CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE #3
I looked up, and the words died in my throat. His eyes were unlike anything I had ever seen—a beautiful, fascinatingly stunning pale blue. I had never seen eyes that light in the Umbra court. They pinned me in place.
His hair was a mess of short, pale-gold strands, a few pieces falling carelessly across his brow.
He was tall, standing at the same height as Asher, but built differently—leaner, lithe, and dangerous.
His soft olive skin was shaded by a light dusting of stubble, and his jawline was sharp.
He was dressed in an all-black suit that seemed to match the shadows trailing behind him, dark and sentient, coiling with the same eerie familiarity as Asher’s.
His grin followed a second later, cocky and devastating, dimples carving perfectly into his cheeks.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” he said, his voice low and velvet-soft.
“My name is Khaidan, but you can call me Khai.”
His gaze roamed my face as if memorizing it, as if he already knew exactly what he would find.
“Dance?” His hand lifted slowly, deliberately reaching for mine.
And gods help me… I was about to take it.
“Khai.”
Ezra’s voice cut through the moment like a blade. I glanced past Khai to find him standing a few feet away, Ember beside him.
“Ezra.”
The male in front of me—Khai—smiled wider.
“Hm,” he mused lightly, his eyes shifting to Ezra. “Always the second.”
Ezra’s jaw tightened, shadows flickering faintly at his shoulders in a way that signaled a very real threat.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Princess,” Khai murmured, his voice laced with that infuriatingly cocky charm.
He took my hand anyway, and as his lips finally touched my skin,
electricity shot through me, sharp and terrifying. It wasn't a spark. It was a physical shock that made my heart stutter.
At that exact moment, the air didn't just crackle—it screamed.
A blur of obsidian feathers cut through the chandelier light, a streak of living shadow diving straight for Khai’s head.
The raven—the same one that had been perched with such eerie stillness on Queen Sailene’s shoulder—slammed into his collar with a harsh, guttural caw. It pecked viciously at his neck, wings beating against his jaw in a flurry of sharp motion.
Khai didn't flinch. He didn't even look surprised.
He simply tilted his head, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as if he and the bird shared some private joke.
With a final, sharp cry that echoed against the vaulted ceiling, the raven launched itself back into the air, circling once before gliding across the ballroom to settle back onto the Queen’s shoulder.
She didn't look over. She didn't acknowledge the bird at all, but her violet eyes remained fixed on the middle distance, cold and calculating.
Strange. Beyond strange. The electric heat of his touch still tingled beneath my skin.
But I was a Pyreson, and I did not fucking react.
“Get away from him, Ava,” Ezra muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a warning that made the hair on my arms stand up.
I merely watched as Khai turned, offering me one last slow, devastating wink before disappearing into the shifting sea of silks and masks.
He moved with a grace that felt predatory, his shadows moving in a dark, familiar dance I knew far too well.
“Who is he, Ezra?” I whispered, my knuckles still tingling.
Ezra didn’t answer immediately.
He stepped closer, his presence a wall of shadow between me and the spot where Khai had stood. His jaw was set so tight I thought it might shatter.
“Trouble,” Ezra said shortly. “The kind that doesn’t just burn, Ava. The kind that unmakes you.”
I looked back toward the royal dais, catching the Queen's gaze for a fleeting second.
She wasn't looking at me anymore.
She was looking at the spot where Khai had vanished, her fingers idly stroking the raven’s velvet feathers.
The festival was supposed to be a celebration.
But standing there, under the watchful eyes of two courts, I realized the games had only just begun.
My mind was frazzled, my body still vibrating with that strange, jagged electricity, until my father’s voice boomed across the ballroom, commanding the air itself to still.
“Welcome to the Flame Festival, held here every year in Solkaris, where the heart of the Fire Kingdom beats. Tonight, we celebrate Ignis—the Burning Wrath. We raise our glasses, our flames, and our hearts to him. May we burn bright… and rise from the ashes.”
The nobles murmured their agreement, a ripple of sound like a thousand sparks catching tinder.
“And,” his voice dropped lower, the weight of it holding the room, “we offer our prayers for my first heir. My son. My warrior. May Nox guide his soul.”
My throat constricted. My breath hitched in my chest, sharp as a blade pressed against my ribs.
Beside me, I felt Ezra shift, his presence a dark, unmoving shadow.
“Ava,” he murmured, the single word a warning and a comfort, as if he could feel the fracture running straight through my soul.
Ember’s fingers tightened around mine, her skin hot and solid.
“And tonight,” my father continued, his grin sharpening even as his eyes shone with a pride that felt like both a crown and a chain,
“we praise our new flame. Zymarra’s flame. My beautiful daughter.”
The entire hall turned in unison. Hundreds of eyes—hungry, jealous, reverent—burned into me.
I forced a smile onto my face, though it felt brittle enough to shatter.
My hand trembled as I lifted my goblet to the light.
“To Ignis!” the hall roared.
“To Ignis,” I echoed, the words scraping my throat raw.
The wine went down like ash and liquid fire. Inside, something was already splintering.
I chugged the rest of the flute, the bubbles stinging my eyes until they watered.
My cue.
“Going to the bathroom,” I murmured to Ezra and Ember.
Ezra only nodded, his gaze fixed on me like he was reading the lines of my panic.
His jaw ticked once, but he didn’t move to follow. Not yet.
I slipped past the dais, past the blazing braziers and the suffocating scent of expensive perfumes.
The weight of the hall fell away the moment the heavy doors shut behind me.
The thrumming drums and sharp laughter dulled into a distant, muffled heartbeat echoing through the cold marble corridors.
I knew exactly where I was going.
Guards were positioned at every turn, statues in gold and crimson, but they stepped aside instinctively the moment they saw me.
The doors to the private wing parted without question.
Princess. Heir. Flame.
Titles that meant power. Control. Reverence. Tonight, none of it mattered.
My pulse raced as I moved through the corridor, faster than dignity allowed, faster than sense.