Chapter Eleven
Chapter
Eleven
ELIAS
I'm not accustomed to envy.
Standing near the edge of the ballroom, I watch Malachi with Sage, and I find myself experiencing an unfamiliar tightening in my chest—something I can't quite name, yet recognize instantly.
Frustration.
It's not a feeling I'm familiar with. Usually, my days are calm, controlled, spent buried in old books or deciphering ancient manuscripts. My world is tidy, intellectual, quiet.
But tonight is anything but quiet.
And Sage Holloway is anything but ordinary.
From the moment she opened her mouth, she captured my attention.
Her intellect, sharp and insightful. Her subtle humor and quiet curiosity—qualities rare among these gatherings, where surface charm and manufactured elegance are currency.
She's genuine, an intriguing puzzle I had wanted desperately to understand, to unravel slowly over long conversations in quiet corners.
But Malachi has claimed her.
Across the room, I watch as he leans close, whispering words meant only for her. His gloved hand disappears beneath the hem of her emerald gown, and I see the slight shudder that moves through her, the way her lips part in response.
I look away sharply, irritation twisting tighter inside my chest. This isn't jealousy—not precisely—but something close. Something unsettling. Something that suggests a depth of feeling I hadn't anticipated.
Gideon stands nearby, his posture rigid and unmoving, his gaze fixed stoically ahead. He, too, has chosen no one tonight, though his reasons are different from mine. Gideon rarely indulges openly. He's controlled, disciplined, treating the Ritual more as duty than pleasure.
"Gideon," I greet quietly, joining him near the edge of the room.
He gives a subtle nod, eyes still fixed forward. "Elias."
I follow his gaze, knowing exactly who he's watching. "Interesting night," I remark casually, though my tone is anything but.
His gaze remains steady. "Indeed."
"Malachi seems unusually invested," I observe, testing carefully.
Gideon makes a low noise of acknowledgment, not looking away from Malachi and Sage. "He is."
"Three million," I muse, still processing the unprecedented sum. "For a librarian."
Gideon's brow lifts slightly. "Not just any librarian."
"And you?" I ask, genuinely curious. "No temptation tonight?"
He finally turns toward me, his gaze sharp, considering. "Some temptations are better avoided."
I exhale softly, nodding. "Indeed."
My eyes drift back to Sage. Her expression has shifted, caught somewhere between disbelief and ecstasy, her cheeks flushed, blue-grey eyes wide and uncertain.
I clench my jaw.
It shouldn't matter. There are always other Rituals, other nights, other women.
But Sage is different.
The way she spoke earlier, thoughtful and precise. Her quiet curiosity, her willingness to meet my gaze directly, to challenge me intellectually—it captivated me in a way that beauty alone never could.
I don't want to watch Malachi claim her. To see her taken from me in every possible way.
"I think I've had enough of this," I say quietly, adjusting the cuffs of my jacket, forcing neutrality back into my voice.
Gideon nods slightly, understanding passing between us. "Goodnight, Elias."
I turn away, feeling the tension ease slightly as I step out of the ballroom, leaving the Ritual behind. But even as I depart, I know the frustration will linger—quiet, insistent, unanswered.
Because Sage Holloway is still in there.
And she's with Malachi.