Chapter 35
Kaelzar finds me not long after, carrying news I half expected and still wasn’t ready to hear. Sibyl came while I was gone, announced that the final challenge would take place tomorrow morning, and left without waiting for him to fetch me. We’re to present ourselves at the Tourney Arena at sunrise.
I let the weight of it settle, then push it aside.
Whatever waits for us tomorrow can wait a little longer.
For now, I choose this moment, this fragile stretch of time we still have.
Because tomorrow will be a threshold. An ending or a beginning.
And when we cross it, nothing in our lives will remain the same.
After Kaelzar delivers everything I promised to the dragon and Seraphina, he leads me to my private chamber.
It is still barricaded from the outside, only accessible through the shadows he commands.
The moon spills through the vast windows, its silver glow weaving with the flames of dozens of thick candles flickering across the room.
The moonlight clings to Kaelzar’s gray eyes, turning them into something unearthly as they follow me.
I stop, breath caught in my throat. A tub waits in the center of the room, steam curling up from its surface.
Across from it, my bed. Its crisp white sheets call to me with the promise of a dreamless sleep. I ache to dive into its softness.
But not yet. Not before I finally wash up.
I move toward the tub. The sweet scent of strawberries and vanilla rises up. Foam spreads over the surface of the water like a blanket. I brace my hands against the edge, inhale deeply, and let the sweetness flood me.
Behind me, Kaelzar clears his throat. “I will return in the morning—”
“Stay,” I murmur. This time, my voice doesn’t falter. This time, I’m not afraid of asking.
And for the first time, I’m not afraid of the answer either. Because something in me knows he’s been waiting for me to say it. To command him to stay.
I glance over my shoulder and his mouth tilts at the corner. Relief flickers in his eyes, but something darker follows it. Guilt or regret?
Perhaps it’s a shadow of fear for what tomorrow demands of us. Of me.
Later, I tell myself. Later, when the final challenge is behind us, I’ll drag the truth out of him. Tonight, I choose the illusion: the isolated room, the steaming water, the bed like a cloud, and the man who makes the impossible feel real.
Kaelzar turns away, granting me privacy, and I let my clothes slip from my body, one piece at a time. I stand naked for a heartbeat too long, my skin humming, silently daring him to turn around too soon, to see me like this.
Not as he did before, when I was broken and bleeding, and he was terrified of losing me. But whole, unashamed, aware of his presence and welcoming it.
But he doesn’t, and he won’t. That is the line between us, I think. He won’t let himself look until he’s bared all of his secrets.
I slide into the tub, the heat kissing every inch of me, and a moan breaks from my lips. I stretch out my arms along the edge, surrendering to the moment.
Kaelzar sets a folded towel behind my neck with quiet care, and I lean back, smiling despite myself.
A stool scrapes softly against the stone floor, and he sits just behind my head. When I glance up, he’s already producing a basin and a carved wooden dipper.
He catches my questioning look and smirks. “I was prepared in case you’d ask me to stay.”
The deep timbre of his voice drags across my nerves. Then his fingers slide through my wet hair, lifting it out of the water and letting it spill into the basin.
My heart stutters. Is he… going to wash my hair?
“It’s like you’re plucking a chicken before the slaughter,” I tease weakly. “Cleaning the feathers before the kill.”
The joke falls flat. Kaelzar’s sharp look silences me at once and I lift my hands in mock surrender.
“You don’t have to do this,” I murmur. “I’m not so exhausted I can’t wash my own hair.”
“Didn’t you once tell me I’m your Godbeast?” His voice is quiet, almost a growl. “So I should shut up and serve?” He pauses, then adds under his breath, “Tonight… I want to serve you.”
The words strike me like a spark in dry tinder. Heat coils low in my stomach, my ears ring, and the space just behind them tingles with charged anticipation. My lips stretch into a small smile, and it takes everything not to grin outright as I close my eyes and let my head fall back.
“Then serve,” I breathe, the words come out harsh and tremulous. Instinct tells me that as long as his hands are on me, speaking is a mistake.
Warm water trickles over my scalp, over my neck. He begins to soap my hair, and my world tilts. His fingers work in slow circles, kneading my scalp with a strength that feels both reverent and unrestrained.
My head tips left, then right at his command. His thumbs sweep down behind my ears and along the base of my skull, coaxing each muscle to release under his touch. My neck turns to cotton in his hands. Heat snaps down my spine and settles low, sharp enough to steal my breath.
The bubbles on the surface of the water are a fragile cloak. Beneath his touch, I feel naked anyway.
His fingers rake through my hair again and again, and a taut ache blooms in my chest, low and hot. My lips press together, fighting the sounds that want to escape. My body goes slack, giving itself up to the calloused hands that make me feel—gods—so alive.
Then he gathers two handfuls of my hair at the roots and pulls.
Everything shatters. My body arches without my permission, a raw, throaty moan tearing from my mouth. His hands freeze. My eyes snap open. I realize my chest has risen above the water, foam clinging where it should not be seen.
I sink back down, gasping, blinking rapidly. Then I turn to him with a wicked smirk. “If you’re trying to entice me to survive tomorrow, so you can keep serving me like this, it’s working, Godbeast.”
The hunger in his expression vanishes at once, replaced by that same dark weight I’ve seen gathering around him these past days. He retreats, withdrawing his hands.
I catch one before it slips away. “Whatever you’re holding back, you know you can tell me, right? I won’t force you tonight. But tomorrow, once it’s over, once we’ve won, we’ll talk. Okay?”
He says nothing.
I squeeze his hand. “Promise?” I say forcefully.
Kaelzar nods, the surrender in it so pained that I almost lunge from the water to wrap him in my arms. Instead, I give him a small smile he doesn’t return. So I turn and let him finish washing my hair.
This time, the motions are mechanical. When he’s done, he hands me a clean nightgown and robe, turns away while I dress, then tucks me into bed. Then, he lies down beside me, above the covers.
Every attempt at conversation feels hollow, his mind drifting somewhere far from here. Eventually, I stop trying. Tomorrow will be a new day, a new beginning. One I carve myself, with my own rules. One with no more secrets, lies, or betrayals.
And when I step into that new world, he will stand beside me.
Clinging to that image, I let sleep claim me at last, deep and dreamless.
The next morning, I stand before the mirror in my sister’s room. The nerves and anticipation twist together in my gut, making me a bit jittery. Peonica hovers behind me, grinning as though nothing in the world could shake her. She flicks my thick braid, which she insisted on plaiting herself.
She wove three red locks into my white hair, braiding them with deft fingers until they crowned my head like a warrior’s coronet before blending seamlessly down my back.
To match her vision, I wear a sleeveless tunic dyed crimson, stitched by temple women since no seamstress of Viele dares touch the taboo red material. Loose white trousers brush just below my knees and my nails have been sharpened into blood-bright points. At my hip, my black polished whip gleams.
“One last thing,” Peonica says, producing a tiny container filled with something that looks suspiciously like crushed rubies. Without hesitation, she scoops some onto her finger and smears it over her lips, the tint instantly flaring to a deep red.
I arch a brow.
“Beetroot mixed with beeswax,” she explains with a mock sigh, then she puckers twice at her reflection, making two playful pops with her lips.
But when she leans closer to admire herself, I see the tightness at the corners of her eyes.
The brave grin that wavers. She’s trying to dazzle me with lightness, but dread shadows her face.
“Hey,” I murmur, then grip her shoulders firmly, turning her to face me, forcing her to drop the act. “I’ll be alright. I will win this challenge.”
Her teeth press together, jaw rigid, but she doesn’t speak. The silence between us grows heavy, squeezing my chest.
I stare into her eyes, pouring every ounce of my will into them, wishing her to see it, to believe it. To believe me.
For a long moment, she only stares. Then she lifts her chin, and the faintest crack runs through her bravado.
All her preparations land at once. The braid. The tunic. The breakfast. A need to be the one taking care of me as if she’s afraid she won’t get another chance.
Suddenly, a bitter regret of denying her the offer to eat together this morning overcomes me.
I thought nothing of it, but it takes only now to realize how afraid she must be sending me to the most dangerous fight after only just getting her sister all to herself, something that she’s dreamed of for years.
“You’re my younger sister,” I say with a slight quirk of my lips, pushing aside prickly feelings.
“So you must do as your elderly says. And I am telling you, I will come back today. And you can make a whole lunch, and we will eat it just the two of us. I will even allow you to have a glass of wine.”
Peonica bristles, shrugging my hands off with a quick, nervous flick.
“I don’t need your permission to drink,” she snaps, but the words barely mask her nerves.
“I’m a grown woman, I’ll drink when I want.
” After a beat, she sighs. “Fine. If you insist, I’ll make us lunch.
But you must swear to come straight to me the moment the challenge ends, the moment you’ve kicked Zyrel’s arse in front of the whole kingdom. ”
“I promise. I’ll come straight to you, bleeding and all.”
Peonica’s mouth quirks into a grin. Without warning, she dabs a blob of red wax onto my lips. “Spread it evenly,” she orders, fighting a laugh at my startled expression. “To complete the ensemble,” she drawls, exaggerating each syllable as though lecturing someone truly hopeless.
I shake my head, smiling despite myself, and turn to the mirror. I smooth it over my lips until it gleams evenly, pretending it’s simple makeup when it feels more like warpaint.
I study my reflection a moment longer, and then my thoughts drift toward the changes I’ll forge once Zyrel falls, once I strip the rot from this kingdom and build something worthy from what remains.