16. 16 #3
I feel the shift immediately—the air between us thickens as his stare turns unyielding. The threat isn’t just his to carry. It’s mine too. He draws a measured breath, the quietness stretching as he searches for the right words.
“Wait, something doesn’t make sense. If they wanted my powers, wouldn’t they have come after me?” I ask. “Why breach a high security area, steal everything inside, and then leave this note in their place?”
I watch him for a moment, the tension continuing to bleed off him like invisible sweat, calculation replacing fury as he works my question through his mind, shifting the path of his thoughts.
“They’re playing a game. They want us to play, too,” he says.
“Why didn’t you tell everyone what was written on this paper in the meeting?” I ask, keeping my voice mellow. “They could help, couldn’t they?”
“No, they cannot,” he says. “Sharing this now would raise more questions than it resolves. As king, I must have those answers before I share anything.”
“Then why come to me?” I question, unsure as to where this conversation is leading.
During the council meeting, when I stood and announced what I read on the scroll, I remember the way my voice rang out—clear, steady, and louder than I tried to be.
I felt brave then. Confident, even. Like I was stepping into something that had been waiting for me all along.
The chamber had gone silent. Everyone’s eyes were on me.
Yet I didn’t falter. So sure of myself, I committed right there—declaring I would learn, adapt, and become part of this life I’d only just been introduced to.
I spoke the words without hesitation, without truly knowing what that commitment would mean. No logistics. No fears. Just a feeling that it was right.
I’m certain Orion remembers. He was watching me when I said it. He’ll hold me to it. He’s the king, so why wouldn’t he? Especially now, with someone clearly watching us from the shadows, tracking my magic across the ocean and into this kingdom.
The decision didn’t come from thought; it came from somewhere deeper.
Instinct, maybe. Or that quiet hum beneath my skin, the magic that hadn’t been there before, or at least not like this.
It pulses faintly now, a presence just beneath the surface, responding to something I don’t fully understand.
Guiding me in ways my mind hasn’t caught up with yet.
“I came to you because you are a part of this as much as I am,” he says, confidently. “And I want to verify something.” He hesitates, his eyes flicking away. Like whatever he’s about to say is personal. The twist in my stomach is immediate.
He stands with his arms loosely behind his back, too formal for a conversation like this. He’s not facing me fully anymore, angled just enough to make me feel like I’m being kept at a distance. Like my decision back in that council room was something he expected, not something he trusted.
“I need to know if what you said in the meeting is true,” he says at last, carefully. “Are you actually willing to train your magic? To help us face this threat in my kingdom?”
The pause in between his words feels more intense than it should. Not because of what he’s asking, but because of how he’s not asking it. His tone is measured. Almost detached, like he’s keeping part of himself locked away from this conversation, from me.
“I can,” I say quietly, “but I’m nervous about what I’ve gotten myself into.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
Not because they’re untrue, but because admitting them out loud makes them real.
I push off from the wall, suddenly too aware of the tightness in my chest. The air feels thick, almost like molasses, resisting every movement I make. I can barely draw a full breath.
I cross the room and place my hands on the coral-carved table beside my bed. The surface is cool beneath my palms, smoothed into delicate spirals and grooves. But I can’t focus on the texture.
My scales are itching again—no, burning.
The ones stretching from my chest to my hips feel like sandpaper grinding against my skin, scraping with every small movement.
My hands grow clammy. Dampness collects in my palms, and I blink, disoriented by the shimmer of my own reflection on the polished surface.
My face flushes. Heat blooms across my cheeks, then surges through my body like wildfire under my skin.
My heart pounds until I feel each pulse echo in my ears.
Too fast. Too loud. And suddenly, I feel weightless.
As if my limbs are floating slightly above me.
My feet are still planted on the ground, but they feel wrong.
Unattached. My fingers tingle, and my head swims, but my body grows impossibly heavy, like I’m sinking into the floor and lifting off from it at the same time.
I glance toward Orion. He’s staring at me. His mouth is moving. He’s saying something, maybe calling my name, but the sound doesn’t reach me. Everything is muffled, like I’ve slipped underwater without meaning to.
The edges of my vision blur and darken. I try to say something, anything, but the words scatter before they form.
And then, nothing.