16. 16 #2
I feel like I have not been given the proper alone time to process any of what is happening, and now I have powers I have to understand on top of everything else.
Sarah, they won’t leave you alone because you now hold the answers to all their problems.
He dips his head, the gesture sincere. “My apologies. I'm used to having access to the royal chambers. These chambers used to be mine before I became king. Old habits, not an excuse.”
“Why are you here, Orion?” I skip past his honesty, trying to reveal his reasoning for the late—and abrupt—interruption.
The scales add an interesting problem I now have to face. As if the magic I've acquired isn't enough. But the constant moving and thinking required has made this interaction harder to focus on.
“I wanted to talk about the message in the bottle.” His eyes scan the floor.
My brows lift. “Didn’t seem like something you were eager to share.”
I don’t say anything about the questions spinning in my head.
The moment that guard handed him the bottle, something about it tugged at me.
Maybe it’s just human nature—to wonder, to imagine what kind of message might be sealed inside.
The paper from inside the bottle resembled copy paper.
I haven’t seen that used here, not when every scroll I’ve seen is made from magically bound kelp that shimmers like silk.
That detail alone—someone from the surface must have sent it. But why? And why to him?
My body shivers from that thought. Goosebumps rise on my arms and the back of my neck.
Could this be the danger he warned me about back in my penthouse?
When he said it was easy for him to track the magic attached to me from within?
It didn't even occur to me that the danger was ocean-bound and could follow us here too.
“That is actually why I came to you,” he says, stepping closer. I instinctively shift back, the wall pressing cold against my spine, my doors closing shut next to me. “The message was written on a material unfamiliar to me. Do you know what it is?”
“You don’t know what paper is?” I ask, crossing my arms, trying to mask my surprise—and maybe how close he’s standing in front of me.
“I know many things,” he says smoothly, a slight smirk catches at the corners of his lips. “But not everything. The surface world remains . . . elusive.”
His eyes flick over my face, and I hate that my pulse skips. A breath passes between us and my breathing becomes erratic. Why does his presence affect me like this? The silence stretches, heavy with questions neither of us is ready to ask out loud.
“It comes from trees, which are on the surface, yes.” I narrow my eyes slightly. “But who would send something like that . . . to you?”
That question lands. His jaw tightens for just a second before he exhales slowly and looks at me—really looks at me.
“That's what I have been asking myself for hours.” His voice is quiet now, calculating. “But whoever it is, they knew it had to be seen by someone who would understand the world above.” He hesitates, his hand fidgets at his side.
The air seems denser suddenly. I blink. “What are you saying? You think they sent it to me?” I ask, but the weight in my chest tells me I already know the answer.
He steps back, giving me space, or maybe testing if I’ll close it.
“Not just to you,” he says, voice steady but low. “To us.”
That answer lands sharper than I expected.
“Whoever sent it, they know you are here. They know about your magic. Which means they found a way to trace it, all the way to my kingdom. That alone is dangerous.” He pauses, watching me closely.
“But the message was not hidden. It was left in the open, in place of the scrolls in the Redlock Chamber. That is a statement. They wanted me to see it.” He exhales, brow furrowed.
“And that is what unsettles me. Because if they went through all that trouble to locate you, breach a locked chamber, and leave this in its wake—knowing a guard would bring it to me.” His mouth settles into a hard line.
“Then I think this message was not just meant to draw me in. It was meant to show us they are here, and they are watching.”
The space around us suddenly feels smaller.
“And whoever sent it,” he finishes, “they are playing a game we haven't even begun to understand.”
His hand tightens around the bottle, knuckles pale against the glass. He has not let it go since it was brought to us, like part of him doesn't trust it not to vanish.
“What did it say?” I ask quietly, biting the inside of my cheek until it burns and the taste of copper coats my tongue.
He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw shifts, like he’s grinding his frustration down before it can break free. Then, through clenched teeth and a voice held tight by restraint, he reveals the words on the paper:
“You may have your father’s magic—thanks to her—but I took his life and I stole your magical scrolls . . . What shall I take next?”
I blink, heart thudding. “That’s it?”
“It's more than enough,” he says, the words edged with fury. “They didn't just admit to killing my father—they are mocking me.”
I don’t know how to respond. It’s clear in the message. They want Orion to know they killed his father. What’s even crazier is that they know I have his father’s magic.
“How do they know I have his magic?”
“As far as I can tell,” he says, as his grip on the bottle tightens further, glass straining beneath his finger, “they know about his magic because they want it for themselves. He had power, and when it became clear my father no longer possessed it, they killed him. The trail was traceable—just as I traced it—and after I found you, they followed us.”