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Not until camp became clearer and clearer and the High Prince finally spoke in a soft yet demanding tone. “Alert the sentries of our return, and stand post until I grant you leave.”

Jade’s shoulders tightened, and Alora unnoticeably grinned.

“Yes … sire.”

Apparently, Jade didn’t appreciate border duty. Her dark outline feathered into the blackness until she too became a silhouette against the torchlight.

A heaviness cascaded off Alora soon after. The pressure of Jade’s death glare was no more, yet it still sat uneasy. How couldn’t she? With muscled arms of Death toweled around her, it was inevitable. And even if she wanted to, she couldn’t stop feeling his armor brush against her back with his every breath. Entirely aware of his every heartbeat, the ice not only in his veins but seeping from his skin.

She hated it—hated him. Hated his touch, like all others.

Knowing that his touch would never do anything more than send embers threatening to burst and ignite flames on her skin.

Garrik remained quiet. One arm draped across her stomach, steadying her without a saddle. His hand gripping the reins still dripped with blood from Jade’s sword, soaking a dark patch onthe horse’s black hair. He clutched the reins tight regardless of suffering and pain.

He must’ve felt her observing the wound. The subtle shifts in his posture were enough that she cautiously turned her gaze to him. There she found pain—disappointment—irritation in his eyes, forcing her heart to skip a beat.

Tears welled, spurred by the events caused by her actions. She knew he saw it, but didn’t care.Let him see. Let him see what’s become of her since he brought her to this place. Since being with him. Being forced to flee. This was his fault—not hers. She wouldn’t have needed to escape if he hadn’t taken her. Taken her magic.

The air felt heavy again. It was suddenly harder to breathe.

Too hard to breathe…

She couldn’t breathe?—

Easy. You will be alright.It was the voice again. There when she needed it.

Garrik’s arm tightened around her waist, and she almost leaned against him in her panic.

“I understand how it feels to be trapped,” he started. “Feeling hopeless, stuck in a cage without a key.” His deep voice almost soothed her emotional heart. “I allowed you no way of freedom. You acted as I would have.”

Alora’s throat tightened; she swallowed her emotion.

“You have been running and hiding your entire life. Why would today be any different?” He pulled back on the reins and they stopped. As if the words were foreign to him, Garrik deeply sighed, and said, “Forgive me. Today was my doing.”

Her blood seemed to hollow out.

“You must understand, Magnelis’s power grows stronger with every passing moon. I know you have heard the stories about me. I understand your reluctance and fear, your hesitation and refusal to trust me.” His breathing became shallow. “Outof everything I have done since our eyes met on the road into Telldaira, I have protected you. I will continue to do so. When you are with me, no one will harm you. Not even the High King… I will not harm you, Alora.”

She looked at his bleeding hand, feeling the vibrations of his words rumble from his chest into her back, still unable to speak.

“Stay with me—us. Allow me to honor that. Help fight, protect our kind. Elysian. Or keep running for the rest of your life, in terror, watching the world burn behind you in Magnelis’s pursuit”—his voice was full of warning—“I only ask that you offer me the chance. Ride with us to the edge of the northern kingdom. Allow me to escort you there at the very least. When we reach Dellisaerin, if you wish to go, I will not stop you.”

She looked back at him. The stiffened back of the High Prince had bent, sitting him lower as if the weight of Elysian was forcing him down. It was then she noticed dark circles under his eyes, illuminated by flickering torches in the distance.

Garrik closed his eyes, those weighted shoulders slouched with a tired breath.

Then she felt a pulsing sensation creep across her skin.

An exhilaration of energy prickling every nerve.

Warmth. Incredible, overwhelming, familiar warmth formed in her palms.

My magic.

Alora looked into his slowly opening eyes.

“I will never control you again.” Garrik released his arm around her waist and lifted her hand, twisting its palm up. With little Smokeshadows, a black-bladed dagger with one star-shaped, crystal gemstone appeared within the tendrils, and he closed her fingers around it before pulling his hand away. “If you could grant me one request, do not make me regret this.”