Chapter 27
Eva and I step into the ballroom, bathed in crimson light from the large windows as the Bleeding Moon casts its eerie red glow over the world. As I expected, silence ripples through the crowd like a dropped stone in still water.
Dozens of eyes turn toward me. The room goes still as some faces pale with shock, others tighten with envy or curl in quiet disgust. Their judgment hangs heavy as Eva and I move toward the grand dais where Ryker and Consul Starcrest wait.
I wonder where the other consuls are. It would mean something if they all saw Ryker and me together tonight. Mael is nowhere in sight, and I doubt we’ll see him soon. He’s probably off nursing his pride and planning his next move against me.
Above us, chandeliers burn with hundreds of candles, their light mixing with the red haze to cast a scarlet-gold glow over a sea of gowns and polished boots. The air is thick with perfume and the sharp bite of spiced wine, but all I can smell is tension.
Whispers trail behind us. My eyes move over the crowd, and I can almost hear their thoughts.
Whore. Cursed. She asked for it.
That dress says everything, doesn’t it? She wanted to be looked at. Who does she think she is?
And then I think of my father. I see his face. I hear his voice. I told you what would happen if you acted like your mother.
For a terrifying second, I want to turn around. I want to run. Their rejection shouldn't define me. But, somehow, it still does. I haven’t escaped it. I haven’t healed. I’ve just dressed the wound in red and called it armor.
Then Ryker turns.
His sky-blue eyes find mine. My heart clenches in my chest, squeezed tight by anticipation.
Despite everything between us, I can’t help but yearn for the tiniest glimmer of pride.
His gaze drags across my body, lingering on the neckline that dips over my collarbones, on the slits of my dress revealing bare skin as I walk.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Ryker says stiffly, stepping away from the consul and motioning for me to follow.
I hesitate. Eva’s eyes meet mine, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. I give her a small nod before trailing after him, my gown brushing the polished floor with every step.
Ryker keeps close to the columns, skirting the edge of the room like he’s trying to disappear. He doesn’t want to be seen with me. Is he ashamed?
Anger stirs low in my stomach, spreading like fire licking up dry tinder. It grows hotter with every step until I’m burning from the inside out.
He pushes through the doors to the gardens, and cool night air rushes over my overheated skin. Without looking back, he strides into a secluded alcove.
“What is this?” Ryker snaps, spinning on me.
His voice is so sharp I stumble back, my shoulders hitting the wall of greenery behind me.
“What is what?” I snap back, fury threading my words tight.
He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw works, like he’s grinding his words down. Or is it guilt? Rage?
“This,” he growls, gesturing wildly at me. His eyes blaze as they rake over my body again. “What are you trying to do? Are you deliberately tempting every man in court to try their luck? If this is how you dressed that night, then no wonder my brother—”
The slap cracks through the night before I even register raising my hand.
My palm stings. Ryker’s head jerks to the side, a red bloom already rising on his cheek.
“I could’ve been in nothing but undergarments,” I hiss, my voice trembling with rage, “and it wouldn’t give him the right to do what he did. Your brother drugged me with sleeping herbs, you ass.”
His eyes widen, disbelief carving itself into his features.
Three faint scratches from my newly filed nails mark his cheek as proof of my fury. “He couldn’t… he wouldn’t—” he says, stepping toward me, his voice faltering. “You’re lying. You’d say anything to absolve yourself—”
I swing again, but this time he catches my wrist mid-air. His grip is firm but not cruel, and he pushes me gently back into the greenery, pinning my arm to his chest. His body is too close, his heat rolls off him, curling into mine.
Our breaths tangle.
I see it, the denial behind his eyes crashing against the truth he’s too afraid to accept.
My chest heaves. His gaze drops, lingering on the neckline of my dress, then rising slowly to my lips.
“You showing up here, looking like this….” His voice drops low. “It’s messing with my head, Ray. You’re showing pieces of yourself that were supposed to be mine. You were supposed to be mine.”
He leans closer, the press of his body against mine unmistakable. His leg shifts between my thighs, his voice spills into confession.
“What am I supposed to do?” he breathes. “I can’t control myself around you anymore, not when you look like this,” he says, like that’s somehow my fault.
“Get off me—” I whisper, but it comes out almost broken.
I turn my head away, blinking fast as an image of his brother on top of my unconscious body takes over me. My magic pulses beneath my skin, hot and volatile, roaring to be unleashed.
I clench my jaw so hard it aches, trying to hold it back. One wrong move, one more second of his breath on my neck, and I’ll lose control.
He doesn’t move, his grip tightens. My heart slams against my ribs. My breath stutters as I press my free hands against his neck in a futile attempt to create distance.
Don’t explode. Don’t explode. Don’t—
“Why didn’t you choose the dress I sent?” Ryker whispers, his voice thick. He doesn’t see it, doesn’t feel the danger building in me.
I open my mouth to warn him, prepare to shove him away while doing my best to control the magic already crackling in my blood.
“Because the dress you sent was shit.” The voice cuts through the air like lightning, and Ryker freezes.
Kaelzar.
His voice is a lifeline thrown across the chasm, dragging me back from the edge. It seems to come from everywhere at once.
“Now, the lady just asked you to let her go. I suggest you listen, before she decays every one of your grabby fingers.”
Ryker’s eyes widen as horror floods his face. He releases me instantly, stepping back. His hands lift, open, like a man surrendering, but his eyes stay locked on mine, pleading.
“Ray, I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you….”
For a second, I want to believe him. I want to believe that the tremble in his voice is regret, not damage control. That the guilt in his eyes is real.
But then I remember how quickly he closed the distance between us. How his leg slid between mine. How he saw me unraveling and pressed closer anyway.
Kaelzar’s silhouette behind him is a reminder of every time Ryker said he loved me and still chose comfort of denial over truth.
The softness in me vanishes.
“I keep trying to protect your feelings,” I say, my voice low and steady. “But you’re not a child, Ryker. You don’t need my protection.”
He watches me, silent. His mouth is a flat line, but the tension in his shoulders betrays the storm beneath.
“I wasn’t lying. Mael drugged me,” I say, allowing the words to hang there for a beat. “He also tried to marry me in secret.”
Ryker’s breath catches as his eyes search mine like I might take it back if he looks hard enough.
“It can’t be,” he whispers. He blinks, slow and stunned.
“And if it’s not already obvious,” I add, “I’m no longer interested in celebrating my birthday by your side. You can leave now.”
His mouth opens, probably to argue, but one glance at Kaelzar silences him. He gives a stiff bow and turns, retreating into the night, his footsteps swallowed by the gravel and the hush of wind through the garden.
The moment he’s gone, I exhale a long, shaky breath, and my shoulders slump as the tension bleeds out of me.
“What a coincidence you happened to be nearby,” I mutter, glancing at Kaelzar.
“I’m never too far when you need me,” he replies softly.
I absently run my thumb over the ring on my finger, knowing he must have felt my discomfort through it.
The music from the ballroom drifts faintly through the crimson air.
Its soft, haunting melody feels almost too elegant for this wild, secluded place.
I start pacing along the gravel path, the crunch of my heels echoing in the silence.
My hands tremble as I try to shake off the heavy tangle of my emotions.
“This was a mistake,” I say, not bothering to hide the sharpness in my voice. “A stupid, humiliating mistake. I should never have come.” My throat tightens, but I force the words through.
I gesture bitterly toward the shimmering fabric of my dress. “Hours spent bathing in oils, getting my hair done, my nails painted, and for what? To be mocked? Dragged into the shadows and reprimanded?”
The scent of the oils still clings to my skin. It makes me feel foolish. “Is one dance too much to ask? Just one moment to feel like a normal girl, enjoying her birthday.”
I stop walking and turn toward Kaelzar. He stands a few paces away, half-shrouded in shadows.
“And now I’m out here,” I add, laughing hollowly, “ranting. How pathetic is that?”
Kaelzar tilts his head slightly. His gaze doesn’t waver, steady in a way that somehow cuts through the ache. “We can still dance,” he says, his voice calm and measured.
I blink. “What?”
He steps toward me, each movement slow, as if he’s syncing himself to the ghost of the melody drifting through the night. “The music’s still here. And you’re here. Why not?”
An incredulous laugh bursts from me. “Dance with you? Like this?” I gesture at him, this tall, imposing shadow of a man, wrapped in darkness like it’s part of his skin. “Not unless you plan on taking off that ancient, miserable hood.”
A smirk tugs at his lips, barely there, but enough to catch. “Is it really that bad?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “If you keep wearing that hood, it’s absolutely that bad.” To my surprise, Kaelzar reaches up and pulls off the cloak.
Shadows melt from his face, and for the first time, I see him not in his usual ragged, utilitarian garb, but dressed as though he belongs in the stories they tell about fallen gods.
His shirt is deep charcoal, tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders and lean frame. Silver embroidery traces delicate constellations across the fabric, glinting faintly in the red moonlight. Even his boots gleam, polished to a shine that makes me blink twice.
“You’ve been dressed like this the whole time?” I ask, startled.
“I was prepared,” he says, extending a hand toward me, “for the moment you realized the night with him would be wasted. Took you longer than I anticipated.”
I stare at his outstretched hand, at his calloused, scarred palm.
Slowly, hesitantly, I place my fingers in his. His grip is firm but gentle. He pulls me closer, one hand settling lightly at my waist, the other still holding mine. His movements are unhurried.
I’m stiff at first, my body still taut with the echoes of anger and humiliation, but as he leads, something in me begins to let go.
The soft strains of music from the ballroom weave around us like a spell. He moves with the control of a warrior but the grace of someone who’s danced this step before.
His touch is steady. Possessive. A silent promise that as long as I’m in his arms, nothing will touch me.
And I believe him.
The ache from the ballroom—the judgmental stares, Ryker’s shame—fades. All that remains is this: Kaelzar’s hands on me, his warmth, his steady breath.
I glance up. His face is close. His eyes, usually so guarded, carry a quiet intensity. The press of his hand at my waist, the rasp of his fingers brushing against the fabric, sends a shiver through me. Every nerve feels awake.
“You’re not terrible at this,” I murmur, the words catching slightly.
A faint smile curves his lips. “Neither are you.”
The music softens into more intimate tunes, and our movements slow to match it.
My breath falls into rhythm with his. For a moment, the entire garden seems to go still, no sound but the faint rustle of leaves, our shared breath, and the hush of moonlight on skin.
I close my eyes and sink into it. His arms around me. The night. The quiet. And then I hear it, steps on the gravel.
I open my eyes slowly, glancing past Kaelzar, toward the edge of the garden path and I see her.
Liona. Half-hidden behind a marble column wrapped in ivy, her white hair looks like it’s dipped in blood under this moonlight. Her expression is calculating, her mouth slightly parted, as if caught mid-breath. She makes no move to speak, no gesture to interrupt. Just watches.
A flicker of panic rises in my chest, but Kaelzar’s hand at my waist tightens ever so slightly, and I stay where I am. Let her look. Let them all look. For once, I don’t care.
As the moment stretches, the sky above us begins to shift. I tilt my head back, just in time to see them.
Streaks of radiant light appear, arching across the heavens like celestial veins.
Not stars, not comets, but something otherworldly.
Tunnels of iridescent light coil and dance above us, glowing in hues of gold, emerald, and sapphire.
They twist shimmering, vanishing, returning in bursts of magic too perfect to be real.
“The Veylnar Tunnels,” I whisper reverently. The sight steals the breath from my lungs. They look like the remnants of forgotten dreams, painted across the dark red sky.
I turn my face toward him, my voice trembling. “Do you think the stories are true? That the tunnels can take someone into the dreamlands?”
He watches the sky a long moment before speaking. “A realm where desires and fears merge,” he murmurs, as if remembering something far away. “A place where everything you want could be yours if you’re willing to pay the price.”
His eyes stay on the sky as he takes in a long, thoughtful breath. “I’ve come to believe the dreamlands aren’t a place. They’re a promise. A vision of what could be, offered to those willing to lose themselves in the pursuit.”
His words settle deep inside me. “And if you could step into them,” I ask, quietly now, “what would you hope to find?”
His answer is immediate. “Something I cannot have.”
The honesty in his voice undoes something in me. I want to ask what, but I already know.
I lean into his warmth instead, letting the silence speak for me. Behind us, the music drifts through the garden again, soft and distant.
And just before I close my eyes, I glance back toward the column. Liona is gone. But I know what she saw.
She saw me choosing the impossible. And holding it close.