.
“I do,” she answers, her hazel eyes watching me with the calm patience of someone who already understands the terrain better than I do.
“Have you known him for long?” I inquire, still playing the part.
“Long enough.”
Vague. Deliberately vague.
And yet, the implication settles uneasily inside me. Long enough to know his habits. Long enough to know what lies beneath the surface. Long enough to once believe she knew where she stood with him.
“I imagine you must have spent quite some time at court, then,” I say, carefully placing my goblet on a passing tray.
Mirth glints in her hazel eyes. She’s baiting me.
“You could say that,” she murmurs, her voice smooth as silk and just as difficult to grasp.
“And what is it that you do, exactly?”
“Oh, I dabble in many things.”
She’s not offering me anything real. Not her name. Not her past. Not even the courtesy of honesty. She’s enjoying this—the game, the balance of power shifting by inches.
“It’s fascinating,” she muses, taking another languid sip of wine while watching me over the rim of her glass.
“What is?” I ask smoothly.
“Seeing him like this.” A pause. “Standing beside someone. Choosing someone.”
I keep my expression carefully neutral. “You say that like it surprises you.”
Her smile never falters.
“It does.” Her eyes flick toward Thane, still deep in conversation across the ballroom. “He never used to let himself have things like this.”
My stomach tightens. I refuse to give her the reaction she’s looking for. “Like what?”
She takes another sip, the pause long enough to feel intentional.
“Like you,” she says softly, deliberately. “Not everyone will be as welcoming of your . . . position as he is.”
There it is. The challenge.
But I don’t flinch. I don’t let my gaze drop. I don’t give her what she wants. I know exactly what she’s trying to do.
She wants to make me feel insecure.
Instead, I angle my head, offering her a small, knowing smile.
“Perhaps he just needed the right reason.”
Something sharp and calculating passes through her hazel eyes. But she recovers too quickly, her smile smoothing back into place.
“Perhaps,” she murmurs.
A quiet pause settles between us as we continue assessing one another, neither willing to yield an inch.
I can play this game, too.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” she muses, lifting her chin as the sapphire fabric of her gown catches the chandelier light.
“What is?” I ask, keeping my tone light and even.
“Seeing a man who never let himself belong to anyone . . . suddenly belong to someone.”
I sweep a few braids off my shoulder as though entirely unbothered.
She is too composed. Enjoying this interaction too much. And suddenly, I realize something else. She was waiting for Thane to notice. She wanted to see how long it would take.
And in that moment, sharp and certain, I feel it.
The shift.
The change in the air.
That all-too-familiar presence behind me.
Thane steps beside me. He presses a soft kiss against my cheek, lingering just long enough to make the meaning unmistakable before his hand settles at the small of my back, pulling me close to him.
It is not possessive. It is a declaration.
And this woman sees it. Her expression remains neutral for all of half a second before another polished smile slips back into place.
“Ardyn.” Thane’s voice remains perfectly smooth.
But I hear the edge beneath it.
“Thane,” she greets pleasantly, as though she hadn’t spent the last several minutes testing me. “I was just getting to know Amara.”
“I’m sure you were,” he replies flatly.
He moves, stepping closer until his presence settles fully at my back.
Around us, the ballroom still glitters with golden light and swirling dancers. Couples move across the dance floor, their silks and jewels catching the light, laughter and murmured conversations weaving through the air like music itself.
And yet, everything feels colder now. Because Ardyn is watching Thane.
She smiles.
“It’s good to see you again, Thane.”
Her voice carries the effortless elegance of someone raised in court politics. She tilts her glass towards Thane.
“And how is your family?”
The words sound light. Casual. But I feel the impact before Thane even reacts. Because I know what she means. Because everyone does.
The music still plays. The ballroom still spins with dancers. But something in the air has shifted, like something sharp hidden beneath silk and civility.
Ardyn watches Thane carefully.
“Your father?” she continues politely, as though this is nothing more than harmless conversation. “I imagine he’s still struggling with his grief.”
A pause. A sip of wine.
My fingers curl into fists.
Not because Thane reacts. Not because he gives her the satisfaction of emotion. Because he doesn’t. He simply stands there, cool and controlled, taking the blow without letting it show. As if he’s done this a hundred times before.
As though people have always weaponized his past against him, and he learned long ago how to survive it.
And that’s what makes my blood boil.
The ballroom glows with gold and silk and opulence, but the warmth does not reach me now.
Ardyn’s words linger. A reminder. A warning. Something carefully aimed to wound without leaving visible damage.
I feel Thane beside me, unmoving, unreadable. He does not flinch. Does not speak. Does not react.
But I do.
Because fuck her.
I’ve had enough of her games.
“It must be exhausting.”
Ardyn looks at me, wearing curiosity like another polished mask.
“What must?”
I offer a pleasant, empty smile.
“Carrying around all that bitterness.”
Something flickers across her face—quick and sharp. Something she masks a fraction too late.
“Bitterness?” she echoes, her expression smoothing carefully back into place. “That’s an awfully bold assumption, Spiritborn.”
I hum softly, slipping easily into the rhythm of it now. “Is it though?”
Her lips curve faintly. “Or is it simply what you want to believe?”
And there it is.
There it is again. The probing. The careful search for weakness.
I will not give her the satisfaction.
“Of course,” I murmur, feigning sympathy as I gesture lightly. “You clearly still feel something about the way things ended between you two. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be standing here, testing me like this.”
Through the bond, I catch the faintest glimmer of amusement.
By all the Elemental gods. Is Thane enjoying this?
Her composure slips for only a fraction of a second.
“I wasn’t aware I was testing you,” she says, voice cool.
“Oh, you were,” I say smoothly, every word deliberate. “And it was going so well. Subtle. Calculated. A quiet game of who can get under whose skin first.”
I lean in slightly.
“But I don’t play games with people still mourning what they lost.”
The amusement fades briefly from Ardyn’s eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line. Then, just as quickly, her smile settles smoothly back into place.
“Well,” she hums, swirling her wine lazily, “I can see why he likes you.”
When Thane finally speaks, his voice remains calm. Absolute. Maybe even a little bored.
“Enough, Ardyn. If you wanted my attention, you could have simply approached me.”
His fingers brush lightly across my waist before settling there again.
“But this?” He exhales softly, shaking his head once. “This is a pathetic attempt at playing the same games you always have.”
A beat of silence settles between them.
Then, in a voice quiet and lethal enough to freeze the air between us, he adds:
“I tolerated these games when they were directed at me. I will not tolerate them when they are directed at her.”
Ardyn’s expression doesn’t change immediately. But I see it. The brief, unguarded moment where Thane finally, truly, shut the door on whatever once existed between them.
She lifts her glass, takes one final sip, and nods. “Enjoy your evening, Warlord. Amara.”
And then she walks away.