Page 34

Chapter

Thirty-Three

Loren never came.

Araya hadn’t really expected him to, but she couldn’t help being disappointed when the sun set without any sign of him. She passed the hours as best she could—exploring the bedroom and attached bathing chamber, then soaking in a hot bath to ease the bruises and bone-deep ache of the last two days. She even washed her hair, careful not to jostle her stitches as she unwound what remained of her braid and worked the tangles free with slow, aching fingers.

By the time she stepped out of the bath, a tray had mysteriously appeared on the small table near the hearth—still steaming, even though she hadn’t heard anyone come in. Her stomach growled at the sight of it, and she didn’t ask questions.

She ate in silence, curling into one of the chairs while her hair dried loose around her shoulders. The fire warmed her skin and the food filled her stomach—but neither was quite enough to quiet the ache in her chest.

Eventually, she gave in. She slipped into one of the nightgowns she’d found in the wardrobe and stretched out on the bed, telling herself she wasn’t going to sleep—just rest .

But the moment her head hit the pillow, sleep dragged her under.

Araya jerked awake, her breath catching in her throat. She must have been asleep for hours—long enough for the magical fire to burn itself out, casting the unfamiliar room in strange shadows. She stared into the dark, the blanket clutched tight to her chest as she listened for any sign of what had woken her.

Then, she heard it—a soft click as the lock turned over, followed by the faint creak of hinges as her door swung open.

“Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?”

Nothing answered her but silence.

Araya slipped out of bed and crept across the room, pushing the door open just enough to peer into the dark hallway.

Empty. But a faint prickle of unease danced along her skin, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She stared down the darkened corridor, wavering between the urge to seize the unexpected opportunity to explore and the instinctive desire to retreat into her room and push something heavy in front of the door.

Before she could decide, a shadow peeled away from the wall.

Araya sucked in a sharp breath as it drifted toward her, curling lazily across the floor. She flinched as it twined around her ankles—strangely warm against her bare skin—before slipping away again, only to stop a few paces down the hall.

Araya stared after it, a strange certainty settling in her chest—it was waiting for her. Only a fool would follow a shadow—but somehow, Araya found herself stepping into the hallway, closing her door quietly behind her.

The shadow was almost playful as it led her through the empty castle—spiraling and looping through puddles of dim moonlight and darting from shadow to shadow. But when Araya paused in front of one of the shrouded paintings it raced back to her, flickering around her feet as it urged her onward.

It didn’t stop until it reached a heavy door, swirling in front of it for a moment before melting into an inky pool. Araya quickened her steps, but before she reached it the shadow had flattened itself, sliding through the crack at the bottom of the door.

Araya gripped the handle and turned it—but the door didn’t budge.

Locked—of course.

“You know,” she muttered, aiming her voice at the door in case the shadow was still listening, “If I’d known you were just going to leave me at another locked door, I’d have stayed in my room.”

She didn’t expect an answer. But just as she turned to leave, there was a soft click.

Araya stared as the door creaked open, revealing a narrow sliver of the room beyond. A golden glow spilled through the crack, a strange tug in her chest beckoning her forward.

It was another bedroom—larger than the one they’d given her. The grand bed was neatly made, with heavy emerald curtains that matched drapes along the wall of windows. Outside, she could just make out the dark shape of a balcony overlooking the long-dead garden.

Araya crossed to the writing desk by the window, trailing her fingers over the polished wood. It was completely bare—with not even a stray scrap of parchment or a forgotten quill to tell her anything about the person who lived in this room.

She had more luck with the wardrobe.

Araya ran her fingers over the meticulously hung clothing, marveling at the array of fine fabrics and delicate embroidery. Only a king would have so many beautiful things to wear.

Or a prince.

“What are you doing in here?”

Araya gasped, slamming the wardrobe shut as she spun. Loren stood in front of a door she hadn’t noticed, the bathing chamber behind him. He’d shorn his long hair to his chin, drops of water still clinging to the inky strands and dripping onto his bare shoulders. Her gaze caught on one of those droplets, following it as it trailed over his scars—over the sharp ridges of his torso and the edge of the low-slung pants that clung to his hips—then snapped away as heat surged up her neck.

“Maybe you should ask your shadow what I’m doing here,” she said, her voice coming out higher than she’d intended. “It was the one that unlocked my door and led me here.”

Loren tilted his head, his gaze dragging over her like he meant to memorize her. He stepped closer, the heat of him bleeding through the thin silk she wore and his scent curling around her—cold stone and storm winds, as sharp and cutting as the male himself.

“You followed a shadow through a dark, unfamiliar castle,” he said slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “In the middle of the gods-damned night?”

“Are you saying you didn’t send it?”

“I did not.” Loren’s scowl deepened, his gaze flicking toward the shifting darkness near the door. “They did this on their own.”

“Well, it’s not like I knew where it was going,” she said, lifting her chin. “If I had, I’d have stayed in my room.”

“That’s my point.” He planted one hand on the wardrobe beside her head, caging her in without touching her. “You didn’t even know where it was taking you—and you still followed it.”

He leaned in, his voice low as his breath grazed the scarred edge of her ear. “This is the last place you should be, ael’sura .”

Araya took a shallow breath, her back glued to the wardrobe as his heat burned into her. But she forced herself to hold his gaze. "You’re right," she said, her voice cutting. "I shouldn’t be here—I should be in the New Dominion."

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Loren snapped. But he took a step back, giving her space to breathe. “You should go back to your room, ael’sura . And next time, don’t follow things that belong to me.”

Araya folded her arms, intending to retort—but hissed through her teeth as pain shot through her wrist. She started to pull away, but Loren was already there, his fingers curling around hers with unexpected gentleness.

“Let me see,” he murmured .

Before she could protest, he was examining the splint. Araya held her breath and turned her head away, too aware of how little separated them as heat flushing her skin where he touched her.

"You’re going to make this worse if you’re not careful," Loren said, his brow furrowing as he adjusted the splint with deft, precise movements.

“There wasn’t much I could do to protect it,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not when I was crawling through sewers.”

Loren’s hands stilled, guilt flickering across his expression. He released her wrist, stepping back. "I’ll have Thorne arrange for a Healer to look at it,” he said. "They’ll make sure it’s set properly."

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, the softness in his voice throwing her more than she wanted to admit.

“I owe you an apology,” Loren said, his eyes dropping away from hers. “Probably more than one. But everything I did—I was trying to keep you safe.”

“By drugging and kidnapping me?” Araya straightened, anger chasing away the strange warmth in her chest. “You had Thorne lock me in my room like some kind of prisoner.”

Loren flinched at that, turning away from her. He crossed to the window, gripping the sill with white-knuckled hands. Shadows coiled tightly around his feet, mirroring the tension in his shoulders as he stared out at the dead garden below.

“I’ll tell Thorne to give you the key,” he said without looking at her. “You’re welcome to walk around the castle. And the grounds if you want to.”

“But—” Araya stammered, caught off guard by how easily he yielded. “Thorne said it was dangerous?—”

“That’s why I’d prefer you stay inside,” Loren cut in, still staring into the dark. “But asking you to follow orders seems like a waste of breath, even when they’re in your own interest. You’ll just do what you want anyway, won’t you?”

Araya sucked in a sharp breath, his words stinging more than they should have .

“Well, thank you, Your Highness .” She folded her arms, dragging her anger around herself like a shield. “I’ll be sure to cherish my newfound freedom.”

She stepped back, putting space she suddenly desperately needed between them. “I think I’ll go back to my room now,” she said stiffly, every word bitter on her tongue. “Sorry to bother you.”

She turned, practically bolting for the door so he wouldn’t see how her hands trembled at her side. She’d barely closed it behind herself when something slammed against it, shattering with enough force to rattle the frame.

Araya stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. For one reckless moment, she almost reached for the handle, ready to fling the door back open, demand—what? An explanation? A reason?

But she didn’t want to hear it. Not if it meant admitting how badly he’d hurt her.

So instead, she curled her fingers into fists and turned away, forcing one foot in front of the other. Each step dragged heavier than the last, like something had hooked beneath her ribs and was trying to pull her back to him. But Araya held her head high—and did not look back.