Chapter 32 Healing
Healing
The library decided to be helpful. By dusk, a small fortress of books circles the hearth—legends of dragons, lost gods, half-translated tomes.
A few even hurl themselves from the shelves, landing at my feet as if mocking my desperation.
I’ve spent the whole day scavenging their pages for answers, for anything that might break the curse.
But all I find are riddles and contradictions.
I sit cross-legged beside the fire, smoke stinging my eyes, my mind a blur of ink and hopelessness. Outside, a storm rages. The wind howls as the rain beats against the mouth of Keiren’s cavern. My hair hangs loose, and my fingers tremble as I flip another useless page.
You will never be enough. You will never find what you seek, the darker part of me whispers.
“I swear,” I mutter, “if one more book tells me ‘true love’ is the cure, I’ll burn this whole library down.”
A soft laugh answers me, startling me from my reading. “Then it’s fortunate that the fire’s already lit.” His voice drifts through the room like a gentle caress.
Keiren leans in the doorway, sleeves rolled to his forearms, rain still threading through his dark hair.
“You’ve been at this all day,” he says, moving closer. “You should rest.”
“Rest won’t break a curse,” I reply with a sigh, turning to meet his gaze.
He nods and steps away from the wall to stand beside me, eyes flicking over the chaotic pile of scattered tomes. “With as much time as you spend in here, you’re in danger of becoming a permanent fixture.”
I give a humorless huff. “What, you’ll steal my soul and turn me into a lamp?”
He shrugs.
I squint. “Wait. Has that actually happened before?”
“Keiren?” I turn fully toward him now, unease creeping in. “Keiren …”
Silence.
My pulse jumps. “Keiren!”
His mouth finally curves—just faintly.
Realization slams into me. “You—”
“Relax,” he says smoothly. “I’m joking.”
“Bastard!” I shove his arm, then smack it again for emphasis. “That’s not funny.”
He laughs—warm and unguarded—and when I hit him again, my hand lands on his chest instead. This time, he doesn’t let me pull away.
His hand comes up, closing gently over mine, stopping it—and pressing my palm flat against his heart.
The laughter fades.
I feel the steady thrum beneath my hand, heat radiating through my fingers. His gaze drops to where he’s holding me there, then lifts slowly to my face. The space between us tightens, charged and quiet, as if the room itself is holding its breath.
Then—
Light spills through the tall windows.
The storm outside breaks all at once. Clouds part, rain easing to a hush as sunset pours gold across the floor, igniting the dust in the air and catching in his eyes.
Keiren exhales softly. “Can I ask a favor of you?”
I swallow and gently withdraw my hand before I do something reckless. “I never agreed to owing you a favor, Your Highness,” I tease.
“This is one you’ll like. I promise.” His gaze flicks toward the windows, then back to me. “Meet me in the garden in an hour.”
“What?” I blink, still off-balance.
“Just trust me.”
I hesitate, then nod. “Alright.”
An hour later, I slip through the arched doors and into the night.
The path beyond is lit by low-burning torches, their flames steady despite the breeze, casting warm gold across the neatly trimmed hedges.
The stone underfoot is cool and smooth, worn by centuries of quiet footsteps.
The garden feels held, protected, like the world beyond the keep has been carefully folded away.
Somewhere ahead, water trickles softly. Leaves rustle. The air smells of crushed herbs and night-blooming flowers.
He’s waiting in a small clearing, coat discarded, sleeves rolled back, silver firelight catching in his hair. For once, he looks unburdened—no crown, no court, no watching mirrors.
He holds out a hand. “Dance with me.”
“With no music?” I ask.
A glimmer of a smile touches his lips. “I’ve never needed music when you’re in my arms.”
My feet are uncertain—left, right, dip—but his grip is steady and sure. I stumble into his toes once, and he catches me with a tilt of his hip and that disarming grin.
“Why do you always ask me to dance?” I gaze up at him curiously.
He doesn’t answer right away. The moonbeam flowers unfurl around us, pale and glowing, their light brushing his face.
Then, “My mother taught me,” he says quietly. “She said dancing can express what words cannot. It’s something I do to keep myself grounded—after all these years.”
He looks at me, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
“Because when I’m holding you like this,” he continues, “the rest of the world stays where it belongs—far away.”
The admission makes my cheeks flush and my heart skip a beat, before I look deep into his eyes and can see the profound sorrow lingering there. Like me, he’s lost so much and yet keeps going, keeps dancing.
“Do you remember how to break the curse? I can’t seem to find anything useful in the library.” My voice trembles with hope against his steady heartbeat. He pauses mid-step, gaze drifting toward the torchlit wall. “Maybe it just hasn’t given you the right book yet,” he quips.
“I’m serious, Keiren. I’ve read everything I can find. Do you remember anything?” The sorrow in his eyes feels older than time. “No,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry—I don’t.”
I press closer, as if my body could lend him strength. He spins me and draws me back in until our chests meet again.
“There must be something you remember,” I insist.
“I remember only that breaking it was meant to be impossible.” His confession chills me, but we keep moving, our feet tracing circles of quiet defiance.
“Is the dragon under your control? And why does he kill some and not others?”
He sighs and straightens, eyes clouded with memory. “I don’t control him,” Keiren continues quietly. “Though I sometimes wish I could. Who he spares is his choice. But he listens. He bargains.” His gaze flicks to me. “Like someone else I know.”
He spins me gently, drawing me back in.
We don’t speak for a while. The dance becomes easier. So does breathing.
Softly, he asks, “Have you ever been in love?”
I trip on his toes. He steadies me with a grin.
“I—” The words vanish from my mind.
“I mean,” he presses, “is there anyone waiting for you back home?”
Torchlight flickers over his face, over the question he’s afraid to voice: Will you leave me if, by some miracle, we survive all this?
I smile, small but true. “Yes.”
His energy falters, pain flashing through his eyes.
I let him linger there a heartbeat before I explain, “My sister. My horses. My mother’s rose garden—though it isn’t quite as lovely as yours. I didn’t inherit her green thumb.”
His relief is visible, blooming like sunlight after a storm.
As we glide back into our rhythm, I lean in until my lips brush his ear. “My turn. Of all the brides you’ve met in six centuries, surely one captured your heart?”
“All of them,” he says lightly with a wink. “I’m a king—what’s not to love?”
Startled laughter bubbles out of me. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Indeed.” His voice dips to a whisper as his lips trail down my shoulder, planting a soft kiss on the exposed skin that makes me gasp.
“You’re avoiding the question, Your Highness,” I tease, tilting my head up.
He stares back at me steadily, gaze dark and unguarded. “Once,” he admits, voice rough. “But she—” He dips his head, sorrow softening his features.
I press my forehead to his chest, feeling his heart drum steadily beneath my palms. “Is that what you fear most?” I whisper. “Falling for someone, only to lose them?”
Without a word, he sweeps me into a low dip, arms firm around me. “No,” he murmurs, fierce and intimate. “I fear losing you.”
Heat floods my chest. My thoughts scatter like embers, but all I feel is his heartbeat against mine.
We move in silence, our bodies speaking what words can’t.
As the moon crests the hedgeline, the flowers at our feet stir.
One by one, pale petals unfurl—slow, deliberate—each bloom catching moonlight and holding it, glowing softly as if lit from within.
Silver spreads across the garden in quiet waves, petals breathing open in reverent silence.
The air seems to hush around us, as though the night itself has paused to watch.
“It’s so beautiful,” I whisper, awed.
Fatigue curls around my limbs, but his arms hold me steady—every step a quiet vow: You’re safe here.
After a while, we just sway. My eyelids are heavy, my mind weary from a day of reading. When Keiren guides me back to the chair by the dying embers, my legs tremble with exhaustion. He slips his heavy blanket around my shoulders and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
I sit down on the cushioned couch by the hearth, the sharp scent of leather and mint mingling with smoke as Keiren settles behind me. His arms slide around my waist, anchoring me and pulling me in to rest between his legs. I lean back into him, watching the crackle of flame.
He opens the battered fairy tale. His voice, rich and low, weaves through the story. Each turn of the page eases me toward peace.
“You’ve read this one before?” he murmurs, tracing a dog-eared corner.
“Yes, many times,” I whisper, looping a finger through his. “But never like this. Don’t I owe you some questions?”
“Yes.” He cracks into a grin. “Several. But I’ve asked all I need to know for now.”
A rogue smile curves my lips as he nuzzles my ear, and warmth blooms in my belly.
We laugh when I tease him for stumbling over half the names.
He flicks my nose playfully, and words soon give way to feather-light kisses along my neck, fingers tracing my collarbone, then up the back of my neck and into my hair.
His warmth sends a shiver spiraling down my spine.
His thumbs find a knot in my shoulder, still tender from morning’s sparring, and coax the ache away. I close my eyes, wondering what regrets live behind those sapphire eyes. His fingers drift into my hair, brushing back loose strands. Each gentle press makes my chest tighten.
“Goodnight, Fire,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead as sleep claims me.