Chapter 14 #2
He almost grinned. “We’d have to ditch Max, though.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at his aide trailing a respectful distance behind us.
“I can help with that.” I looked him up and down. “But, maybe you should change first? Those clothes don’t exactly scream ruin-crawling.”
He looked down at his finely embroidered coat and sighed. “Point taken.”
“Do you own anything that isn’t designer, Your Grace?” I smiled.
“I might be able to scrounge an old uniform,” he said, scratching his nose, pretending to be modest.
I glanced toward Max, who was very clearly pretending not to eavesdrop.
“Meet me there in an hour?” I asked quietly.
Caelen nodded. “I’ll be there. But what about - ” he gestured behind us.
I glanced toward Max, then leaned in slightly. “Want me to handle that?”
Caelen raised a brow. “I’d be impressed if you could.”
I turned and called sweetly, “Max?”
The aide stepped closer, bowing slightly. “My lady?”
I smiled, sugar-sweet. “Would you mind taking something to the council wing for me? A small gift for Prince Caelen—silver ribbon, on the queen’s desk.”
He blinked. “Uh… yes. Of course.”
“Thank you so much, Max. I really appreciate it.”
He hesitated for just a beat—then bowed again and turned, hurrying off without another word.
I turned back to Caelen.
“You’re welcome,” I said dryly, brushing a flower petal off my sleeve.
He laughed out loud. “Too easy.” He brushed my shoulder and slipped away.
**
I waited in the dark of the ruins.
The door had been boarded long ago, but I’d found a way in—
through a warped side window, barely wide enough to squeeze through.
Dust hung thick in the air, catching faint streaks of light like cobwebs spun from gold.
The scent was stone and ash.
I let my shadows curl around me like a second skin, cloaking the space.
The quiet helped. So did the dark.
Then I heard footsteps—slow, deliberate.
Caelen ducked inside, his cloak pulled tight, the hood shadowing his face.
And for one awful second—I froze.
Something in the shape of him, the sharp silhouette, the way the light cut across the dark—
My stomach clenched, cold. Reflexive.
Vael.
The thought flared like pain—but then Caelen pulled the hood back, and it was gone.
Just Caelen. Just a boy in the ruins.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“Did I startle you?” he asked, his voice low.
“No,” I said quickly. Too quickly. The word cut sharper than I meant it to.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me. “You sure?”
I looked away. “It’s fine.”
He didn’t press. Just stepped fully inside and let the door swing shut behind him.
The room plunged into stillness again.
“Gods,” he whispered, glancing around. “It’s worse than I remember.”
I let the shadows slip back into my skin, revealing more of the space.
Ash-streaked stone. Collapsed beams. A ruined fireplace in the far corner. And near the wall—char marks crawling up toward the ceiling, black like claw marks.
He pulled back the boards revealing the dark sitting room within.
Melted wallpaper hung in ribbons from the scorched stone. The wooden framework was collapsed in places, blackened and broken.
Caelen stepped in first, testing the floorboards with deliberate care. They creaked but held.
I followed on lighter feet, shadows still twitching just beneath my skin.
Then, absurdly, I snorted.
Caelen turned, startled. “What?”
I glanced around at the ruins, the soot-streaked walls, the half-collapsed ceiling.
“For a moment, this place reminded me of home,” I said dryly.
His brow furrowed. “You mean Varrowmere?”
“It’s dark and cold, a lot like this. Plus, it stinks half the time.”
“And the other half?”
“It burns.”
Caelen sent me a soft look. Almost pitying.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
“Don’t. Seriously.”
“Elira…”
“For real, Caelen. It’s not necessary.”
“Okay,” he said, his voice deceptively calm.
“But for what it’s worth? Even in a place like this… you’d still shine.”
I flushed. Gods. “Stop flirting with me. It’s weird.”
“Is it?”
“Yes!” I grumbled, turning away so he wouldn’t see the heat creeping up my neck. “I’ve already got a full deck of emotionally confusing men, thank you very much.”
“Do your men not flirt with you?” he asked, his voice annoyingly soft.
“They’re not my men…”
A pause. A beat too long.
“Do they know that?” he said, too casual to be casual.
I shot him a look. “I mean—yeah. Of course I care about them. A lot. But I don’t expect anything—”
I caught myself, flustered. “Stop it. We’re exploring. Focus, Your Grace.”
He laughed quietly behind me.
A tattered length of curtain was crumpled on the ground like old skin.
Then—up ahead. A mouse.
It froze for a heartbeat, nose twitching, then darted forward.
I stiffened.
Not unusual, but something about it… pulled at me.
Small. Grey. Quiet.
I stepped forward, following.
It skittered down the hall, tail flicking behind it like a whisper. Toward a staircase, still mostly intact despite the fire.
“Elle?” Caelen asked behind me. “Where are you—?”
“I saw something,” I said quickly. “I’ll just be a minute.”
I slipped through the threshold, the ruined door hanging askew.
The mouse was gone. But I could hear it.
Little scratches on stone. Just ahead.
“What was up there?” I asked, my voice louder than I intended in the heavy silence.
He glanced up the ruined staircase. “The bedrooms. And an office, I believe.”
I placed my foot on the first step. It creaked beneath me—long, slow, ominous.
Caelen hissed through his teeth. “Maybe we shouldn’t go up there.”
“I have to,” I murmured.
My shadows were already moving.
They slid from my skin and spilled toward the top of the stairs—like smoke caught on a breeze only they could feel.
They weren’t threatening.
They were reaching.
Remembering.
Caelen stayed at the bottom, clearly uncomfortable.
“Elira—”
“It’s okay,” I said, not sure if I was lying.
I moved slowly. Each step groaned underfoot. The air grew colder with movement. My shadows crawled ahead of me like they knew the way.
When I reached the landing, the hallway was scorched black. Doors on either side—some splintered open, others barely clinging to their hinges.
I walked toward the one at the end. The shadows clustered at the end of the hall.
“Alistair’s office,” I whispered.
The words felt strange in my mouth. Not foreign—just buried. Like I hadn’t said that name aloud in a very long time.
I stepped inside.
My footsteps were muffled by the shaggy remnants of what used to be a grand carpet—now mostly char and threadbare edges.
The room was scorched like the rest of the wing, but quieter somehow.
The stillness felt… personal. Held.
Bookshelves lined the walls, many of them collapsed in on themselves. Bits of burnt paper and ash coated the floor from the fallen books.
Then I heard it.
A soft thump.
I turned—just as Nyx leapt silently onto the ruined desk near the far wall. She landed with the elegance of something far too ancient to be feline.
She stared at me. Unblinking.
Like she'd been waiting.
“Hey you,” I said. “Been a while pussy cat,”
She kept her golden green eyes fixed on me.
I stepped toward the ruined bookshelf and ran my fingers through the thick layer of dust.
My hands came away black with soot. I coughed once—sharply—but leaned in anyway.
Drawn.
I pressed deeper, brushing aside more char and ash, and felt it. A shift beneath my fingertips. Cold. Solid.
Metal. Like a safe door, hidden behind the wall.
“Ellie?”
I turned at the sound of Caelen’s voice.
He stood in the doorway, blinking at the sight of Nyx perched calmly on the desk.
She stared back at him, unbothered.
“Why is there a cat in here?” he asked, clearly thrown.
“She’s a friend,” I said, straightening. “Come here. I found something.”
He hesitated—then stepped carefully across the ruined floor, eyeing Nyx like she might bite him.
I reached toward the edge again, fingers trailing along the cold seam of metal beneath the soot.
As I pressed my hand into the crevice, something shifted—clicked—and then—
Pain.
I jerked back with a hiss, cradling my hand.
A thin cut bloomed across my palm, fresh blood rising to the surface.
“What the—” I began, but the words caught in my throat.
The wall responded.
With a heavy groan, the panel creaked inward, the edges grinding against scorched stone as a compartment slid open—revealing a small, charred box tucked inside.
Behind me, Caelen let out a quiet breath.
“Blood lock,” he said softly. “Old magic. I've only ever read about them.”
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Nyx leapt down from the desk with a soft thud and padded silently toward me, her eyes fixed on the opened space.
I pressed the heel of my hand to my chest, the cut still stinging, shadows flickering faintly beneath my skin.
I reached in.
The box was metal—cool and blackened, but intact.
Old, but waiting. Meant to outlast fire. Meant to find me.
I set it carefully on the desk. Nyx brushed against my side, silent and steady, like she was grounding me. Or guarding me.
Caelen hovered just behind me, voice low.
“Do you want me to open it?”
“No. I can do it.” I said softly. I slipped the latch and pulled it open.
Inside lay a small leather-bound book, charred around the corners but otherwise intact.
And beside it, nestled in dark velvet, a gold medallion.
Both were marked with the same symbol.
A curling, intricate emblem etched deep into the metal and pressed into the book’s cover. It looked like a dragon—wings unfurled, tail wrapped in a circle, jaws open like it was breathing fire.
I blinked.
That was impossible.
The dragons were gone. Dead. Right?
I reached for the medallion. It fit in my hand like it belonged there. I swore, even for a moment, it warmed at my touch.
“What the hell is this?” I whispered.
Caelen looked just as confused. He picked up the book and started leafing through it.
“It’s blank,” He said, his voice surprised.
I took the book back. Lines of script, curling and sharp, covered the page as clear as ink drawn just seconds ago.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, eyes scanning the page.
“I can see everything.”
He stepped closer, peering over my shoulder.
“I swear, I don’t—” He stopped. “It’s still blank for me.”
I looked at him, heart hammering.
“It’s not blank for me.”
The first line shimmered at the top of the page, as if written in light rather than ink:
To the one who bears my name—
If you are reading this, then the blood of Virell still burns.
The dragons shall rise again.
“Holy crap,” I said.
Outside, the stillness shattered— shouts, hurried footsteps, the sharp edge of panic carried on the wind.
I stiffened.
“Something’s happening,” Caelen said, turning toward the door. His voice was clipped. Alert.
“We have to go.”