Chapter 32 #2
Only then do I notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, the exhaustion he isn’t even trying to hide anymore, and the way his hair keeps falling across his forehead like he’s been dragging his hands through it for days.
He looks like he hasn’t slept since I disappeared.
I lift a hand to push his hair back from his forehead.
Ciaran goes completely still beneath my touch before closing his eyes briefly.
Then he presses one last kiss against the corner of my mouth and eases me carefully against his side, one arm wrapping around my shoulders as he shifts us both closer toward the edge of the bed.
The enormous windows beside us come fully into view. And I genuinely forget how to breathe.
The estate sprawls across the hills below us, dark glass and black stone reflecting the morning light while water winds through the grounds and guards patrol the terraces below.
Beyond it, Sero rises gold beneath the haze, stretching farther than I can even take in from here.
“Good Light.” I stare out across the estate. “You grew up here?”
Ciaran hums, his fingers idly tracing circles around my shoulders as though the estate, the city, and half the Reach belong to him. The annoying thing is that he isn’t wrong.
My gaze catches on the landing platform carved into the hillside below. “Wait. Did you carry me all the way up from down there?”
“Mouse.” His arm tightens around my shoulders. “You keep nearly dying. I’m starting to think carrying you around afterward is part of the relationship.”
Heat rushes straight to my face.
Outside, one of the bikes roars to life far below the terrace while sunlight spills across the hills surrounding the estate, gold catching against glass and black stone and moving water.
For the first time since the forest, I let myself believe I’m not going back.
With Ciaran’s arm still wrapped around my shoulders, I stare out across the estate.
Safe.
For the first time in a very long time, I might believe it.
By the second evening, I’m going out of my mind.
My ribs still hurt when I move too quickly and the bruises haven’t completely faded. But after two days of staring at the same walls, the same windows, and the same stretch of sky beyond the estate, I’d rather risk irritating three doctors than spend another night trapped in this room.
I stand in front of the mirror, fastening the last button of my shirt, and try not to think too hard about the fact that I’m about to have dinner with the Virels. My stomach disagrees with that plan.
The multi-slate on the dresser lights up with yet another message from Damaris.
if they murder you at dinner, cough twice and i’ll come save you
A second message arrives before I can answer.
actually, don’t cough twice, your ribs are broken. just text me
also, i’m already downstairs
no one warned me these people live in an actual fucking castle
Despite everything, I laugh. It hurts, but it feels good.
Damaris has been sending messages almost hourly since I woke up, alternating between threats, medical advice he definitely isn’t qualified to give, and increasingly dramatic complaints about the estate.
Somehow, we still haven’t managed to see each other, and I’m beginning to suspect somebody made sure of that.
“You’re nervous.”
I glance up to find Ciaran standing across the room, fastening the cuff around his sleeve.
“I’m not nervous.”
His eyebrows rise. “Mouse.”
Before I can argue, he’s crossing the room. He stops in front of me, slides a finger beneath my jaw, and tips my head upward. “You still tired?”
“A little.”
His thumb brushes my skin. “You don’t have to do this tonight.”
I stare at him. “You’ve spent two days refusing to let me walk to the bathroom alone.”
“That’s different.”
“You threatened a doctor yesterday.”
“He deserved it.” His thumb brushes my jaw again, the teasing disappearing from his expression. “Mouse. You can stay upstairs if you want.”
I know he means it, and part of me is tempted. But the other part is going out of its mind. And if I’m honest, I want to see Damaris.
“No.”
His brows lift. “No?”
I shake my head. “It’s your family. Besides, Dama has sent me fourteen messages threatening to stage a rescue if nobody lets him upstairs.”
Amusement flickers across his face as he opens the door for me. “Come on then.”
The elevator ride downstairs feels like descending into another universe, glass walls sliding silently around us while level after level of dark stone, water, and gold light opens beneath the estate.
Every rich person in this house appears to be armed, and the dining room waiting below is bigger than most buildings back in Düren. I almost stop walking, but Ciaran’s hand finds my lower back. “Breathe, mouse.”
“There are armed guards standing beside the wine.”
“That’s normal.”
“For who?”
“For us.”
My feet almost stop again, but Ciaran’s hand slides from my back to the nape of my neck and guides me forward.
“Mom. Rowan.”
Angela’s smile appears, one hand extending toward me. “Come here, sweetheart.”
And for some reason, that is infinitely more terrifying than the armed guards.
I hesitate before taking a few careful steps forward.
Angela somehow seems to know exactly where I am despite not being able to see me.
Her fingertips brush my cheek, then my jaw and temple, tracing my features before falling away again, heat climbing up my neck in their wake.
“Sit down, darling.” One elegant hand gestures toward the table. “And tell me something. Where did you learn to play like that?”
A servant appears beside my chair, but Ciaran shoulders past him before he can touch it, pulling it out himself.
“Thank you. My sister taught me. Then teachers. And practice.”
I lower myself carefully into the chair, not entirely sure whether I’m talking to Angela, the servant, or Ciaran.
Angela hums. “Only musicians ever answer like that.”
Two women sit farther down the table near her, both dressed in dark jewel tones and enough diamonds to make me nervous.
“So this is the musician,” one of them purrs.
“My aunts.” Ciaran leans back in his chair beside me.
The other woman studies me over the rim of her wine glass. “Oh, I like him.”
Ciaran groans. “Don’t encourage them.”
That earns a laugh from both women.
I glance over and find Lucan half sprawled across his chair with Damaris occupying most of his lap. My friend lights up the second he spots me.
“Ro!”
He tries to stand, but Lucan pulls him back with a dark chuckle. “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”
“I wanted—” Damaris flushes crimson, and more laughter follows.
“I know what you wanted.” Leaning in, Lucan leaves a trail of kisses down Damaris’s throat. “And it’s not going to happen.”
I roll my eyes. Apparently Damaris found somebody capable of matching his level of drama.
“Look at you.” His smile softens. “Standing upright. Walking. Being medically irresponsible. I'm so proud.”
“Hi, Dama.”
“I'm really happy you're okay.”
He’s not the only one. Because something in my chest eases at the sight of my best friend tucked against Lucan’s side, his arm draped around Damaris’s waist as though it belongs there.
Damaris catches me looking and rolls his eyes. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
Lucan glances between us. “Thinking what?”
Damaris stuffs a piece of bread into his mouth before pointing at Lucan. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Outside on the terrace, Rafe is already stripping off his shirt beside the glowing pool.
Watching from the table, Rafe’s mother sighs. “You’re not actually getting in there, are you?”
Rafe points two fingers at her, then dives backward into the pool anyway, a massive splash echoing across the terrace.
She shakes her head. “There he is. I was starting to worry he was behaving himself.”
The blond man I vaguely recognize as Marius is staring down at his multi-slate, pale hair falling across his forehead and framing clear blue eyes that belong on a holo advertisement.
Right now, he looks one text message away from a breakdown.
“You’re sexting at dinner?” Lucan asks.
“Mind your business.”
“You’re smiling at the screen.”
“Didn’t know your face could do that, little bro,” Rafe calls from the pool.
Marius finally looks up. “Didn’t know yours could form complete sentences.”
“Ouch. Brotherly love. So cute.” Ciaran drags his chair a little closer to mine, and I become painfully aware that everyone appears to be watching me.
One of Angela’s sisters smiles. “Christian’s still complaining, by the way.”
Angela takes a sip of wine. “He’ll survive.”
“You banned him from dinner.”
“I wanted to meet Rowan properly.”
Servants move around the table, filling glasses and setting down baskets of warm bread while conversation drifts between the others.
Outside, Rafe strolls back in from the terrace dripping wet, a servant handing him a towel before he wraps it around his waist without breaking stride. Water still runs over broad shoulders and dark tattoos as he drops into his chair like appearing half naked at dinner is completely normal.
Then Angela turns toward me, taking my hands between hers and tracing her fingertips over my knuckles before speaking. “Ciaran says your hands are recovering.”
“A little,” I admit.
Her thumb brushes lightly across my palm before she lets go. “And the Noctis?”
“The doctors said I’ll need another week before the swelling fully goes down. Also, I wanted to…thank you. For letting me play that night. Despite the awful ending.”
The corner of Ciaran’s mouth twitches beside me. “You’re still terrified of my mother.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Angela smiles. “Well, I admit I invited you because I wanted to hear you play again. Remember the sequence you played while you were warming up during Halvern’s Legacy Gala?”
I nod, memories of that woman forcing me to play the melody again and again flashing through my head, each repetition driving the lesson deeper.
Ciaran’s fingers close gently around my thigh beneath the table, grounding me before I can disappear too far into the memory.