Chapter 41 Blood Within the Vein #2
Caelen’s lips curled. “Ah, yes…of course. I can’t tell you how pleased I am with your return.
” He leaned in slightly, voice softening into something that tried to sound intimate.
“I would love to schedule a meeting tomorrow. I can fill you in on all that has happened, and you can tell me everything in return.” His gaze sharpened.
“It seems you’ve come back with stories,” he murmured. “And with…attachments.”
His gaze dipped, lingering where Jakobav stood, a presence hewn from night. “But attachments can be undone.”
She didn’t breathe.
Ella knew he was ambitious, but she didn’t remember him being this forward. Not with her.
His next words brushed her ear, quiet enough to be mistaken for affection.
“But do be careful, Ellandria. You wouldn’t want the wrong man to think he has any claim on you.”
Jakobav moved with a quiet, lethal restraint, and Caelen’s smile faltered.
Only then did Caelen raise his voice enough for the nearby courtiers to hear.
“Prince Jakobav,” he said, bowing with razor-edged elegance. “Orchid welcomes you. Do enjoy the evening. This night is important for us all.”
Jakobav’s jaw flexed. “Oh, I intend to.”
Ella felt the tension draw tight as a bowstring.
Caelen’s hand lifted before she could step back, his knuckles brushing her cheek.
“Ellandria, be sure to save a dance for me.” He said her name like he owned it.
Then he strode to the far corner of the hall and leaned against a pillar as though the place belonged to him, his tunic gleaming with gold and self-importance.
Ella swallowed and turned toward Jakobav. “Would you like to go outside for a moment? I need some air.”
His expression eased by a fraction. “Thought you’d never ask.”
They stepped onto the balcony. A faint sea breeze moved across the terrace, reaching her beneath the stone arches. Ella inhaled deeply.
Jakobav rested a hand against the railing, watching her. “Tell me the truth. Are you alright?”
Ella gave a small, tired exhale. “I should be asking you that. Not everyone has been…friendly.”
“Friendly is generous,” he said, though his tone stayed even. “I expected worse.”
“Not all of them were that bad,” she said.
His gaze flicked back to the hall. “One was.”
Ella didn’t deny it.
Jakobav angled his head toward her. “I’ll get us two goblets of wine. We can stay out here as long as you want.” His mouth pulled into a slow, unexpected smile. “Forever, if you like.”
Something in her chest softened. “Thank you.”
He gave a brief nod and disappeared inside.
For the first time since stepping into the hall, the air moved through her freely. The balcony was quiet. Open. Real. A place untouched by expectations or watching eyes.
She wasn’t alone for long.
Unsteady footsteps approached.
Caelen emerged from the shadows at the far end of the terrace, the polite facade he’d worn inside nowhere in sight. The lanternlight caught the faint flush along his cheekbones; the wine had settled deep.
“So this is where you’re hiding,” he said.
Ella straightened. “I came out for air.”
“You came out here to avoid him.” Caelen stepped closer, his eyes unfocused but intent. “Interesting.”
She kept her voice level. “Go back inside, Caelen. You’re drunk.”
He laughed—quiet, humorless. “And you’re na?ve if you think that matters anymore.”
His expression tightened. Gone was the polished boy she’d once trusted. So was the pleasant courtier. What stood before her now was someone adulterated by ambition and bitterness and too much power left unchecked.
“I waited for you,” he said, stopping a breath away. “Years. And you return with him?”
“Jakobav is—”
“Not the point.” Caelen’s voice dropped lower. “You were promised to Orchid. Promised to me. That is how this kingdom will survive.” His gaze hardened, voice gaining a new severity. “But if you refuse me…Eryndor will be the next to die.”
The world narrowed.
“What did you just say?” Ella whispered.
Caelen leaned in, the wine on his breath harsh and overwhelming now. “I said your father is a liability. And I don’t let liabilities stand in the way of what must be done. Besides—he knows too much.”
Her hand moved toward her blade on instinct, but Caelen was faster, fingers closing around her wrist.
Heat surged instantly beneath his grip. A rising burn that dug into her skin and climbed with dangerous intensity.
Pain surged up her arm. She tried to pull free. His grip only tightened.
“Don’t,” he murmured. “You’ll make this worse.”
Heat pressed deeper, steady and relentless, weakening her knees.
Gods. He might actually kill me.
She’d sensed something different about him, not just his appearance. His Veinfire had grown stronger. That shouldn’t have been possible.
The burn dug past skin and into an agonizing pain. She didn’t know how long she could withstand it before her body gave out.
Behind them, the balcony door opened.
Two goblets slipped from Jakobav’s hands and hit the stone, wine spilling across the floor.
His entire body went still.
“Touch her for another fucking second,” Jakobav said, voice low and clear, “and you won’t leave this balcony alive.”
Caelen didn’t release her.
He didn’t flinch.
“Jake—wait. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
Caelen turned his head slightly, his grip still locked around Ella’s wrist. “You can go back inside now,” he said calmly. “We have catching up to do. I apologize if I worried you, but she’s taken care of.”
“Ella,” Jakobav said, his eyes fixed on Caelen’s hand, “come here.”
She tried to step back; Caelen’s hold didn’t budge.
“How bold of you to bring your leash into Orchid, Ellandria,” Caelen murmured.
Jakobav bared his teeth, releasing a low warning growl. “Careful,” he said softly. “You’re confusing which one of us is on a leash.”
Caelen straightened, color climbing his cheekbones. “You don’t realize who you’re up against, brute. No matter. You’ll learn. Ellandria was always meant to stand beside me. That was the plan before she ran off to”—his gaze dragged slowly over Ella, voice dropping low—“play in enemy beds.”
Jakobav’s hand twitched toward his blade, and Ella’s chest tightened.
“Jakobav,” she hissed under her breath.
But Caelen only smiled wider. “Tell me, Ellandria—does he touch you the way I will? Does he know everything you’re destined to become?
Everything that was promised to me.” His eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper now.
“Think of it. The power we would wield as a mated pair.”
The last tether snapped. Jakobav reacted, closing the distance, a cold fury radiating from him.
The sword sang free of its sheath, slicing through the air.
Caelen’s grip didn’t lessen. Fire bloomed across his arms, crawling like molten veins until his skin glowed from within.
The heat rippled outward, piercing and metallic, like iron left in the forge too long.
Sweat prickled at her brow, her silk skirt clinging damp against her legs.
He flexed his fingers, and flame snaked down them in dark-orange threads, eager to ignite.
“Veinfire,” Ella whispered to Jakobav, knowing a warning wouldn’t save him from it.
Caelen’s grin turned venomous, and his other hand closed around her forearm before she could twist away, power licking across her skin, her veins flaring with sudden light.
Ella gasped and yanked back, a thin scorch streaking across her arm like venom.
Veinfire behaved differently than any other Orchid flame.
It couldn’t burn cloth. It was hungry only for flesh, eager to sear deeply, devouring its victim from inside out, from soul to skin.
It was the only fire Ella couldn’t bend to her will.
Jakobav moved. His sword slammed down between them, sparks flaring as metal met flame. The smell of scorched skin permeated the air. His gaze snapped to her arm, to the faint glow beneath her skin, and something inside him seemed to lock into place. His voice came out low and very calm.
“You should never touch a woman who wants nothing from you,” Jakobav said, each word slow and lethal. “You are nothing.”
His sword hit Caelen hard, driving him back a full step and ripping his hand off her. Ella stumbled free, scrambling behind Jakobav as he stepped forward, placing himself squarely between them.
Caelen’s hand shot toward Jakobav’s throat.
If he got a grip, those deadly veins would blaze under Jakobav’s skin—and strength wouldn’t matter. Veinfire would kill him.
But Jakobav moved faster.
Steel clashed against fire, sparks flying. Caelen swung again, and this time, the Veinfire latched onto Jakobav, searing across his knuckles and spreading up his arm. He didn’t pull his arm back.
Why wasn’t he moving?
Fuck.
Ella’s stomach plunged.
Gods, he was letting the Veinfire take him, devouring him from the inside out. She could already see the blaze climbing.
He’s going to burn for me.
“Jake!” she screamed, the name tearing from her throat like it could drag him back from the fire.
Caelen braced wide, both arms outstretched, fingers clawed as if he could rip Jakobav open with sheer force. Veinfire poured from him in a torrent, veins glowing like molten ore, the blaze lashing straight into Jakobav.
Ella held her breath, waiting for grief and devastation, for Jakobav to scream, to fall.
“No!” she yelled, the plea echoing through the night air.
The balcony doors slammed open.
Light and voices spilled out as King Eryndor stepped onto the terrace, half the council crowding behind him. Their laughter died instantly at the sight—Caelen stood wreathed in Veinfire, Jakobav staggering under the force of it, Ella scorched and pinned helplessly against the railing.
“Caelen, stop!” Eryndor roared. “Stand down at once!”
Caelen didn’t turn.
He ignored the king entirely, the veins in his arms burning brighter as he poured more power into Jakobav.
Jakobav raised one hand as though to ward it off, his body rigid, jaw clenched, the fire searing across his skin until Ella swore she could smell ash.
Her stomach dropped.
Jakobav’s head snapped up, teeth bared in a feral smile, and then he struck.
His other hand flashed, steel gleaming as a second, smaller blade—one he must have kept hidden—arced swiftly, scoring a shallow line across Caelen’s forearm.
Not deep, but just enough to open him, and blood welled bright against the heat.
Jakobav angled the blade, letting a single drop roll toward its tip.
His tongue flicked against the steel, and the moment the blood touched him, his veins lit like fire catching oil.
Caelen froze at the horrific sight.
His nostrils flared, his body tightening as though the blood itself was singing through him, power thrumming in his bones. Veinfire radiated from him, alive, his skin glowing with stolen flame.
Jakobav smiled wider, and Caelen looked both stunned and disgusted.
He wielded it with devastation, flaring bigger and brighter than it had on Caelen, the result of years of practice with borrowed powers and necessary brutality.
Caelen staggered back, his own veins flaring in response, his voice breaking into a snarl. “Mine!”
Jakobav’s grin was pure ruin. “It’s mine now. Just like she never was, and never will be, yours.”
He raised his hand, and flame erupted under Caelen’s skin, crawling up his neck, illuminating every vein in his body splitting apart in branching red fissures.
A court member gasped just before Caelen screamed, his arrogance melting into raw panic. His own magic betrayed him, burning through him where everyone could see.
Jakobav stepped close, his voice a growl meant for Caelen’s ears alone. “This is what you are. Hollow fire in hollow veins.”
Then he slammed the hilt of his sword into Caelen’s jaw, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious, his glowing veins dimming to nothing.
Silence swallowed the court.
Jakobav stood over him, chest heaving, dark eyes sweeping the stunned faces watching him. His mouth was stained red at the corner—a smear of blood he didn’t bother to wipe. He looked less like a guest, less like a prince, and more like a weapon forged for nights exactly like this.
No one stepped forward. No one dared.
Jakobav turned, his gaze finding the scorch mark on her arm. His jaw hardened. Without a word, he closed the distance, lifted her, and swung her over his shoulder.
A murmur of shock, courtiers parting in a wave. Her hair spilled down his back, and her fists beat once against him before she went limp.
Jake is alive.
The balcony tilted, her view reduced to Jakobav’s back, the hard line of muscle beneath black leather. Heat radiated from him, every step jolting, her stomach flipping as much from the position as from the way he carried her—like she was his prize, his proof, his fury.
“Put me down,” she hissed, too low for anyone else to hear.
His grip only tightened around her thighs. “Not a chance.”
The court’s whispers chased them.
Warlord. Weapon. Beautiful. Dangerous.
And gods help her, part of her didn’t care. Suspended over his shoulder, Ella’s pulse hammered, torn between outrage and a wild, treacherous thrill.
As they passed the crowd, she caught her father’s gaze upside down and muttered through clenched teeth, “Don’t look at me.”
Eryndor did anyway, his expression unreadable, somewhere between fear and a terrible sort of pride. His voice reached her, low enough that only those nearest could hear.
“So much like your mother.”
Nira and Marisol stood beside him, smiling. Ella watched, mortified, as they exchanged a quick glance, both of them blushing and barely hiding their giggles as she was carried past.
Jakobav didn’t slow. He carried her through the doorway and into the castle as if nothing were amiss—as if he’d simply grown tired of the banquet and chosen to leave. Behind them, the Court of Rumors fell into a stunned silence.
Her return to Orchid wasn’t off to a great start. She felt less like a graceful queen-to-be and more like a sack of potatoes.