Page 28

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

The fae prince’s command might as well have been an iron manacle, chaining her to him. His shadows needled at her whenever she slowed, urging her forward as they followed the dim glow of Serafina’s seeking spell deeper into the labyrinth beneath the Aetherium.

Her lip throbbed, but Araya clenched her jaw—refusing to acknowledge the phantom heat of his mouth that still lingered on her lips. He had kissed her. Bitten her. And then he’d compelled her.

That was the only thing that could explain how the command she hadn’t even understood had burrowed under her skin, digging into her will in ways no book could have ever prepared her for. She raged against it at first, but with her power so drained she had no way to fight the urge to obey burning in her blood.

She hated him for it—but she hated herself even more for how she’d frozen when his lips met hers. Why had it taken her so long to push him away?

“We have to go back,” she hissed between ragged breaths as she stumbled after him. “They will kill us all?—”

“I heard a rumor they need my blood for something important,” Loren shot back. “It will be hard to collect if I am dead. ”

Araya glared at his back, her head swimming with exhaustion. He didn’t even sound winded. How was he this strong after spending twenty-five years chained to a wall?

“That won’t stop them from killing me,” she protested. “And Serafina. If we go back now there’s a chance I could talk Jaxon down?—”

“Shaw isn’t going to catch you, ael’sura ,” he said, his voice maddeningly calm.

“You can’t promise—” Araya gasped, nearly falling as she stumbled over an uneven patch of ground. “Please, slow down,” she begged. “I can’t—” she swayed, her words cutting off as another wave of dizziness swept over her.

Loren’s shadows caught her a heartbeat before his strong arm wrapped around her, steadying her against him. Heat sparked where he touched her, licking up her spine. He was too solid, too close, too…something.

Araya shoved him away, a little too hard. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Loren said, the hand that had touched her curling into a fist at his side. “We need to keep moving.”

“You have to let me go,” Araya argued again, but the words came out raw and thin. “ Please , Loren—you don’t understand. He’ll never stop looking for me.”

Loren’s gaze dropped, a flicker of regret crossing his face. But he only shook his head.

“I do understand,” he said, still not looking at her. “That’s why we’re going to make sure he can’t find you.”

He turned and started walking again without waiting for her to respond, following the bobbing light deeper into the labyrinth. And because she had no choice, Araya followed.

Even without Loren’s compulsion, she was hopelessly lost at this point anyway. She’d never find her way out alone—if she even had the strength to try. Whatever mix of Serafina’s care and adrenaline that had carried her this far was wearing off, every ache and pain hitting her with a vengeance as she plodded behind Loren.

After what happened last night, Jaxon would never believe she hadn’t run willingly. Araya’s throat tightened. She had the bruises to show what Jaxon was capable of when he thought he was being defied. If he thought she had anything to do with Loren escaping…

She shivered, cold dread running its icy fingers down her spine. She would be lucky to end up in a cell.

They rounded a bend, the walls narrowing around them. Loren slowed, his eyes scanning the tunnel ahead. “This was part of the old aqueduct system,” he said softly, though his voice still echoed in the quiet. “There should be—ah, there.”

The little ball of light darted to the side, vanishing into a narrow opening in the wall. Loren didn’t hesitate—just bent and gripped the cover, moving it aside with a grunt. Araya stepped forward, curious despite herself—but then the smell hit her.

“No,” Araya snapped, gagging on the stench. “I’m not going in there.”

“Your friend seems like she’s done this a few times,” Loren dropped to his knees, peering into the dark, fetid tunnel. “I’m going to trust her.” He glanced back at her, those green eyes as bright as a cat’s in the darkness. “It slopes down. I suggest going feet-first.”

He didn’t wait for her to answer before he shimmied into the tunnel feet first, barely managing to squeeze his shoulders through the narrow opening.

“I will not,” Araya hissed, digging her heels in as Loren’s magic needled at her, the shadows urging her toward the reeking hole.

You will , they seemed to chant back.

The only defiance she had left was refusing to go feet-first. Clenching her jaw, she crawled forward awkwardly, her injured arm tucked against her chest and every breath thick with filth. The tunnel swallowed her whole, closing around her like a grave.

It only got worse the deeper she crawled, the stone turning slick under her palm. Loren had been right—it did slope down, steeper and steeper the further she crawled, until Araya started to regret going headfirst. She stopped, the compulsion prickling at her to keep going as she tried to gauge if there was enough room for her to turn herself around.

Her hand slipped.

Araya cried out, instinctively throwing out her injured arm to catch herself. It buckled under her—and then she was sliding.

The darkness swallowed her scream as she scrabbled at the slick, slimy rock in a futile effort to stop her plunge. But there was nothing. This was going to be how she died—smashed to pieces in a stinking sewer tunnel?—

Loren’s arms locked around her, breaking her fall as he muffled her scream against his shoulder. He was all sharp edges and wasted muscle, painfully lean but somehow brimming with a coiled strength that called to the faint wisps of aether just starting to flicker back to life inside her.

And his scent—Gods, with the iron gone, he smelled like thunder and cold stone—rain lashing slabs of frozen granite. It was raw and wild and old, and something about it made Araya long to bury her face in his throat and breathe him in until she drowned in it.

“Stubborn female,” he muttered, his voice a low rasp as it brushed over her scarred ear. The wicked smile in the words curled low in her stomach, kindling a fire she wanted no part of.

She smacked a hand into his chest—harder than necessary. “Put me down.”

“As you wish.”

Araya’s triumph at his quick obedience shifted into sharp regret the moment she splashed into the calf-high muck, a wave of nausea gagging her as the foul liquid soaked the hem of her skirt and rushed over the tops of her boots, filling them with freezing filth.

“You knew that would happen!”

“I told you I thought you should go feet-first,” he said, his hands still on her shoulders as if worried she would slip. “You made the decision not to listen. ”

Araya’s face flushed, embarrassment and irritation tangling with her body’s confusing reaction to him. She shook off his hands, squaring her shoulders and glaring up at him. He was tall—taller than any human man she’d ever known—forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him.

“Why didn’t you just compel me, then?” she snapped.

“I could have,” Loren acknowledged. He cocked his head, studying her with the same fae stillness they’d beaten out of her at Kaldrath. “I could make you do a lot of things—follow, bow, obey…but I won’t. Not unless you’re dying, and you’re too stubborn to save yourself.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a timbre that sent goosebumps racing over her skin. “You’re not a puppet, Araya.”

The emphasis he put on her name sent a shiver over her skin as his gaze lingered, burning through her defenses like wildfire.

“Maybe you should just try trusting me,” he added.

“Trust you?” Araya echoed, her voice rising. “You used my best friend to escape—you kidnapped me!”

“It was completely her idea.” Loren shrugged, starting to walk forward again. “If you recall, I told you to forget about me and have a happy life. You’re the one who showed up at my cell anyway.”

“This is not my fault.” Araya clenched her jaw as Loren’s magic tightened around her, forcing her to move.

For what felt like an eternity, they pressed on in silence with only Serafina’s seeking spell to light their way. The narrow tunnel forced them to walk single file, the ceiling dropping so low in places that Loren had to bend nearly double. Much to Araya’s dismay, there were places where the muck rose to mid-thigh, the cold sludge sucking at their legs as they struggled forward.

Finally, the tunnel began to widen. A welcome breeze brushed Araya’s face, a breath of freedom after the suffocating darkness. She gulped in the clean air, picking up her pace until Loren threw out an arm to keep her from passing him .

“Do you have any idea where we are? What’s out there?” He asked.

“Not a sewer,” Araya said, shoving at his arm. “That’s good enough for me.”

Loren shook his head at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Put your hood up,” he ordered, pulling his own.

“Make me,” Araya hissed. She expected him to compel her again, bracing for the surge of magic to twist her to his will. But instead, Loren just reached out and tugged the hood up over her hair.

“I’d prefer not to,” he said, checking the clasp under her chin. “I just don’t want us to be killed as soon as we step out of here.” He turned before she could answer, leading them towards the source of that breeze.

The air changed first—the breeze, cool and sharp against her sweat-dampened skin as it carried away the suffocating dampness of the tunnels. The walls fell away around them, giving way to the cracked cobblestones and sagging buildings of an unfamiliar fae slum.

Araya looked around frantically, searching desperately for anything she recognized. But it wasn’t until she spotted the black towers of the Aetherium looming in the distance that she put it together.

They had to be in Farhallow—the other fae district outside the walls. Gods, they were on the other side of the city. She hadn’t realized they’d gone so far, but at least now she could find her way back.

All she had to do was get away.

But before she could even think about a plan, a hooded shadow separated itself from the crumbling wall, dipping its head at them.

“ Vira’thal ,” a male voice said, low and even. “This way—hurry.”

Loren followed without hesitation, leaving Araya no choice but to trail behind, her heart pounding against her ribs as their guide led them deeper into the maze of crumbling buildings.

Whoever he was, he knew exactly where he was going, leading them into one of the dilapidated ruins. Araya braced herself for the floor to give way under her feet as Loren dragged her after him, but the structure was surprisingly solid.

“Welcome,” the man said once they were safely under cover. He thrust back his hood, revealing short auburn hair and warm amber eyes that spoke to some fae ancestry. “Congratulations on making it this far. We have food and fresh clothes, so you can both clean up a bit and rest before we leave?—”

“Thorne?” Loren interrupted, his voice hoarse as he threw back his hood.

“By the Goddess…” Thorne stared at Loren, his expression splintered and raw. “ Loren ?—”

Loren stiffened, grabbing the male by the arm as he started to drop to his knees. Sharp words followed—not in Common, but in Valenya. And then Loren was moving, dragging the other male into a fierce, crushing embrace, tears streaking both their faces.

Araya took a step back, shocked when she was actually able to. The compulsion tugging at her was a fraying thread—one she might actually break if she tried. She gathered herself, tensing to run?—

But then Loren and the male broke apart. Araya froze under Loren’s bright green stare as he cast a sidelong glance her way, saying something under his breath in Valenya.

The other male nodded, turning to her. “We owe you a debt,” he said softly. “I’m sure you’re exhausted. We can have you out of the city tonight?—”

“That’s not necessary.” Araya shoved her hood back, lifting her chin as Thorne’s eyes widened at the sight of her clipped ears and bruises. “Wherever you’re going, I’m not coming with you.”

“You are.” Loren’s expression darkened, his voice like iron. “Even if I have to drag you.”

Araya glared at him, clenching her teeth on the venomous words she wanted to spit. He glared back, the silence stretching between them brittle and heavy.

“Well,” Thorne said. “There’s clearly a story here.” His tone was easy, but his eyes were sharp as they raked over her, assessing. “ Come inside. Get cleaned up, eat something. Then we’ll talk about what comes next.”

Thorne led them deeper into the dilapidated building, guiding them past piles of debris carefully arranged to make this place seem abandoned. Araya glared at Loren’s back, her irritation simmering as he conversed with their rescuer in fluid Valenya. At one point, he laughed—a rich, genuine sound completely unlike anything she’d ever heard from him before, making her wish she could see his face.

Finally, Thorne pushed open a thick wooden door. Light poured into the corridor, spilling warmth and soft voices into the dingy hall along with the rich, savory smell of cooking meat. Araya’s mouth watered, her stomach cramping with hunger. She hadn’t eaten since…she couldn’t even remember.

“Look what I found waiting at the other end of the guide spell,” Thorne said, giving Loren a shove into the room. “Not what I was expecting tonight, that’s for sure. Serafina outdid herself this time.”

The two people in the room looked up from the map they’d been studying, the woman sucking in a sharp breath as her eyes landed on Loren. She rose quickly, but her companion moved faster—crossing the room in three long strides and pulling Loren into a fierce, familiar embrace.

Araya froze, staring as the man from the Crust & Kettle— Serafina’s Finn —embraced Loren like a brother. Her pulse roared in her ears, every detail taking on new weight as she scanned the room, taking in the worn armchairs, the fire crackling in the hearth, the map spread across the table. This wasn’t just a sanctuary—it was a base.

“You’re a rebel?” she demanded, the hysteria in her voice drawing every eye in the room. “ Serafina is a rebel?”

Loren cut in before Araya could respond, his words a soft, fluid stream of Valenya, too fast for her to even attempt to follow. But she didn’t need to understand the words to guess at what he was saying as everyone in the room stared at her. Finn’s expression shifted sharply, his relaxed stance straightening. Whatever Loren had told him about her, it was enough to earn her Finn’s full attention.

But it was the silver-haired woman who stepped forward, the sheen of her hair and the grace of her stride left little doubt in Araya’s mind that she had fae blood, despite her rounded ears.

“I’m Nyra,” she said with a genuine smile. “We’re all friends of Loren’s—from before. You’ve done a great service for Valendral, Araya.”

“Against my will,” Araya said stiffly.

Nyra’s smile faltered, but her eyes were sympathetic. “Loren mentioned that,” she said. “We’re still grateful to you for bringing our friend back to us. Would you like to wash—change your clothes? We have things that will fit you.”

Araya hesitated, reluctant to accept anything from these people. But the promise of clean clothes and a chance to wash the stench of the sewers from her skin was too tempting to resist, no matter how much she hated the idea of being in their debt. With a tight nod, she followed Nyra down a short, dark hallway and into a tiny room.

The hum of conversation faded, replaced by the faint creak of wooden floorboards underfoot and the soft splash of water as Nyra filled a bucket from a tap. “Sorry we don’t have a full tub,” she said, setting the bucket beside a low stool. “These aren’t the most luxurious accommodations, but they are safe. You’ll at least be able to scrub off?—”

She lifted a hand, and Araya stifled a gasp as silver rippled across the surface of the water, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.

Nyra had used no rune, spoken no words—Araya had only ever read about magic like this, shaped with will and intention instead of force and might. No one under the New Dominion’s rule had enough power to even attempt it...yet Nyra had used it to warm a bucket of water for a stranger.

Nyra must have noticed her shock but didn’t comment as she set a soft-bristled brush and a bar of soap neatly on the stool. Finally she opened a small cabinet, pulling out a folded towel and a bundle of clothing. “These should fit you,” she said, setting them on top of the cabinet. “I’ll be just outside—take your time.”

Araya blinked, surprised by the offer of privacy. “Thank you,” she said quietly, the words stiffer than she intended.

Nyra nodded, pausing in the doorway. “After you’re clean, we’ll get you some hot food. Everything is better after a hot meal.” She stepped out before Araya could respond, pulling the door shut behind her.

Araya froze, holding her breath as she listened. But there was no click of a lock settling into place, no hum of enchantment—she was alone. And unrestrained.

She raced to the window, tugging at the rough boards nailed across it. But none of them budged, not even when she pried at their edges with her fingers. Araya swore under her breath, whirling to scan the rest of the room. But there was no hidden door or second exit—just the one she’d come in through, that would lead her back to the main room.

To him.

No escape then—not yet. With a sigh, Araya eased her arm out of the brace, gritting her teeth against the pain. Apparently, crawling through sewers counted as resting . She’d be lucky if it didn’t need to be set after she finally managed to get away.

Araya nearly cried when the hot water touched her skin. Lathering the soap on the brush, she scrubbed until the water darkened to murky brown and her skin glowed a rosy pink. Her soiled dress she left crumpled in a heap—they could burn it, for all she cared. But her boots she scrubbed as best she could, dunking them in the water until they were at least passably clean.

The bundle of clothing Nyra had left consisted of fresh undergarments along with a too-large but blessedly clean tunic and a set of drawstring pants. There was even a pair of warm, dry socks. Araya pulled them on gratefully, padding out of the room with her dripping boots dangling from one hand to find Nyra sitting just outside in a sturdy wooden chair.

The woman— female , Araya corrected herself, no one who could use aether so naturally was human—looked up as the door creaked open, her gaze sweeping over Araya before a small, approving smile touched her lips.

“Much better,” she said, rising gracefully to her feet. “I know you didn’t choose to be here, but you should know that you’re safe here, Araya. We’ve worked hard to ensure this place is secure.”

Safe. The word settled heavily in Araya’s chest. She shook her head. “None of us are safe as long as I’m here,” she said. “Jaxon will find me.”

Nyra’s smile faltered, and for the briefest moment, something sharp flickered in her blue eyes. She recovered quickly, smoothing her expression into calm reassurance, but Araya didn’t miss the way her fingers tightened around the back of the chair.

“Jaxon Shaw?” Nyra repeated. “You’re his bond?”

Araya nodded, lowering her voice even more as she stepped closer, desperate not to be overheard by anyone in the main room. “That’s why you have to let me go. He’ll never stop searching for me, and if his search leads him here…”

Jaxon would burn this place to ash, with them inside.

For a moment, Araya thought Nyra would see sense—but then she shook her head slowly. “Serafina wouldn’t have sent you to us if she didn’t think we could help,” she said, sympathy flickering across her expression as she glanced at the bruises that marked Araya’s face and arms. “You made it here—let us worry about the rest.”

Araya opened her mouth to argue, but Nyra reached out, resting a steadying hand on her arm. “You’re not alone in this, Araya,” she said firmly, even though her tone remained gentle. “Come, there’s food waiting for you by the fire. Eat first, rest, and then we’ll talk more.”

Reluctantly, Araya let Nyra guide her back to the warm glow of the hearth, her reassurances ringing hollow in Araya’s ears. How could they be so calm and dismissive when Jaxon was out there? He would be missing her by now—had they found Serafina and the guard yet? Her heart clenched at the thought of what might be happening to them right now. Jaxon wouldn’t let something like this slide—not with his prized prisoner missing.

Her stomach tightened as her thoughts spiraled. She knew what Jaxon was capable of, how far he would go to make an example of disobedience. The longer she stayed away, the worse her punishment would be. Unless she went back willingly. If she could make him believe she’d returned of her own volition, maybe—just maybe—he’d show her mercy.

She just needed a chance. One chance.

So she accepted the hearty bowl of chunky stew Nyra served her with a tight, forced smile. The warm aroma of herbs and rich broth filled her nose, but even as she ate slowly, savoring the flavors, it did little to soothe the knot of tension in her chest. She could feel the weight of their glances—Loren’s especially—lingering on her like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

If he expected anything from her beyond silence, he was more arrogant than she’d thought.

Her grip tightened around the spoon, the memory of his compulsion simmering just beneath her skin. The pressure of the magic had faded now, but it left a bruise behind—a reminder of just how easily he’d bent her will. Could it even be resisted? Could she resist him ? He was a prince, and she was just… herself.

No wonder he hadn’t hesitated. Why would someone like him care about violating someone like her?

Araya set her spoon down as the stew turned sour on her tongue, her appetite waning.

Nyra returned with a steaming cup of fragrant herbal tea, setting it down in front of her. “To help you relax,” the female said kindly.

Araya wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her hands as Nyra cleared away her bowl. She took a cautious sip, the sweet, rich blend soothing her aching muscles and frayed nerves as its heat spread through her body. She was so tired—drained from the loss of her magic, the last traces of adrenaline fading after their desperate flight through the tunnels.

The room blurred at the edges, her thoughts slipping through her grasp like water through her fingers. She blinked, struggling to focus on lifting her arm, but it barely moved. She felt like someone had wrapped her in lead chains, pinning her to the bench. From across the room, Thorne’s amber gaze flicked toward her, his brow furrowing slightly.

They had drugged her.

The realization was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over her head. The tea, the kindness—it had all been a calculated trap to make her lower her guard. She fought to stand, but her limbs barely twitched, sluggish and unresponsive.

She should have known—of course they wouldn’t just trust her. How could they? She was bonded to Jaxon Shaw. She had said it herself—she was as much a threat to them as he was.

A shadow moved at the edge of her vision, Loren’s storm and stone scent enveloping her as his gentle hands guided her head to rest on her folded arms. He murmured something, the words pitched for her ears alone. Araya didn’t understand, but she didn’t need to speak Valenya to hear the quiet undercurrent of guilt in his voice.

Her eyes slipped closed, her resistance slipping through her fingers. Part of her wanted to fight—to shove him away and scream that she didn’t want his comfort. But she was so tired—surely she could rest, just for a minute. Just long enough to gather her strength for whatever came next.

Araya’s breathing slowed, the world fading around her. The last thing she felt was his hand on her back, his low, soft voice wrapping around her like a comforting blanket she hadn’t asked for.