Page 21

21

VEYLAN

S he is not here.

The chambers are silent. The space where she should be is empty. She should still be in the library.

My hands flex against the armrests of my chair, nails biting into the wood as I scan the room. The basin where she washed my wounds remains untouched. The chair she curls into when she thinks I’m not watching is still in place.

Nothing is disturbed.

Except for her absence.

A sharp exhale leaves me, slow, measured, controlled.

She is testing me.

I told myself that allowing her to roam the library was a demonstration of my power, a calculated leash that would remind her that no matter where she went, she would return.

She always returns.

But this feels different.

Something in the stillness hums wrong.

The second the thought forms, a flicker of something ugly, unwelcome coils in my gut.

I shove it down, forcing myself to lean back.

And she did.

Light, careful steps reaches my ears. She’s doing her best not to make a sound.

My patience is already gone.

By the time she steps inside, I am already standing. Waiting.

Her body stiffens when she sees me.

She hesitates.

That alone sparks something sharp in my gut.

She never hesitates.

Her face is shadowed beneath the dim candlelight, but her lips are pressed too tight. Her fingers tremble just slightly at her sides.

Something happened.

And she is trying to hide it from me.

The realization irritates me more than it should.

“You’re late.” My voice is flat, controlled.

She does not answer.

She does not lower her gaze.

And that… that is a mistake.

I step forward. She stiffens, but does not step back.

Another mistake.

"Where were you?"

Silence.

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak immediately.

I study her, cataloging the shift in her breathing, the hesitation in her limbs.

She is keeping something from me.

That alone is enough to bring the storm inside me roaring to the surface.

"You are mine, Sera." The words leave me slow, deliberate. "I have given you more freedom than any human in this house, and you repay me by disappearing?"

Her throat moves in a swallow.

"I was in the library."

Her tone is level, but there is something too careful in her delivery.

She is lying.

And she is not good at it.

I tilt my head, eyes narrowing. "Did you find something…interesting?"

A crack forms in her composure.

Something flickers across her face.

It is so quick, so fleeting, that if I had not been watching her so closely, I would have missed it.

"Do you believe in prophecies, Dreadlord?"

The shift in topic is deliberate.

A ploy. A trap.

I know this.

And yet—I react anyway.

My muscles lock, jaw tightening.

Her breath shudders, as if she notices.

She takes a step closer, something daring in the way she meets my gaze. "I heard something," she says softly, "about a woman who could destroy a great house. With her voice."

The air sharpens.

The words land between us, charged like an axe hanging above our heads.

My pulse kicks once, hard, against my chest.

I do not let it show.

"And?" My voice is low. Dangerous. "Do you think you are that woman?"

Her silence is the answer.

The space between us is too tight.

She does not retreat.

She should.

Instead, she pushes.

"Who am I really, Veylan?" Her voice does not waver. "Why did your father sound so afraid?"

The name hits too deep.

Like a sword driving straight in my heart.

I exhale slowly, flexing my hands, fighting the tension curling up my spine.

She should not be speaking to me like this.

She should not be challenging me.

But she is.

I am letting her.

A low sound rumbles in my chest, something between a growl and a warning.

"You are reckless, little one."

She does not deny it.

"Do you want to die?" I step closer, letting my words curl against her throat, letting her feel the taste of what I could do. "Do you think you are invincible because you have my attention?"

A sharp breath leaves her.

Not fear.

Something else.

Something too close to the fire inside me.

"You are not afraid of me," I murmur.

Her eyes flicker.

Her lips part.

"I should be."

That is the moment I snap.

The distance between us vanishes.

I grab her by the waist, the throat, the back of her neck—I don’t know.

I only know that one moment, we are speaking, and the next, I am claiming her mouth with mine.

Not soft. Not gentle.

This is war.

Teeth graze. Hands grip.

She pushes back.

Claws at me, meets my hunger with her own.

A deep sound rumbles from my throat as I press her against the war table, the maps beneath us forgotten.

She tastes like defiance.

Like a challenge.

Like something I cannot control.

I want to drown in it.

The kiss is not enough.

Nothing is enough.

I press in, pull her closer, claim her the way I have wanted to since the moment I first heard her sing.

She gasps into my mouth, sharp and breathless.

I devour the sound.

I want to take, ruin, own.

Her nails bite into my shoulders, a ragged sound escaping her lips as she tilts her head back, giving me more.

I take it.

I take all of it.

By the time we break apart, we are breathing like we have survived battle.

Her lips are swollen. My grip on her is too tight.

My chest heaves.

I look at her—really look at her.

And something shifts.

Something dangerous.

Something irreversible.

The moment we crossed this line, we burned the path behind us.

There is no undoing this.

Nothing will ever be the same again.

I release her.

Step back.

She does not move.

Only watches me with something I cannot name.

I drag a hand through my hair, inhaling deeply, forcing breath into my lungs.

"Go to bed, Sera."

The words come out lower than I intended.

Rough.

Commanding.

She lingers for a second longer.

Then—she obeys.

The door closes behind her.

I remain standing in the dim candlelight, fingers flexing at my sides, the taste of her still on my tongue.

I close my eyes.

What have I done?