Page 37

Chapter Twenty Five

I woke with a gasp, bolting upright, heart hammering in my chest. For one disorienting moment, I wasn’t quite sure where I was. I saw the familiar drapes of my bed looming like shadowed specters, but my mind was still tangled between the Mortal Realm and the Underworld.

Then it all came rushing back to me.

My hands flew to the sheets, fingers scrambling, searching for something—anything—as I tore through the tangled fabric with frantic urgency. A tremor of panic licked at my spine until my fingertips brushed under the pillow, closing around the cool, solid shape of the bangle.

I froze. My pulse seemed to halt entirely as I held it up, the metal glinting faintly in the silver glow of moonlight that streamed through the window. My breath stuck somewhere between disbelief and triumph.

It had worked. It had actually worked.

A weapon from the Underworld now sat in my hands… in the Mortal Realm. An object that should have been bound by the Veil, a boundary so absolute that not even the Gods could breach it, now existed here . This single act, this impossibility, shattered every rule I thought I understood .

My thoughts tumbled, cascading with the weight of it. But now wasn’t the time to linger on the implications. There would be time yet to worry about all the lingering questions in my mind. For now, I had to focus.

I had to move. I had to save Camilla.

The silence of the palace was heavier at night, like it carried the secrets of a thousand slumbering souls.

My bare feet met the cold stone of the hallway, grounding me, forcing me to focus.

I crept like a shadow through the corridors, keeping my grip tight around the bangle in my pocket.

Some irrational part of me feared it might dissolve back into the Veil if I let go, as though the rules of reality could reclaim it.

Gertrand still stood guard at the palace dungeon. His red hair was even more disheveled than before, dark shadows under his eyes betraying his exhaustion. He slumped lazily in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling, his foot tapping a dull rhythm that echoed faintly off the stone.

I hesitated only long enough to pull in a deep breath, shaking out my shoulders as though I could shrug on a sense of urgency. Then I stumbled forward, exaggerating my panic as I rushed toward him. “Oh, thank the Gods!” My voice broke just the right way, high and breathless.

“Lady Moore!” Gertrand jerked upright, fumbling to steady me as I nearly collapsed into his arms. His hands gripped my wrists, his face alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s dreadful!” I wailed, twisting my hands in his grip as though too distraught to focus.

“My necklace—it’s missing! My betrothed gave it to me in Tenebris; I must have dropped it somewhere.

I’ve searched everywhere —the banquet hall, the library, even the gardens.

This is the only place left! I know it must be here. ”

The guard relaxed slightly, though his hands still hovered awkwardly, unsure whether to comfort or restrain me. He sighed, clearly relieved to be dealing with a frantic noblewoman rather than the cold threat I’d been hours before. “My Lady, I’ll help you look for it. You don’t need to— ”

“Are you sure?” I widened my eyes, my voice a mixture of pleading and surprise. “Wouldn’t that mean abandoning your post?”

His brow furrowed as the words registered. I watched his hesitation take root and grow.

“Well, I suppose that would be a breach of protocols...”

I sidestepped around him with practiced ease, pressing myself to the dungeon door.

“I’ll only be a moment!” I insisted. “Back before you even realize it. It’ll be our little secret!”

Before he could protest and further, I pushed into the dungeon and the heavy door clicked shut.

Immediately, I summoned my magic, forming an invisible tether between Gertrand and I.

I felt as he took a tentative step forward, hand reaching for the door to follow me in, and I focused my energy on that connection between us, slowly tightening it until his breathing hitched.

The faintest sounds of choking carried down the hall before silence fell.

The pull of unconsciousness hit him quickly, slumping him back against the chair.

“Sorry, Gertrand,” I muttered under my breath, pulling the dungeon door open again to look at him.

A faint noise echoed down the corridor—a door creaking somewhere far away, or maybe footsteps.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Gertrand twitched slightly, his brow furrowing as his unconscious body leaned forward in the chair.

I tightened the thread of magic, holding my breath as he stilled again.

As quietly as I could, I wrapped my power around him and dragged him into the dungeons.

His body floated limply beside me as I hurried down the corridor toward Camilla’s cell.

She was in the same position as earlier and I pressed Gertrand’s hand to the barrier, flinching as the glass rippled and vanished, and the stench hit me like a physical blow.

Rot. Blood. Sweat. The kind of smell that clung to the back of your throat, refusing to let go.

“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” I whispered, gagging as I stepped into the cell and made my way towards her.

Camilla looked no better than before—crumpled and fragile, like a hollowed-out version of herself.

Her labored breaths rattled unevenly as I crouched beside her.

Kneeling, I lifted her trembling hand and carefully slid the invisibility bangle onto her wrist. The second it touched her skin, her body flickered and vanished, leaving only the faint pull of my magic to guide me.

I wrapped my power around her like a cacoon, enveloping her and pulling her up, only for my hold on Gertrand to slip. His unconscious form fell, and I barely had time to catch onto him before he slammed into the ground.

“Gods,” I groaned, struggling to support both of them in the air.

I had underestimated the effort it would take to carry them both.

My energy wavered under the strain, black dots floating on the edges of my vision, but I gritted my teeth and pressed on.

The guard’s body floated back to his post, settling into his chair where he would wake later, none the wiser.

Then it was just me, Camilla, and the yawning palace halls.

I kept my pace steady and even as I walked through the halls, just in case prying eyes were lingering somewhere in the shadows, but when I finally made my way out into the night air, each step was getting a little more difficult than the last. I struggled to keep her body supported, but could feel my magic flickering softly, needing a break.

When we finally reached the palace stables, dawns first streaks of light were painting the sky. I swung myself onto a horse, gripped the reins tightly, and maneuvered Camilla’s weight behind me, locking her down onto the horse the same way I had strapped myself to Clay’s dragon form.

We rode hard, the wind ripping against my skin as I pushed the mare harder. There was no time to waste.

By the time Hyrax Manor rose into view, sunlight spilled over the estate, golden and soft. I nearly collapsed off the horse as I guided Camilla inside, still holding her weight with my magic and gritting my teeth against the dull headache that was forming from the exertion.

I rushed inside, propping up her body by the hearth and lighting a fire to warm her.

The next moments blurred. I found a basin, filled it with the cleanest water I could, and knelt beside her, scrubbing the filth from her skin.

Blood swirled into the water, staining it crimson, but even after minutes of scrubbing she hardly looked any better.

Her wounds were bad—too bad for me to fix with any skill I possessed.

“Gods damn it!” I muttered, pressing a cloth to the fevered flesh around her ribs. The infection had spread, the wound’s edges angry and inflamed. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I must be dead,” Camilla rasped suddenly, “If you’re admitting to any weakness.”

I jerked, nearly dropping the cloth as I met her barely open eyes. “You’re awake.”

“Apparently,” she groaned, her voice brittle. “Where am I?”

“Hyrax Manor,” I answered, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “You’re safe.”

“It’s freezing.”

“You’re near the fire,” I said softly, dread curling in my stomach. “Just rest. You’ll be fine.”

She didn’t argue, though her breathing faltered. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not. I’m going to die soon.”

“No,” I said fiercely, pressing my thumb to her wrist, searching for the faint pulse. “I won’t let you.”

Her pulse was weak, though, barely even perceptible .

“Not even you’re powerful enough to keep me here,” she murmured, lids fluttering shut again.

Her breathing grew fainter, the pulse beneath my thumb dangerously slow.

She was right. I couldn’t fix this by myself.

My chest tightened as I whispered, more to myself than her, “Then I’ll find someone who can.”

And with that vow, I rose, determination pounding in my veins.

I pounded on the door, my fist connecting with ringing force each time it struck the wood.

When it finally swung open, Clay stood there, blinking at me in half-sleep before taking only a heartbeat to assess my frantic eyes and blood-splattered clothes.

His hand reached out instinctively, hooking gently around the back of my neck as his gaze scanned over me, searching for some unseen injury.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” His voice was low, steady, but threaded with concern.

He wore nothing but loosely tied silk pants that hung low on his hips, his chest bare, the warmth of sleep still clinging to him in the tousled mess of his hair, but his eyes were wide, sharp with alertness, darting over me desperately.

I placed my hands firmly against his chest and shoved, forcing him back into the room. This wasn’t a conversation to be had in public castle halls. He yielded without resistance, his grip slipping from my neck as I stepped inside and closed the door sharply behind me.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, the words tumbling out as I cast a glance around the room.

It was quiet, intimate. The hearth held only dying embers, their warmth barely reaching the nearby couch.

Atop it pillows sat stacked, slightly indented as if a head had been lying there.

On the armrest sat a tossed aside quilt.

“I need help,” I said, forcing my voice to steady.

Clay’s frown deepened as he studied me, his gaze lingering on the dried blood staining my dress. He hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Anything. What do you need from me?”

His response hit me harder than it should have, something in the quiet conviction of his tone catching me off guard.

I ignored the way my heart flipped at his words, at the weight of his unquestioning loyalty.

The Clayton I’d met a year ago would never have reacted this way.

He would have demanded explanations, chastised me for barging into his chambers without warning.

He would have analyzed and weighed every detail before acting.

But now? Now he didn’t even need to know why. He was willing to do whatever I needed without a single question.

And I was about to ask for far more than he would ever expect.

“Not yours,” I whispered, the words barely audible as they left my lips.

His frown deepened, confusion flickering across his face. But before he could speak, a soft rustling came from the doorway behind him.

Elaina emerged from the bedroom, tying the sash of a golden robe around her waist. Her honey-brown hair spilled over her shoulder in a loose braid, her face free of any cosmetics, effortlessly radiant in the dim morning light.

She moved with ease, the casual confidence of someone who was entirely comfortable in Clay’s personal space .

“What’s going on?” she asked, her tone mild as her gaze shifted between us.

My stomach twisted. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I met her eyes—the woman set to marry the man I loved—and the weight of it all hit me like a physical blow.

I hated her.

I hated the way she looked so effortlessly beautiful, so composed. The way she fit seamlessly into his life, into his room, as if she belonged there. The way she was the one standing beside him in the quiet hours of the morning, while I stood here covered in blood and secrets.

She was his queen. I was an unwelcome intrusion.

I hated everything about her.

But I forced myself to swallow it—all of it. Every shard of pride, each razor-edged fragment of bitterness and jealousy that threatened to tear me apart from the inside. I buried it deep, letting the hatred twist and knot in the pit of my stomach, where it could fester unseen.

Because this wasn’t about me. Not right now.

“I needherhelp,” I said finally, my voice flat, the words scraping against my pride like sandpaper.

Elaina blinked, startled by the request. Clay’s confusion shifted to something sharper, his eyes narrowing as he looked between us.

It didn’t matter. There was no time for explanations. No time for the tangled mess of emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Camilla was dying. And Elaina had trained with healers.

Camilla had spent a year trying everything in her power to end my life, and now I was willing to risk everything to save hers. Even if it meant asking for help from the woman who had everything I wanted.