Chapter 21 Kieran
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
KIERAN
Morning sun streamed through the high windows of the council chamber a few days later, and dust motes danced like stars in the beam of light. I found myself watching them rather than focusing on Lady Aragorn’s droning report about grain allocations. My thoughts kept drifting to Cyrene.
We’d spent all of yesterday practicing the dance, our bodies moving in sync, hands clasping, parting, and finding each other again.
Those practice sessions had frequently ended with us tangled in bed, her golden magic spiraling around us as we lost ourselves in each other.
This morning had been no different. Dance, desire, completion.
A smile tugged at my lips at the memory of her flushed face as I’d kissed her goodbye before this meeting.
“Does something amuse you about the northern province’s wheat shortage, Your Majesty?”
I blinked, forcing my attention back to the lady’s pinched expression. Several of my advisors were frowning at me, particularly Lord Rathley, whose lips had pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
“Not at all.” I straightened in my chair. “Please continue.”
She cleared her throat, looking vaguely insulted. “As I was saying, with proper redistribution from the southern—”
The chamber doors swung open, cutting her off mid-sentence as Captain Brishon strode in. My head of security looked grim, the scar across his cheek more prominent against his paler-than-usual complexion.
“Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty, but there’s been another incident.”
I gestured for him to approach. “What happened?”
“Two more servants were found unconscious in the east wing,” he said, his voice low enough that only those at the council table could hear. “Same gray markings as the others.”
A chill skated across my skin. Three in a matter of days, all discovered with the same gray marks on their skin and their life energy drained. Not blood, though that would have been alarming enough, but something more fundamental. Their magic.
Something terrible was going on here, and we needed to discover what it was and stop it permanently.
“And the joy enchantments?” I asked.
“Failing throughout that section of the castle. The lanterns Lady Cyrene placed in the guest corridors have gone dark.”
I nodded, processing this information. When Cyrene had created those lanterns three days ago, they’d burned with so much light that servants had reported feeling happy just by walking past them. Now they were lifeless husks.
“This is disturbing,” Lord Broadworthy said. The lines on his face deepened with concern. “First the joy witch’s projects fail, then servants falling ill. There’s a pattern emerging, and I don’t like it one bit.”
I studied the faces around the table. Broadworthy looked genuinely worried. Lady Aragorn seemed irritated at having her report interrupted. Lord Rathley’s expression remained carefully neutral.
“Indeed there is,” I said. “Someone is systematically targeting joy magic in my castle. And someone else—or the same person—are attacking people under my protection. I want to know who is doing this and why.”
“I can’t speak for who is attacking our people.” Lady Aragorn leaned forward, her silver-streaked hair falling elegantly around her shoulders. “But as for the other matter, perhaps this is less about targeting joy magic, and more about targeting your bride, Your Majesty.”
“Explain.”
“It’s no secret that some members of the court question your hasty marriage.” Her voice came out silky, reasonable even. “Her presence has created…disruptions. These incidents began after her arrival.”
“You suggest my wife is responsible?” My voice cooled several degrees.
“Not responsible,” she said quickly. “A catalyst. Perhaps her magic is simply incompatible with vampire territory. It’s been known to happen when certain magical types cross boundaries.”
I recognized the rhetoric. The same arguments had been used to justify exclusionary policies generations ago, before my father’s reforms.
“My wife’s magic worked perfectly until someone deliberately sabotaged it,” I said. “We found blood runes in her workshop designed to corrupt joy magic.” I mentioned what Cyrene and I had discovered on purpose.
“Blood runes?” Broadworthy’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “That’s forbidden magic. Who’d dare such a thing?”
“Precisely.” I leaned back, studying their reactions. Most looked appropriately shocked, Lady Aragorn only frowned. “Someone in this castle knows blood magic and has been using it against my wife and, by extension, against me.”
Silence fell over the table as the implication settled. Then everyone started speaking at once.
“We must increase security—”
“The old families should be questioned—”
“Perhaps it’s time to consider—”
I held up a hand, and they fell silent. “Captain Brishon is already investigating. In the meantime, I want a complete inventory of who has access to each affected area, particularly my wife’s tower.”
Rathley cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should consider more drastic measures to ensure your safety, Your Majesty.”
“Such as?”
“Temporary restrictions on magical practices within the castle.” His eyes gleamed with concern. “And, naturally, all enchantments should require council approval until this matter is resolved.”
And there it was. The attempt to use this crisis to consolidate power. To control Cyrene.
“That seems excessive.” Anger simmered beneath my projected calm.
“Is your safety excessive?” Lady Aragorn asked, her voice gentle.
“Is our queen’s? If her magic is being targeted, perhaps she would be safer elsewhere until this threat is neutralized.
With her grandmother, perhaps. Surely the head of the witch council can protect her own granddaughter better than us in these uncertain times. ”
The suggestion was so perfectly reasonable, so carefully phrased, that I almost missed the trap beneath the words.
Send Cyrene away—for her protection, of course—effectively ending our newly strengthened bond and giving my advisors what they appeared to want: me as under their control as I’d been after my parents were killed.
“My wife stays where she belongs,” I said. “At my side.”
The lady’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course, Your Majesty. I merely suggested—”
“Your suggestion is noted and declined.”
An uncomfortable silence fell across the room.
I let it linger, studying the faces around the table.
These had been my father’s advisors, people who had served our family for years.
Could one of them be behind the blood magic?
Or were they merely opportunists, using the situation to their advantage?
“The ball will proceed tomorrow as planned,” I said. “Captain Brishon, add more guards throughout the castle, particularly near my wife’s workshop and our chambers and among the staff.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Lord Broadworthy, research any historical precedents of blood magic being used against joy witches and magic used to drain people’s magic. There may be clues in the archives about how to counter both concerns more effectively.”
The old man nodded, already looking eager at the prospect of research.
“The rest of you, proceed with ball preparations. I want everything perfect for tomorrow evening.” I rose from my chair, signaling the end of the meeting. “And remember, any threat to my wife is a threat to me. I will respond accordingly.”
Two filed out, murmuring in hushed voices. Only Broadworthy lingered, his weathered face troubled.
“Do you need something from me?” I asked when we were alone.
“I’m concerned about the timing, Your Majesty.” He ran a gnarled hand through his thinning white hair. “These incidents escalating just before you’re to perform the Shadow Rite feels deliberate.”
I’d had the same thought. “You believe someone wants us to fail.”
“Or worse.” His eyes, still sharp despite his advanced years, met mine directly. “It’s more than symbolic, as you know. It creates a temporary magical fusion between partners.”
“Similar to what happens when vampire nobles exchange blood in the marriage ritual.”
He nodded. “If someone has been tampering with our queen’s magic…”
“The dance could trigger something unexpected.” A cold knot formed in my belly. “Or dangerous.”
“It might be wise to postpone.”
I considered it. Postponing would be the cautious choice, the safe one. But it would also signal weakness to the court and suggest that I doubted our ability to complete the ritual properly.
It would play directly into the hands of whoever wanted to undermine us.
“No,” I said. “We proceed as planned. But I want you in the front row, watching for any signs of magical interference.”
“As you wish.” He bowed before shuffling from the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I should’ve felt triumphant. Cyrene and I had mastered the dance. We’d grown closer, both physically and emotionally. The council’s ultimatum was about to backfire spectacularly.
Instead, unease crawled beneath my skin. Someone in my castle was playing a dangerous game with blood magic, and Cyrene was at the center of it.
I needed to see her.
Leaving my council room, I strode through the castle, taking the steps to the tower two at a time.
The door to Cyrene’s workshop stood open, light spilling into the stairwell. Even before I reached the top, I could hear her humming.
I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene.
She stood at her workbench, her hands hovering over a delicate glass lantern.
Light flowed from her fingertips, swirling into the lantern where it coalesced into a small, pulsing star.
Her brow was furrowed, and a smudge of something glittered on her cheek.
Beautiful. Powerful. Mine.
The lantern’s light flickered, dimming before stabilizing. Cyrene frowned, pouring more magic into it until it glowed steadily again.
“You’re fighting something,” I said quietly.
She jumped, nearly dropping the lantern. “Kieran. How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see you struggling.” I crossed to her, noting the shadows beneath her eyes, the tremor in her hands. “You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine.” She set the lantern down carefully. “I need to finish these for the ball tomorrow. They’re not holding enchantment as well as they should.”
I wiped the glittery substance from her cheek. “We know why that is. Someone’s still trying to drain your magic.”
“Then I’ll just have to create faster than they can drain.” Her chin lifted with the stubborn determination I adored. “I won’t let them win.”
“Cyrene.” I took her hands, which were cooler than usual. “You need to rest. Pushing yourself like this only makes you vulnerable.”
“I can’t rest. The ball is tomorrow, and I—”
“You’re doing so well with the dance.”
“Well enough?”
“I believe so.” I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “The lanterns can wait. No one will notice if the decorations are a bit less magical than planned.”
She looked around at her half-finished projects. “But I wanted everything to be perfect. To show them all that a joy witch belongs here.”
The admission made my chest tighten. Despite everything we’d shared, she still felt she needed to prove herself worthy of her place here. Of me.
“You have nothing to prove,” I said softly. “Not to the court, not to the council, and certainly not to me.”
Her eyes met mine, vulnerable in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. “Don’t I? Your advisors still look at me like I’m an interloper. Half the court whispers when I walk by. And someone is trying to sabotage my magic.”
I pulled her into my arms, resting my chin on top of her head.
“They can whisper all they want,” I said. “After tomorrow’s dance, no one will question your place here.”
She pulled back enough to look up at me. “You sound confident.”
“I am.” I stroked her cheeks. “We’re going to give them a performance they’ll never forget.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “We have gotten rather good at moving together, haven’t we?”
“Extremely good.” I returned her smile, though worry still gnawed at me. “Right now, you need to rest. The ball isn’t until tomorrow evening. You have time.”
She glanced at her workbench again. “Maybe I could take a short break.”
“That’s my stubborn witch.” I kissed her forehead. “Come. I’ll have food brought up to our chambers.”
As we descended the spiral staircase, my mind returned to the council meeting. To Lady Aragorn’s subtle suggestion that Cyrene would be safer elsewhere. To Rathley’s attempt to restrict magical practices. To the servants found drained of their magic, with gray marks on their skin.
Someone was moving against us, and the ball would provide the perfect opportunity for a more direct attack.
“You’re very quiet,” Cyrene said as we reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Just thinking about tomorrow.”
“Nervous about the dance? I thought you said I was doing well.”
“You are.” I squeezed her hand. “It’s not the dance I’m concerned about.”
“Then what?”
I didn’t want to frighten her, but it would be a mistake not to tell her. I shared what was happening.
Her eyes widened. “What can we do to protect our people?”
I loved that she saw my people as her own, because they were. “My guards are investigating and we’ll discover who this is and…”
From the look in her eyes, I didn’t need to name it. “Good,” she said in a firm tone.
Deviating from our chambers, I took her to the first floor and the ballroom, where servants were polishing the marble floor to a mirror shine.
Crystal chandeliers hung above, each awaiting the joy lanterns Cyrene was creating.
Tomorrow night, this room would be filled with the nobility of my kingdom, all watching, waiting to see if the joy witch could perform the sacred vampire dance.
All watching to see if our magic could merge at the ritual’s climax.
If someone wanted to strike at Cyrene’s magic and our bond, that would be the moment. That was when we’d be the most vulnerable.
I stared at the gleaming floor, imagining tomorrow night. Cyrene in my arms, our bodies moving together, our magic beginning to blend as the dance reached its peak.
And our enemy in the crowd, watching, waiting.
If anyone threatened her again, they would discover exactly how dangerous a vampire king could be when protecting the woman he loved.