Page 49

Marigold

The path back to Wickem blurred in the dark, lit only by the low pulse of magic still crackling in the air. My limbs ached, my thoughts scattered, every step pulling me further from the fight but no closer to steady.

“Come on,” Elio murmured, tugging lightly on my elbow. “You’re barely standing. I know somewhere safe.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy to.

We climbed the narrow tower steps in silence.

Elio’s sanctuary opened around us, bathed in the pre-dawn light.

The enchanted dome overhead reflected a sky of shifting constellations, though the stars outside were beginning to pale with the coming dawn.

It felt different tonight. More grounded.

More real . Like Elio himself when he dropped his carefully crafted masks.

“The stars are different tonight,” I murmured, stepping into the room. The constellations wheeled slowly above us in his illusions, their glow softer than before. I traced one of the patterns absently, letting the familiar light soothe my fraying nerves.

“You need rest,” he said gently, his hand brushing against my arm. His touch was warm, steady. Safe.

“I can’t.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

I turned to him, exhaustion dragging at my limbs.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see Keane’s portals.

See the way his uncle looked at me, like he already owned him…

” My voice broke, and I bit down on the flood of fear threatening to consume me.

“I know,” Elio whispered. He stepped closer, guiding me to the worn couch by the window where we’d spent hours poring over his mother’s letters.

Echo settled on the windowsill, her scales shifting slowly through muted colors—deep blues, soft purples, the shades of a restless heart.

I wanted to pull away. I should pull away.

But I didn’t.

My body betrayed me before my mind could catch up—leaning into him, seeking his warmth, his steadiness.

“Why did you really bring me up here?” I asked softly, my cheek resting against his shoulder. “This isn’t just about getting me to rest.”

His hand slid to my back, tracing soothing circles that made my breathing slow. “Because you need somewhere safe to break. Somewhere you don’t have to be strong for everyone else.”

My throat tightened. He wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t want to admit it—not to him, not to myself.

“I can’t break,” I whispered. “If I do… I don’t know if I’ll be able to put myself back together.”

“You can.” He turned slightly, facing me fully. His usual perfect mask was gone, leaving only raw sincerity in his eyes. “And I’ll be here when you do. I’ve got you.”

Something inside me cracked. I made a soft, strangled sound and buried my face in his chest. The tears came hard and fast, fear and guilt spilling out in ragged sobs. He didn’t speak—just held me tighter, his hand stroking my hair, his breath steady and grounding.

“I miss him so much,” I choked out between sobs. “Everything feels wrong without Keane. Like… like I lost him for good, and I don’t even know how to fix it.”

“I know,” Elio murmured. His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “But you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, my cheeks wet and flushed. “Why are you helping me? Really?”

His hand moved to cup my cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear.

“Because you make magic feel real again.” The admission seemed to cost him something, his voice low and steady.

“You saw through every illusion, every perfect performance. You showed me what power should be—when it’s real, not just a trick for the crowd. ”

My breath hitched. His eyes—usually veiled behind wit and charm—were wide open now, stripped of every shield. No performance. No illusions. Just Elio.

A jolt went through me. I was still Keane’s…

or I had been. Those feelings didn’t just disappear because he was gone.

But with Elio looking at me like that—like he actually saw me , not the heir or the half-breed or the problem—it was hard to pretend I wasn’t caught in something dangerous. Something real.

I swallowed hard. “This doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring about him.”

Elio didn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t expect you to.” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear with careful intent. “But that doesn’t mean this—” his gaze held mine, unrelenting, “—isn’t real too. Wanting something else doesn’t erase what came before.”

He didn’t say love. Of course he didn’t. That wasn’t his language. But the steadiness in his voice, the softness in his touch—it was the closest I’d ever seen to Elio Lightford letting himself feel something without artifice.

“You mean that,” I whispered, leaning into his hand.

“I do.” His fingers trailed along the line of my jaw, leaving behind sparks of warm, clean magic that settled low in my spine.

Echo’s scales shifted, flaring that impossible violet again—color rippling with intensity.

The air between us pulsed, alive with magic and want, like the breath the sky takes just before a lightning strike

“No more illusions,” he promised, but something flickered behind his eyes. Fear. Maybe just a little.

“That’s not easy for you, is it?” I murmured.

His hand traced my jaw, his touch reverent. “No. But I think… I think I want to try. With you.”

“Elio…” I didn’t know if it was a warning or a plea.

He tilted my face up—slowly, so slowly, like he was giving me every chance to pull away.

I almost did. For half a breath, I almost stepped back.

But then his fingers traced my cheek, his thumb catching a stray tear, and I was lost.

“You,” I breathed.

His kiss was feather-light at first, a tease—like he was testing just how badly I wanted this. But the moment our mouths met, the hesitation burned away. He deepened the kiss with startling urgency, his hand sliding into my hair and tugging just enough to draw a gasp from my throat.

I barely had time to breathe before his tongue traced the seam of my lips, demanding more.

I opened to him, and everything else fell away.

There was nothing soft about this. It was heat and hunger, his teeth grazing my bottom lip before he captured it, pulled, sucked, until I was clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping me grounded.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed against my lips, his voice raw and husky.

I answered with another kiss, letting my hands wander.

Our magic surged around us—light from his illusions and my shadows deepening until the room felt like a star-filled abyss holding only the two of us.

It wasn’t just power; it was recognition.

Understanding. Two people who had seen through each other’s masks and found something worth holding onto.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice shaking with both need and vulnerability.

“Never,” he promised, his mouth moving to my neck, each touch igniting sparks beneath my skin. His teeth scraped, a teasing bite, before soothing the spot with his tongue. A slow, wicked rhythm designed to make me ache.

His hands slid beneath my shirt, fingers teasing along my bare skin, reveling in the way I shivered beneath his touch. “So sensitive,” he murmured, pleased. “Every reaction… mine.”

A thrill shot through me as he slowly lifted my shirt, deliberately drawing out the moment. He tugged it over my head but left it hanging from my wrists, trapping my arms above me as he surveyed his prize. I was bare before him, having forgotten even a bra in my haste to leave the dorm.

“Mari, look at you.” His eyes darkened, and his illusions flickered.

He bent down, taking one nipple into his mouth, teasing with slow, deliberate flicks of his tongue. His hand found the other, rolling it between his fingers, alternating between pleasure and restraint, keeping me on edge.

I arched beneath him, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. “Elio, please—”

“Not yet,” he murmured, the wicked grin returning. “I want to savor you.”

His lips traveled lower, mapping my body with kisses and teasing bites. When he reached the waistband of my pajama pants, he paused, his eyes meeting mine. Seeking permission. Waiting for the inevitable surrender.

“Yes,” I whispered, barely able to form words.

With a slow, practiced ease, he stripped away the last barriers between us. He stepped back, devouring me with his gaze, his eyes flickering with heat and something deeper.

“Mari,” he murmured, almost reverently. “More gorgeous than any illusion I could ever create.”

He stepped closer, sliding his fingers along the soft skin of my inner thighs. Heat pooled at my core—a mixture of longing and urgency.

His fingers danced teasingly close to where I craved him most, but he took his time, relishing the way my breath quickened and my body responded to his every caress. I could hardly contain myself, biting my lip to suppress the desperate sounds threatening to escape.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, watching the way my breath hitched. “Every time I touch you here… you tremble. Like you need this.”

He chuckled softly, a low rumble that vibrated against me as he finally allowed his fingers to glide upward, sliding into my folds.

“Mari,” he breathed again, as if overwhelmed by the sight and feel of me.

He stroked my folds softly, circling my clit, while his eyes watched my reactions. He didn’t rush, didn’t overwhelm—he studied me, watched me, learned every sound, every tremble, every gasp.

Then he plunged a finger inside, then two. I moaned aloud, gripping his shoulders and pulling him closer, my legs trembling. The world around us faded into a hazy blur, the only thing that mattered was the intoxicating connection between us.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Good girl.” His fingers dipped inside me, and pulled out, his thumb patiently stimulating my clit with gentle touches.