Chapter 42
Alora
Alora’s heart thundered, shock freezing her in place. But Rune laughed. As if he were surrounded by candle flames rather than a swarm of Midlands most lethal paladins ready to kill him.
His gaze slid over Zinnia.
“Your niece has enjoyed all of my fingers, Thornbearer,” he purred, voice low enough to curl heat and mortification down Alora’s spine. “And she didn’t complain in the slightest last night.”
A shocked murmur rippled through the ranks.
Alora’s face burned beneath everyone’s stare. She dare not look at Caelum lingering silent behind her.
Her growl hummed through their bond, Rune.
He shot her a sharp smile. He remained kneeling in the array, utterly unconcerned that death hovered a breath away, wearing arrogance like a crown.
Thorned roots burst from the earth with a hiss, whipping toward Rune like striking serpents. They lanced across the ground, tearing through soil and stone as they lunged.
Alora moved before she even thought.
She stepped between him and the roots. They halted an inch from her face. Barbed tips quivered, trembling with the stored violence of Zinnia’s command.
Her shadows reared instinctively, ready to cut them down. The roots recoiled a hair’s breadth, confused, wary, tasting the power that hummed beneath Alora’s skin.
“Enough,” she said, voice ringing with something that made her magic hum.
Zinnia’s eyes narrowed. “Alora, whatever he has told you, he is not the one you should protect. He brought about your mother’s death.”
Her heart ached, but she kept her voice steady. “It wasn’t him.”
“Don’t believe his lies.”
“My husband vowed to never lie to me.” Her voice softened, turned razor-sharp as she flicked Rune a pointed look over her shoulder. “Even if he were crafty with his words, I can now sense untruths more keenly than before.”
The smirk dropped from Rune’s face and he glanced away.
Alora breathed in, steady. “If Rune had been the one to make the bargain with my mother… I would feel it. He is guilty of many things.” Her jaw tightened. “But not that.”
The truth—or a trace of it—hung between them, fragile as spun glass.
Taking a breath, she closed her eyes and withdrew whatever strange magic had formed the array, releasing Rune.
“I commend your bravery, Thornbearer, to at last face me yourself instead of sending your knight,” Rune said, glancing at Caelum as he rose to his feet, towering at her shoulder.
A curl formed between Zinnia’s pink brows as she glanced at him as well, then at the glowing glyphs on his sword and shield.
Rune picked up the axe again. “Though it won’t take much to cut through your little army.”
The Midland soldiers instantly drew their weapons and Lady Zinnia’s vines reared to attack.
“Stand down,” Alora snapped. To Rune, she pointed down at the ground at her feet. “Stay.”
The markings on her skin blazed, shadows swarming around her.
Glowering, he lowered back down to his knees. She tasted his anger through the bond, and a trace of his delight.
“You command his power,” Lady Zinnia breathed, gaze flicking between Alora and the kneeling god. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t understand it myself,” Alora murmured, pressing her fingertips to her temples as the last flicker of magic ebbed. “But as you can see, I have the matter in hand. My husband will behave… won’t he?”
Rune bared his teeth in something like a smile, fury glinting beneath it. “Yes, dear.”
Zinnia’s eyes narrowed. She studied Rune like a scholar examining a cursed artifact, taking in the absence of magic around him.
A tremor shivered down her spine. “Then… you’re not the voice who answered Salvia in the ruins.
No being of that power would be so easily stripped by a girl untrained in magic. ”
Rune held her gaze, harsh as the frost in winter. His smile thinned to a line edged with contempt.
“A minor lapse,” he purred with smug arrogance. “Your niece is rather adept at making a man lower his guard. I misjudged how thoroughly she’d consume me.”
Alora kicked his boot and he chuckled.
Ignoring her blush, she nodded for her godmother and Caelum to follow her into the cottage.
They stepped inside, glancing at the broken table, the disheveled bedding, and the faint scorch marks on the floorboards.
Alora pretended not to notice their shared look as she briskly gathered food, a cloak, and the bloodied spindle into her satchel.
Nexus watched from where he was perched on the mantle, tail flicking lazily.
“I feared you would not survive the night,” Zinnia murmured as Alora yanked the Sunstone dagger free from the wall. “I summoned my armies and made my way back as soon as I was able.”
She smiled feebly, warmed by this show of care. “You were ready to face the wrath of a god?”
The Thornbearer—no, her aunt, looked at her with rare affection. “I feared your mother’s wrath more if I failed to keep her daughter safe.”
Alora smiled, despite the ache in her chest. She sat on the edge of her bed to slip on her boots. “Rune was cross with me for leaving, but he would never harm me.”
And she knew it was undoubtedly true.
No matter how enraged he was, how rough and violent he could be, Rune had always been careful with her.
Alora’s gaze fell on something glinting atop the nightstand.
Her wedding ring.
It sat neatly in the center of the table, ruby glinting like an offer.
Her stomach tightened.
Rune must have placed it there. Quietly. Carefully. A gesture without words.
A ring returned not as possession but… a proposal. Of him. Of them. Of the bond she hadn’t asked for and yet kept tangling herself in.
Because last night, it had been clear how much he wanted her. Not merely her body, but her. It was a foreign feeling to be wanted. So much that he had burned to be with her again.
Alora’s gaze slid outside.
Rune was exactly where she had left him, hands resting casually on his knees. The Midlands stood guard, still surrounding him by a forest of leveled arrows, yet he held himself with the quiet focus of a predator at rest.
Did he remain because her magic held him? Or because even now, he was surrendering to her?
Commanding a god shouldn’t be so simple. And she shouldn’t enjoy the feeling this much.
What did that say about her?
Taking a deep breath, she stood. “We are going to Khar Avalen.”
Lady Zinnia went rigid. “Alora.”
“The Sleeping Curse originated there. If I want to save Argyle, I must start at the source.”
“And to learn the truth of your birth,” Zinnia replied softly.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then exhaled.
“Very well. But tread lightly, child. The Ruins do not suffer the curious.” She stepped closer, gripping Alora’s arm.
“Keep to the ancient path. Do not stray from it. Do not let your thoughts wander. The Ruins may stir and the wind will whisper. But you must not answer anything that calls to you.”
Alora swallowed hard.
Zinnia’s fingers tightened. “And Alora—under no circumstance let your blood touch the mantle.” Her voice dropped to a trembling whisper. “Not unless you wish to wake what should have remained sleeping since the dawn of the First Age.”
The bond hummed like a taut string between her ribs. She lifted her eyes toward the open doorway. Rune was watching her. His gaze held hers through the shadows of the threshold.
She wasn’t sure if Rune could hear her thoughts or what Lady Zinnia had said. But the way his gaze lingered, dark and unreadable, he had heard enough.
Caelum’s jaw clenched. “Then we should not go at all. Whatever dwells at the ruins—whatever made you—” He shook his head, voice tightening. “It is not a force to reckon with.”
Alora ignored the tremor in his tone. She tied her satchel closed and slung it across her shoulders. “You’re not coming.”
She headed for the door.
Caelum followed. “Alora—”
She rounded on him, voice low and firm. “Caelum, I told you to run. Stop worrying about me.”
Alora stepped outside, marching down the path. Nexus strutted beside her with a soft meow.
Caelum caught her hand. “Forgive me, princess. I couldn’t leave—”
“Queen.” Rune’s low growl cut through the morning like thunder rolling over stone.
He stood now, rising slow and deliberate, shadows trembling around him despite their desertion. His gaze burned as he crossed the space and took Alora’s arm, pulling her free from Caelum’s grasp. He moved with the quiet certainty of a predator reclaiming what was his.
“You stand before my Queen of Shadows,” he rumbled with lethal clarity. “Know that you still breathe because I allow it. Touch her again, and the gods will not find enough pieces of you to bury.”
Caelum didn’t flinch. “She cannot be your true queen when she’s a stolen bride,” he said evenly, canting his head. “I was there when you took her, demon. I couldn’t stop you then, but now…” His eyes raked over Rune’s mortal form. “I’d wager you’d be much easier to kill.”
“Caelum,” Alora hissed under her breath.
So much for trying to keep him alive.
Rune’s lips curved. A silent, deadly promise. His dark chuckle made her skin prickle. The axe in his hand gleamed dangerously as he flexed his grip and Caelum reached for his sword.
She could see it for a moment, the knight challenging the dragon.
If they fought, blood would surely spill and she knew whose.
“Rune,” she sighed tiredly. He is a citizen of Argyle. Your first promise to me was never to harm my people, if you recall. That makes him untouchable.
His gaze slid to her, sharp and assessing from the corner of his eye. Why do you continue to protect this one?
It’s beneath you to threaten someone weaker than you.
Or is it that you would rather not see me behead the man you love.
Her pulse pounded beneath Rune’s stare. Something more than anger coiled in the bond, something raw, territorial, and unmistakable.
Jealousy.