Page 16 of Broken Fates (Severed Flames #3)

Chapter 16

Vale

T he warmth hit all at once, sinking into my frozen skin, weaving around the aching, frayed edges of my magic. I’d been running for days, and now it was as if I’d skidded to a stop.

For a heartbeat, I could only stand there—blinking against the golden glow of candlelight, the scent of polished wood, old books, and something richer beneath it. Something woven into the very bones of the estate.

Magic. Old. Familiar. Expectant.

A shiver rolled up my spine. It knew Idris.

It knew he’d come home.

Idris stood just ahead, Nyrah still tucked against his chest. His golden eyes flicked upward, scanning the vast, open space of the entrance hall. A massive chandelier of sculpted crystal hung from the vaulted ceiling, its enchanted light shimmering off the carved stone walls. Pillars of dark marble, streaked with veins of gold, lined the room, leading toward the twin staircases winding to the upper floors.

It was a place built for a king. And yet, for all its grandeur, it wasn’t cold.

Not like the just-out-of-reach Guild chambers. Not like the throne room. This was a home.

Briar sniffed, already moving past us with the sharp, no-nonsense precision of someone who had ruled these halls longer than their owner. “Don’t worry, your horses will be taken care of.” She shifted her gaze to Idris. “Your chambers are as you left them.”

Kian exhaled lowly beside me. “You mean when he was a child?”

Briar shot him a withering glare. “You mean when his father’s people still thought to lock him and his brother away in the east wing? No. His proper chambers. The ones his grandfather prepared for him.” Briskly, she pivoted on her heel, already leading us deeper into the halls. “But first—this way.”

She didn’t need to say it. Nyrah came first.

I barely noticed my feet moving as we passed through towering arched doorways, down a hall lined with tapestries of dragons and gold-threaded sigils. Everything here was heavily warded—I could feel the enchantments thrumming softly beneath the surface, layered over generations. Protection. Preservation.

Xavier’s gaze flicked over the doors we passed, eyes narrowed, body still tense despite the security of the estate. His fingers tightened and released, like he was resisting the urge to keep his sword drawn. He didn’t trust this place yet.

Neither did I.

Not until Nyrah was safe.

Briar led us through an ornate doorway, pushing through heavy double doors into a chamber bathed in blazing firelight.

The moment I saw the canopied bed, the thick, fur-lined blankets, the carefully stoked hearth, my legs almost buckled.

The room had already been prepared.

Soft linens. Fresh water sat on the nightstand. A basin, still steaming. Everything was ready for us.

She knew. She always knew.

Idris hesitated for just a breath, then carefully lowered Nyrah onto the bed. He didn’t let go immediately.

I stepped forward before I could stop myself, reaching, until Briar smacked my hand away. I startled, blinking at her. “What?—”

“You stink,” Briar said flatly. “Vetra is a fine horse, but you smell too much like her for a queen.”

Kian choked on a laugh. “I take it back. I missed you so much.”

Briar ignored him, already pressing two fingers to Nyrah’s wrist. Her sharp gaze scanned my sister’s too-pale face, her chest barely rising and falling.

The pause was just a breath too long.

“What is it?” I demanded.

Briar exhaled through her nose. She didn’t look at me right away, her thumb brushing once, twice over Nyrah’s pulse point.

“She’s steady.” A pause. “For now.”

For now.

A sharp knot twisted in my chest, but before I could demand more, Briar tilted her head toward the door. “Now—out. All of you.”

I blinked. “What?”

Briar’s lips twitched like she was fighting a smirk. “You’re tracking filth through my halls. You think I’d let you put those bloodstained boots on my rugs? I’d sooner let a wyvern roost in the dining hall.”

Xavier crossed his arms, unimpressed. “You have a dining hall?”

Briar didn’t even look at him. “You won’t be seeing it until you scrub the battle off your skin.”

Kian elbowed him. “You heard the woman. Scrub first, feast later.”

I hesitated. My fingers curled at my sides, my pulse thrumming too fast. Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to keep watch, to protect her. I had spent weeks clawing through hell to get to her. And now, I was supposed to just walk away?

Briar must have seen it, because she sighed. “I’ll stay with her,” she said simply. “You know I would sooner chew glass than let anything harm that girl. I’ll get her cleaned up and see what I can do to ease her.”

That… helped.

A little.

“Talek?” she continued, eyeing the Elemental like she could see every wound and every brittle, weary part of his body through his clothes. “Your room is two doors down and to the left. Do use the healing balm beside the tub. I’d rather not scrape your withered corpse off my clean linens.”

Briar turned to Idris, waving him toward the door with a flick of her wrist. “You know the way. Now shoo .”

Idris didn’t move. The bond pulsed between us, thick with lingering magic and the quiet war raging in him. His golden gaze shifted back to Nyrah, his hands still hovering as if he wasn’t convinced he was allowed to step away. Like letting go was breaking a silent promise.

Without thought, I grabbed Idris’ hand, twining my fingers with his. “You can stand down,” I murmured through the bond. “ You did everything you promised. It’s time to breathe, my love.”

Then, finally, he exhaled as he turned toward me, then toward the door, leading us out into the candlelit hall.

I followed, his grip tight as he led the way.

The silence inside the estate was heavy. Not the unnatural hush of a battlefield after the last body fell. Not the eerie quiet of the Dreaming, waiting to show its teeth. This was something else. A place steeped in magic, in memory, in expectation.

And it was listening.

I felt it in the way the sconces flickered the moment Idris stepped deeper into the halls, in the thrum of something vast beneath my skin—the weight of the wards pressing into my ribs. Like the estate recognized him.

Recognized that its king had finally come home.

But I barely processed it.

The warmth hit all at once, the contrast so sharp it nearly stole my breath. The scent of polished wood and lavender drifted in the air, but beneath it—the faintest trace of salt, of steel, of something alive.

I followed Idris through a gilded archway, my steps slow, my body too heavy, too spent. I should have been relieved. Should have let go of the tension coiling through my ribs, the fight locked tight in my spine.

But I couldn't.

Not yet.

Not until I saw Nyrah wake up. Not until I felt the heat of my mates pressed against me, solid and real.

The room was massive, carved from warm stone and dark-veined marble, the high vaulted ceiling arching above us like a cathedral. A dozen lanterns flickered along the walls, their golden light reflecting off the polished surface of the water.

The bathing pool itself stretched nearly the entire length of the chamber, its edges sculpted with intricate sigils and dragon motifs, their golden inlays glowing softly beneath the steam. It wasn’t just a bath—it was a sanctuary. A place meant for kings and queens, for the bloodline of rulers long past.

A massive hearth crackled to the left, its firelight casting long shadows against the stone. A low, ornate table sat nearby, stocked with lush towels, delicate crystal vials of oils and scented balms.

The water glowed faintly, the heat rippling in waves, enchanted to remain perfectly warm. At its deepest point, it would reach my waist, but there were shallower ledges carved along the edges, places to recline, to soak. To rest.

A smaller pool sat off to the side, cooler, meant for rinsing, its surface edged in delicate silver runes. Another reminder that this was a royal bathing chamber—a place for kings and queens, not warriors smelling of blood and exhaustion.

And yet, despite its grandeur, its sheer size, the space felt intimate. The lanterns burned low, the hearth cast everything in soft gold and amber, and the walls wrapped around us like something safe. Something belonging to us alone.

Standing in the vast bathing chamber, I should have been relieved. I should have felt the tension drain from my bones, should have let the steaming water pull me under.

But my body refused to unwind.

I stood at the edge of the pool, the marble beneath my bare feet warm from the water’s lingering heat. Steam curled into the air, thick and fragrant—lavender, bergamot, something grounding and rich.

I barely registered it.

Because Idris stood just beside me, silent, his golden eyes locked onto me like he could see every war still raging inside me.

Because Kian and Xavier were already in the water, their bodies slick with steam, their sharp gazes pinned on me, waiting.

Waiting for me to let go.

Waiting for me to breathe.

Xavier’s long white hair was damp, curling slightly as he pushed it back from his face, his broad shoulders tense, waiting. He was always watching me, always reading me, but now, that sharp, assessing gaze was gentle.

Kian’s amber eyes flickered as he shifted in the water, the scar along his jaw catching the candlelight. His bronze skin gleamed, no longer streaked with the remnants of battle and blood and exhaustion.

They should have looked worn down. Instead, they looked hungry—not for sex, not yet.

For me.

For the space between us to disappear.

For the last threads of battle to finally unravel.

Idris’ fingers ghosted along my spine, slow, careful, measured.

"You're shaking," he murmured.

I hadn’t noticed. The fight, the blood, the weight of everything we’d just survived—it was still locked in my bones. I turned, slowly, and Idris was already unfastening my dragon scale corset before I could reach for it myself. He wasn’t hurried. Not rushed. Just steady, deliberate.

Piece by piece, he stripped all my armor away, and not once did Kian or Xavier take their eyes off me.

The moment my tunic hit the ground, Kian reached for me. Of course he did. His fingers skimmed my wrist, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.

"You coming in, Vale?" he murmured, voice low, rougher than usual.

I hesitated, the fight still coiling in my ribs, in my stubborn, aching refusal to surrender. The need to keep moving. The need to hold everything together.

They felt it, too.

Kian flexed his fingers, and his amber eyes scanned my face, reading every hesitation, every fractured piece of me still refusing to let go.

"Tell me you don’t want this," he whispered. "Tell me you don’t want us."

Xavier hummed low, the sound sliding over my skin like silk. “She won’t say it.”

“Because she does. She always does,” Idris finished.

The bond flared between us, sharp and bright, tangled with so much need it made my knees weak. But still, I stood there.

Kian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "So be it, little witch."

Then his arms wrapped around me.

Solid. Unyielding.

Before I could step in on my own, before I could think, before I could find another excuse to fight, Kian scooped me up.

My breath left me in a startled gasp, my body instinctively curling against his as he waded deeper into the water, pulling me with him.

I let myself sink.

Let myself fall.

At last.