For the next few days, Caerthrone comes to a standstill. Carriages stretch for miles, waiting at the city's edge to be searched. Perishable goods rot in the sun. No one enters, and no one leaves, without Kaelen's permission.
Kaelen has been relentless. I finally see the ruthless commander whispered about in war camps and courtrooms—the cold blade of Craven Fenwyn's legacy made flesh. No one is spared his wrath.
Not even himself.
Tired of being avoided, ignored, and treated like a shadow in my own home, I storm into his official chambers one afternoon. For once, he's at the manor, not out tearing apart the city.
"I need to speak with you," I say, striding in without knocking.
"I'm too preoccupied." He stands at his desk, poring over parchments. He doesn't spare me a glance.
"Kaelen! I will not be ignored anymore!"
"Nyriane, I told you—not now!"
"You told me," I snap, moving around the desk, "you didn't believe I helped Saelow escape. But tell me, Kaelen—why am I being punished like I have?"
His jaw tightens. He still won't look at me. His nostrils flare, chest rising and falling in silent fury.
"Kaelen, please," I say, softer now, "don't push me out like this. I already hear the whispers from your officials, the stares from the staff—but it's your silence I can't stand."
He says nothing. Just closes his eyes, both hands braced against the desk as though holding himself upright.
"You can't even look at me anymore," I murmur.
That breaks him.
He moves suddenly, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to him. I stumble forward, colliding with his chest. Before I can react, his hands grip my waist and lift me—placing me atop the desk as though I weigh nothing.
He leans in, arms braced on either side of me. His gaze pins me in place—furious, conflicted, devastatingly close.
"I can't look at you?" he grits out. "The truth is—I can't even look at myself."
He slams a palm against the desk. The whole surface jolts beneath me. I flinch, breath catching.
"I can't stand what I've become," he growls. "You've consumed me, Nyriane. I am no longer my own. I've become everything I swore I never would."
"If I make you hate yourself so much," I whisper, "then send me away. Send me to some far-off territory. Banish me, if that's what it takes."
"There is no corner of this godforsaken earth far enough to keep you from my thoughts!" His voice cracks on the last word, raw with anguish.
His hands slide up—lightly grazing my waist, my ribs, my collar. Then his fingers move to the back of my neck. I close my eyes, head tilting back instinctively. A shiver rolls down my spine. I bite my lip, the sound that escapes me barely a whisper.
He notices.
His fingers slide into my hair, gripping it—not cruelly, but enough to make my eyes fly open and meet his.
"Do you know what you do to me?" he asks, voice hoarse. "Your presence—your scent—lavender and crushed gardenia—it unravels me every time you enter the room."
He dips his head, burying his face in the crook of my neck. I gasp, clutching at his shoulders to keep from slipping.
My thoughts scatter. All I can feel is heat, breath, his heartbeat thunderous against mine.
He draws his face up again—his lips so close, I can feel the ghost of his breath. My eyes flick to his mouth, and without thinking, I lick my lips.
He stills.
His gaze drops.
We're so close. Almost—
Saelow POV
The stench of damp stone and mildew claws at my throat. I've been here for four days, maybe five—it's hard to keep track when there are no windows and time folds in on itself like rot. The food's worse than the dungeons in Aureliath, if that's even possible. At least in captivity I was fed at regular intervals and not when some gutter rat remembered I existed.
I stare at the chipped bowl of watery soup. Is it soup? Possibly old dishwater with a hint of boiled leather.
Disgust curls my lip.
"Lovely," I mutter, pushing it away with my boot. "I've had finer meals in chains."
Across from me, Emelia huddles near the wall, arms around her knees. Dirt smudges her cheeks and the hem of her dress is torn. She still tries to smile at me sometimes. Loyal little mouse.
"Don't look at me like that," I say flatly. I have no use for her wanting gaze.
She glances down, biting her lip.
Two of my men sit near the cellar door, speaking in low tones. Rovan and Therris. Good men. Quiet. Competent. Loyal, though that's wearing thin, I can tell. Soldiers want movement, not rot.
"We need to move," I say louder, standing abruptly. My boots crunch over straw. "Tonight."
Rovan looks up. "Can't. Kaelen's sealed the city tighter than a miser's purse. Every gate, every road. They're checking crates, carts—hells, even coffins."
"Then we don't use roads," I snap. "There's always a way."
Therris shifts. "There is a path. Northeast ridge. Leads into the hills. Traders used it before the blockade. But it's narrow. Dangerous even in daylight."
I turn toward him. "How dangerous?"
"Steep. Loose rock. Wouldn't attempt it with horses. And with…" He hesitates, flicking a glance toward Emelia.
I follow his gaze.
She's watching us. Quiet. Listening.
"Say it," I order.
"She'll slow us down," Rovan says. "No offense, my lord, but she isn't trained. And if she falls or screams—"
"I understand." I hold up a hand. "Leave me."
"My lord—"
"Now."
They exchange looks but obey, disappearing up the creaking wooden stairs. I wait until I hear the door shut above us before turning.
Emelia is already standing.
"You're not leaving me," she asks softly. "Are you?"
"I would never"
Her eyes glisten. "I'm not afraid, I'll try my best not to slow you down"
"You're best is not good enough." I take a step closer. "You've done well, Emelia. Better than most trained spies. I owe you my freedom more than once."
She straightens her spine, chin lifted.
"I only wish to serve you my Prince." love evident in her eyes.
"I know," I say gently. "You even went against Nyriane for me."
Her lips part. The breath catches in her throat.
"I wish there'd been another way," I whisper.
She tries to speak—but I'm already moving.
The blade is small, silent, precise. Her body slumps before she can cry out, the faintest gasp the only sound.
I catch her as she falls, lowering her to the ground like a lover.
"Thank you," I murmur, brushing a curl from her bloodless cheek.
Then I stand, step over her, and vanish into the dark.