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Ciaran

H ope breathed in deeply as the sun started peaking on the horizon.

They had spent hours side-by-side under the red moonlight, their legs hanging from the edge of the platform at the peak of the navia. Between softly spoken words and peaceful silence, between greeted occasional friction between their hands or legs. And now, the always-returning night was leaving them.

Ciaran felt the whisper approaching, the masculine voice no courtrade knew if it belonged to the darkness or to Llunal himself, speaking softly into his ear.

Protect her.

His eyes jumped to Hope.

Here she was, smiling peacefully at the rising sun.

At some point, Hope had let her braids loose and now strands of black hair moved gently around her beautiful face with the breeze. Her accompanying blades, always present like external appendages of her body, rested on the floor behind them, the biggest proof this woman fully trusted him. Her black eyes were focused, glistening as she didn’t take her gaze away from the growing light. Her lips . . . her lips were pink, full, painfully perfect.

He would sell his soul to the Cardinals for a kiss from those lips, for a kiss from her , but the goddesses didn’t care about what a soul truly craved.

Her chest rose as she breathed deeply, welcoming the sunrise, and Ciaran . . . Ciaran did something precious, something he was allowed—he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply until Hope’s sea breeze and sunshine scent filled him like nothing else did. Like nothing else ever would.

He was allowed that small pleasure alone, nowhere as satisfying as the list of fantasies he had, and the merciless Cardinals were the only ones to blame for that.

Protect her at all costs.

He heard the whisper again, and he didn’t miss the tinge of urgency in the words. Adrenaline constricted his veins, his arm reaching to grab Hope’s—but it was too late.

A violent wind ripped through the air with a deafening roar. A red-tinged wind that didn’t touch him. A wind aimed at her .

Hope let out a scream as the force pushed her body towards the edge, and then Hope was falling, falling, falling to the deck.

Ciaran’s eyes widened, panic squeezing his heart as he held in his breath. Fuck, fuck!

No being could survive that fall, not even her .

He saw her black eyes begging for help as she fell, her hands reaching towards him even though the distance between them grew bigger and bigger. The desperation when she screamed his name ruptured something inside him beyond repair.

Her body fell backwards, farther from him as each millisecond passed, closer to the deck that would end her life.

It was then that another sudden blast of air hit the upper platform where he stared at his life falling tragically. Again, the wind didn’t touch him. This time, it hit the two daggers still resting on the floor.

They were resting no more. They were falling down the precipice, piloted by the air, guided by Cardinal magic. The blades were aimed at Hope.

Ciaran’s furious roar filled the sky.

The West Cardinal was wicked.

And the Healing ordeal— his ordeal—had started.