Chapter 25
The halls feel colder now, the usual hum of the palace replaced by an uneasy stillness.
Shadows stretch under the faint glow of auras, and every scuff against floor beneath our feet feels deafening in the silence as we race back to our chambers.
By the time we reach our sanctuary, my legs are trembling under the weight of all that just happened.
Of all that it means.
Nyssa closes the door to my room behind us, then rounds on me, her face pale and her brows knit tightly. She doesn’t speak at first. Instead, she studies me, her eyes flitting over the blood smeared on my skin, the cuts marring my forearms, and the tension coiled in every line of my frame.
“You’re not fine,” she says finally, her voice soft but laced with urgency.
I collapse onto the edge of my bed, burying my head in my hands as waves of exhaustion crash over me. “I’m still standing. That’s…something.”
She crosses the room in two strides and sits beside me, her weight shifting the mattress enough to make me look up.
“Aella.” Her voice edges on sharp, a rare crack in her usual air of control.
“What just happened out there—the blood, the chaos…” She exhales sharply, shaking her head like she’s trying to banish the scene from her mind.
“None of us were ready for this. And Zina—”
I cut her off before she can say it. “I know.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “I know, Nyssa.”
Her expression softens as she takes my hand, guiding me to the bathing chamber.
Kneeling beside the tub, Nyssa works with calm precision, her hands steady as she fills it with warm water.
She steps out to give me privacy, leaving me to soak in the soothing heat, which melts away the lingering chill in my limbs.
When she returns, she carries a bundle of supplies.
I dry myself off and pull on a robe before she sets to work, methodically cleaning the cuts on my arms and carefully tending to the deeper ones.
“You’re lucky none of these need stitches,” she says, a faint smirk tugging at her lips, though her eyes remain focused.
“It turns out Cynna is more capable than I thought.” I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my shoulders loosening ever so slightly under her care.
Nyssa doesn’t respond right away. She finishes wrapping a bandage around my hand, then looks at me, her expression unreadable.
“The way you looked at me tonight,” she says after a moment, “like some self-sacrificing heroine—you will never look at me like that again, Aella Sotiría. I’m not certain of the reason, but I can make an educated guess.
What I need you to understand is that your life, your well-being, and your sanity also mean more to me than my own. ”
Her words hang in the air, leaving me speechless as she packs away the supplies, her movements slow and intentional. I just watch her, the weight of the night pressing down on me. But her presence feels like an anchor, pulling me back piece by piece as the silence lingers.
Eventually, Nyssa breaks it. “You need rest,” she says, her voice steady and commanding in a way that leaves no room for argument. “I know what you’re thinking, and it can all wait until morning. You won’t get answers tonight by tearing yourself apart. Just…sleep, Aella.”
I want to tell her that sleep isn’t what waits for me in the darkness—that the moment I close my eyes, I’ll be back on the stage, in the chaos, watching consciousness slip from Cynna’s wild eyes or hearing Lydia’s screams, again and again.
Instead, I nod. It’s a motion both hollow and desperate, a lie I wish could be the truth.
Nyssa studies me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine.
Then, as if she understands the words I can’t bring myself to say, she presses a kiss to my cheek.
It’s brief, but in it, I feel the weight of her affection, her need to shield me from a storm that’s already passed but still rages inside me.
“Good night,” she says simply, her tone softening as she takes a step back. She moves toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. “And, Aella, if you need me—if the silence becomes too loud—just call. I’m here.”
I try to smile, but it’s weak. She doesn’t wait for a reply, slipping out of the room and closing the door softly behind her.
Nyssa’s words echo in the room’s silence long after the door clicks shut behind her.
I’m here.
A promise of comfort, of stability, yet it feels like a lifeline I can’t reach for.
My chest tightens as the memories press in—Cynna pinned beneath me, the blood pooling beneath Zina’s lifeless body, Keres’s unyielding gaze.
No warm bath or bandages can salve wounds like these, the ones no one can see yet hurt more than anything physical.
The shadows press at the edges of my vision, the faint glow of moonlight from the window doing little to keep them at bay.
My eyes drift to the nightstand beside my bed—the same drawer that holds the small vials of somniseed I swore not to touch again.
But tonight, the pull is stronger than it has been in weeks, a siren’s call promising relief from the endless cycle of reliving choices and regrets that cut deeper than any blade.
I rise to my feet without realizing it, my body acting on its own as I move toward the drawer.
My fingers curl around the handle but stop, frozen.
A part of me knows it’s not rest that the somniseed offers.
Not truly. It’s silence—a numbing, blissful quiet that feels so tempting when the world is too loud.
My hand hovers there, trembling above the drawer for what feels like an eternity, until a knock sounds at the door—a sharp, deliberate sound that finally forces me to take a step back.
When I open the door, Raven stands just outside, his gaze sweeping over me with unnerving precision. His lips press into a thin line, his usually sharp features softened by something unreadable.
“I watched the trial,” he says, wasting no time.
“Of course you did.” My voice carries a bite I don’t mean, but exhaustion dulls my filter.
“I’m not here to lecture you,” Raven counters smoothly, his brows drawing together. “Just to make sure you’re not about to shatter.”
I blink at him, startled by the bluntness of his words. “What makes you think I’m not fine?”
“Because I know you better than that.” He steps closer, his eyes burning into mine, searching for something beneath the surface.
His hand comes up, his fingertips brushing across the dressings on my forearm.
The gesture is gentle, but the touch sends a ripple through me, unseating the composure I’ve been clinging to.
“I knew something wasn’t right,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “Yet I still wasn’t—” My voice cuts off before I can finish the thought, and I press my lips together tightly.
Raven doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand shifts to my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. “You didn’t fail,” he says firmly. “You survived. Just as I said you would.”
“That was when we were talking about nothing more than a dance.”
Raven hums, a low, deep sound that vibrates through my chest as his thumb grazes my bottom lip.
His gaze lingers there, dark and molten, like he’s savoring the memory.
“Were we? Regardless of everything that followed, it was more than a dance. It was a challenge. And I can’t seem to resist answering you. ”
Heat unfurls beneath my skin, his words igniting a spark that continues to build, leaving no part of me untouched. My breath catches as his thumb shifts, brushing against the corner of my mouth, teasing, drawing my gaze to his.
Raven is a contradiction—a storm wrapped in control, a wildfire hiding in shadow. His touch is soft, reverent even, yet his presence dominates the room, pulling every part of me into his orbit. How does he do that? How does he steal the air from my lungs with nothing more than a look?
I’d thought of him as a distraction earlier, and I think that’s what he’s offering me now.
A way to forget. A way to drown myself in something other than the memories of tonight.
Yet Raven is so much more than that. It’s clear how effortlessly he can both soothe my thoughts and stir them into chaos.
How easily he can entrance me with the simple graze of his thumb against my lip or capture my attention with a single glance.
Perhaps, though, a distraction is what I need right now.
“I think I might need a private viewing,” Raven murmurs, his fingers trailing down my jaw, leaving a wake of heat that drowns out the icy ache in my chest. His eyes hold mine, dark and possessive, as though daring me to speak—daring me to stop this.
I should.
The thought rises like a life raft in a storm, fragile but present. This is wrong. This is selfish. I should ask him to leave, to give me space to stitch myself back together. But then his thumb brushes my collarbone, the rough pad teasing the sensitive skin, and my willpower wavers.
The storm in my chest roars, screaming for solace, for an escape. And as Raven leans closer, his breath warm against my neck, I surrender—not just to him, but to the promise of forgetting. Just for a little while.
All I can do is nod, breathless, entranced by the hunger in his amber eyes and the feel of his teasing hands.
Raven tugs at the cord of my robe, untying it with ease. The fabric parts and falls away, leaving my skin exposed to the cool embrace of the air. He pauses, his gaze lingering on me, and I remain still, every inch of my body igniting under the intensity of his desire.
“On the bed, Starling,” Raven commands softly. His voice doesn’t leave room for hesitation, and I realize I don’t want to deny him—not tonight.