Page 158 of Blackheart

My knee jittered up and down, moving silently to the beat of my increasing heart rate.

“What do I do if someone comes here?” I asked quietly. The question came not from fear, but genuine curiosity.

From his pocket, he pulled the small blue orb with my chain still attached, rolling it on the table towards me.

“You handle them, and notify me immediately.”

It was the same one Ansel had watched me through the entirety of my travels. It was shocking he felt confident in my abilities to handle an intruder, but even more shocking that he expected me to take his orb back.

“I don’t need you spying on me,” I said sourly.

He gritted his teeth. “I don’tcarewhat you do. What I need is for you to use the orb to summon me if someone infiltrates this house.”

I took a deep breath, tapping my arm as I considered.

“Elora, you’re my wife. If someone tries to harm you, I need to know. How else do you expect to get in contact with me?”

My leg stopped bouncing, fingers stopped tapping. I grabbed the orb awkwardly and clipped it at my waist. “Okay. Can we be done with this conversation?”

He shook his head. “I’ll see you this evening, Blackheart.”

I rolled my eyes, propping my feet on the table as the front door closed behind him.

The silence marked the beginning of what would surely be the most boring two weeks of my life, while the others organized the destruction of the Southern Waywards from the inside out.

I spent most of the afternoon studying Castivian history, while occasionally scanning the maps of Drakington that Ansel had left on the table.

As the afternoon carried on, I found myself upstairs laying in bed, propped up on my elbows and staring out of a crack in the dark curtains. Behind Keeper’s Street was a small training yard. Witchlords and Drakers filled it, all working on different weaponry.

Ansel was with another Witchlord, but neither were using their Light Nature. They wielded swords, wearing only tunics instead of the usual heavy cloaks.

Ansel fought just as I’d expected of someone with the privilege of being trained his entire life. Quick, balanced, intentional?—

I winced as he sliced the other Witchlord’s forearm, an accident surely. They paused their training, and while I couldn’t tell what they were saying, it all seemed friendly. While the other Witchlord set his sword down, walking away to heal his arm, Ansel carried his own in another direction.

I could barely see what he was doing, but he appeared to be… cleaning his sword?

Squinting was no use. I sighed, closing the curtains and tucking myself under the heavy black covers. The bedroom was not homey like back in Castivian. It felt dim and lonely.

Iwaslonely. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to sleep, even if it were just to pass the time.

“Wake up,” a low voice said, gently moving my shoulder.

I snapped upright and out of the bed, fist held back and ready to swing. With my brain still half-asleep, I nearly lost balance in the dark.

“It’s just me. Sit down, Blackheart,” Ansel said, grabbing me by the waist before I fell.

I smacked his hand away and sat back in bed, pulling the blanket over my lap.

“What time is it?” I yawned.

“Midnight.”

I frowned.

Ansel sat on the end of the bed, still wearing his black pants and tunic. His hair was tied back in a neat bun. It had grown much since we met.

He made himself comfortable, paying no mind to my disapproval. He laid six vials of blood out on the bed.