Chapter 13 #2
“I certainly hope so.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Another butterfly landed on his shoulder, its wings fluttering happily. “Because there are currently several of these creatures circulating through the eastern wing, causing quite a stir among the staff.”
“It was an accident.”
“Mmm. Is that why they’re spontaneously kissing?” His gaze swept the room again, taking in the singing teacups, now performing what sounded suspiciously like a love ballad. “Quite the accident.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and barely contained amusement shone in his eyes.
“It’s not funny.” I tried not to smile. “My magic’s been unstable since…” I trailed off, not wanting to mention the kiss.
“Since?” His eyebrows lifted.
“Since I arrived at this magically repressed fortress of doom and gloom. Clearly, my powers are rebelling.”
The twitch became a full-fledged smile, brief but devastating. “Is that your professional assessment?”
“Absolutely.” I crossed my arms on my chest. “Your castle is depressing my magic, so it’s staging a revolution.”
“By creating singing crockery and…” He reached up, gently removing the butterfly from his hair. “Whatever these are.”
“Attraction—” I swallowed hard. “I mean, relaxation charms gone wrong.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Attraction?”
Fates help me. “It’s a minor side effect. Nothing to worry about. It will dissipate quickly.” Thankfully.
“Then my staff will stop kissing each other?”
“Yes.”
He studied the butterfly on his palm, its wings slowly opening and closing. “They’re pretty.”
“Some would say they were.” Not me. Not while they were flying wild, making people kiss.
His gaze met mine, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn the gold flecks in his eyes brightened. “And have you been experiencing these same effects?”
My heart stumbled. “That’s not relevant.”
“I disagree.” He stepped closer, still holding the butterfly. “As king, I should understand all magical influences in my castle.”
“For security reasons, of course,” I said dryly.
“Naturally.”
He was close enough now that I could see the fine weave of his jacket and smell the winter-sharp scent that clung to his skin. My magic stirred in response, sending another wave of butterflies bursting from the remaining lavender on the table.
Great. Just great.
“You’ve turned my fortress into a theater,” he said, watching a teacup belt out the final notes of its song.
“You’re welcome.”
“Is this what typically happens in witch workshops?”
“Only on our good days.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm and so unexpected that my magic surged again, causing one of the books to fall open, its pages flipping rapidly before settling on a chapter about attraction spells.
“Your magic seems to have opinions,” he said.
“It’s confused.” I closed the book. “Too much change too quickly.”
“I thought witches adapted easily.”
“We do. Usually.” I gestured vaguely. “But this place isn’t exactly designed for joy magic.”
He considered this, his expression growing serious. “What would make it easier?”
The question caught me off guard. “I… What?”
“If the environment is contributing to your magical instability, what changes would help?”
Was he actually offering to accommodate my magic? I stared at him, searching for signs of mockery or impatience, but I found only genuine inquiry.
“More light,” I said. “Candles and torches. And living things. Plants, flowers. Magic responds to life.”
He nodded. “What else?”
“Music wouldn’t hurt. Real music, not just my enchanted teacups’ improvisation.”
“That can be arranged.” He glanced at the butterfly still perched on his hand. “In the meantime, perhaps we should address the immediate situation.”
Right. The mess I’d created.
“Quandary and Cordelia are gathering up the butterflies loose in the castle.”
“Alight. What else?”
“Well, I have a containment spell that might work,” I said. “But I’m hesitant to try it when my magic keeps overreacting.”
“Show me.”
I hesitated. “It might make things worse.”
“I’ve survived worse than magical butterflies.”
His tone made me look up, but his expression had already smoothed into neutrality.
I took a deep breath. “I need to create a focusing circle first.”
I cleared space on the worktable, sketching a quick chalk circle. Kieran moved to stand beside me, watching as I placed crystals at cardinal points.
“These direct the energy flow.” I positioned a piece of clear quartz. “I need something to ground the spell, something solid and…” I searched the shelves.
“Would this work?” Kieran pulled a small black stone from his pocket. “Obsidian. From the volcanic fields in the northern territory.”
I took it, our fingers brushing. A literal spark jumped between us.
He didn’t pull away. His eyes darkened as if he could feel the racing beat of my heart.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, knowing smile that sent heat cascading through me.
“Perfect.” My voice came out embarrassingly breathy. “Obsidian absorbs excess energy.”
I placed the stone in the center of the circle, then held my hands over the arrangement. “I need to focus the spell properly this time.”
“May I assist?”
I blinked at him. “You want to help with witch magic?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“Considering the historical animosity between our people, yes.”
His lips curved. “History is being rewritten. Isn’t that why we’re here?”
Warmth unfurled in my chest. “I suppose it is.”
“Then tell me what to do.”
I swallowed. “Place your hands over mine. Your shadow magic can act as a counterbalance to my excess joy.”
He positioned himself behind me, reaching around to hover his hands above mine. The heat of him pressed against my back was highly distracting.
“Like this?” His breath stirred the hair near my temple.
“Yes.” I forced myself to focus. “When I channel the magic, think of containment. Boundaries. Structure.”
I called to my magic, feeling it rise within me. Kieran’s shadow magic responded, cool and controlled where mine was warm and wild. They met above our hands, gold and black intertwining in a dance as old as magic itself.
For a moment, I feared they would repel each other. Instead, they balanced, filling the circle with a perfect swirl of opposing energies.
“Now,” I whispered. “Focus on the butterflies.”
Our combined magic stretched outward, seeking the scattered creatures.
I felt Kieran shift behind me, his body curving around mine as if to shield me from any potential magical backlash.
It was an instinctive gesture, one that spoke of possession and care rather than doubt in my abilities.
His thumbs traced small circles on my wrists as our magic worked, and the gesture made it a challenge to focus.
One by one, the creatures were drawn toward the circle, their wings fluttering as they settled on the obsidian stone. The singing teacups quieted. The glitter in the air condensed into fine dust that drifted into the circle.
It was working.
I laughed. “I can’t believe it—”
Kieran’s hands shifted, his fingers threading through mine. The contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the man pressed against my back.
The spell wavered.
“Steady,” he said, his lips close to my ear. “We’re almost there.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Our combined magic continued its work, pulling in the last stray butterflies, settling the restless energy into the obsidian stone.
When the final butterfly joined its fellows, Kieran squeezed my hands. “Now what?”
“We seal it.” I turned my hands beneath his, linking our fingers more firmly. “Together.”
Our magic responded right away, twining closer, tighter, forming a shell around the collected energy. The dark stone gleamed, absorbing the power, while our joined magic sealed the spell with a soft pulse of light that rippled outward.
This was something neither my grimoire nor an elder had ever mentioned.
For a heartbeat, maybe two, I felt him. Not physically, but deeper.
A flash of his thoughts brushed against mine.
Wonder at the golden warmth of my magic, surprise at how perfectly it complemented his shadows, and beneath it all, a fierce, possessive desire that made my breath catch.
I peeked over my shoulder.
His eyes widened, and I knew he’d gotten a glimpse behind my carefully constructed walls, perhaps seeing how desperately I wanted to belong here, with him, not just as a political pawn but as something real.
His pulse jumped at his throat, a rare visible sign of emotion from the normally composed vampire king.
I stared at that telltale flutter beneath his skin, wondering how it would feel under my fingertips.
My mouth. The thought made my heart race faster, and his nostrils flared.
He could tell I was affected by him with his acute hearing.
But instead of smug satisfaction, his expression held something closer to wonder.
As if my racing heart was a gift rather than a weakness to exploit.
The connection broke as quickly as it had formed, leaving both of us shaken and staring at each other with new understanding.
My magic settled, quieted and contained.
But the awareness of Kieran’s chest against my back and his fingers entwined with mine remained intense.
Slowly, I turned within the circle of his arms to face him.
His eyes had darkened, the gold flecks almost overwhelmed by midnight blue.
“It worked,” I said softly.
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your help.”
“My pleasure.”
We stood frozen, so close our clothing brushed, magic still humming between us.
“Cyrene.” My name on his lips sounded like a question and a plea.
I raised my face, unable to resist the pull between us. His eyes dropped to my mouth.
“This is probably unwise,” I whispered.
“Undoubtedly.”
And then his lips were on mine, gentle at first, a question I answered by pressing closer. His hands released mine to slide around my waist, pulling me against him as the kiss deepened.