Page 52

INSPECT THE DAMAGE, PRETEND IT’S FINE (SOMEONE ORDER MORE PILLOWS)

KAZIMIR

I strode down the corridor toward the eastern tower, moving just slowly enough for Arabella to match my pace.

Griffin bounded ahead of us, nearly vibrating with excitement.

The memory of last night’s chaos still coursed beneath my skin.

Beneath that pleasant buzz, my runes prickled with raw discomfort.

They always grew sensitive after intense magical activity, and I’d needed a great deal of power to contain our combined magics.

Not that I was complaining.

Servants scurried past, casting furtive glances our way, particularly at my wife. She pressed closer and lowered her voice. “Why is everyone looking at me like that?”

I smirked. “Perhaps because half the fortress heard you screaming my name last night. Several times, in fact.”

Her cheeks blazed an exquisite pink. “I wasn’t that loud.”

“You shattered a window.”

“That was the magic,” she hissed, gripping her fists so tightly that errant sparks crackled between her fingers, bright and hungry.

“Keep telling yourself that.” I let my knuckles graze hers, triggering a jolt of shared power. The runes along my forearm seared beneath my sleeve from the contact.

We skirted a partially collapsed wall and climbed the spiral steps into the eastern tower.

Scorch marks blackened the walls where our magical whirlwind had burned runes clean off the stone.

Griffin pushed open the doors to the ritual chamber, and my advisors turned as we entered.

Their expressions ranged from Thorne’s not-so-subtle grin to Vex’s sly smirk.

“Ah, the happy couple arrives,” Vex drawled. “Did we disturb your beauty rest?”

I chose to ignore her needling, though Arabella shot her a glare. My attention stayed on the Heirloom. The ancient circlet pulsed with uneven amber light, flaring brightly, then dimming as if straining.

“How long has it been doing this?” I demanded.

Griffin bounced on his toes. “It began around midnight, coinciding with a major spike in mystical energy—more than we’ve ever recorded in the fortress.”

Sims scanned his notes, murmuring, “Fascinating.” He tapped the page. “And now?”

“The pulses have grown more frequent,” Griffin said. “I’d guess about a seventeen percent decrease in the intervals since dawn.”

I rested my hand on the circlet, searching for the surge of power I’d expected to feel upon contact. It was warm, almost alive, but still unstable. Something about the rhythm of its glow felt off, like a heartbeat skipping.

Arabella drifted closer, her fingers flexing as though she were one breath away from releasing that feral magic inside her again. The Heirloom’s amber glow flared in recognition. I exhaled sharply, forcing the memories of last night aside.

“It’s responding to you,” I said. “To us.”

Arabella’s eyes flickered to mine, equal parts fascination and caution. “But you’re saying it isn’t fully… awake?”

I circled the artifact, tension coiled tight in my bones. “No. Something’s building, but it isn’t at complete power. Why?”

“If I may,” Griffin offered, “the texts speak of a bond between wielders. Perhaps the connection must be... er... continually reinforced over time?”

“What he means,” Thorne cut in with a lazy grin, “is that you two need to keep having sex to make it work properly.”

“The, ah, terminology in the ancient texts is somewhat oblique, but yes, essentially,” Griffin stammered.

Arabella’s mortified huff made Vex snort with laughter.

Meanwhile, my jaw tightened. The very public suggestion that I continue sharing my bed with Arabella was hardly unpleasant, but the pointed stares from my closest advisors were grating.

Still, I couldn’t deny the flicker of relief that unraveled in my chest. My outward scowl didn’t mirror that secret triumph.

“How periodically?” I asked.

Griffin adjusted his robes nervously. “The texts aren’t specific, my lord. But based on the current pattern of energy fluctuations, I would hypothesize... daily?”

“How terribly inconvenient for you both,” Vex remarked drily.

I shot her a withering look. “Enough.”

As I rotated the Heirloom for closer inspection, I spotted a faint shine that looked out of place among the ley line etchings across its surface. I tilted it toward the light, and a cold sensation spread through my chest.

Fuck.

A hairline fracture. One crack, almost invisible, ran along a curled etching.

My stomach plunged, and I stared at the nearly invisible crack with growing horror.

Artifacts like this were nearly indestructible.

It shouldn’t have cracked unless it met some monstrous force, which evidently, Arabella and I had just become.

But there it was. A tiny, devastating flaw.

White-hot anger lanced through me. My runes seared along my ribs, and I forced down the urge to hurl the circlet against the wall.

No one else had noticed the fracture. They were busy debating the frequency of “ritual reinforcement” required. Griffin offered more theories in halting phrases. Thorne’s irreverent humor stoked Arabella’s visible annoyance.

The fracture must have formed last night in the same catastrophic release that damaged the east wing. I just hadn’t noticed it yesterday when I’d initially checked the Heirloom after our... enthusiastic consummation.

Ten damned years spent plotting, killing, bargaining to track this artifact down… only to damage it with mind-blowing orgasms. I would have laughed at the absurdity if not for the savage fury swirling inside me.

“I’ve never encountered a magical object that required bodily intimacy to function,” Sims was saying. “Though there are precedents in blood magic rituals where continued exchange is necessary for?—”

“Lady Blackrose?” Thorne’s voice cut through. “Are you unwell?”

I glanced up, suddenly noticing Arabella’s pallor and the tight set of her jaw.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, then immediately softened her tone. “Forgive me. I’m just... it’s been a long morning.”

“Magical exhaustion,” Griffin supplied helpfully. “Quite common after intense spellcasting. Or other intense activities that involve magical resonance.”

“I can have someone bring you a tonic, if you’d like,” Vex offered.

“No,” Arabella said, stepping away. She glanced sidelong at me, her face knitting with frustration that I recognized all too well. “I need to feed Nyx before she sets the stables on fire.”

She started for the door, pausing just long enough to cast me another look before slipping into the corridor.

I should have said something, but my mind was consumed with the Heirloom’s fracture.

If that crack worsened, the Heirloom might fail, or worse yet, unleash something catastrophic.

I had to fix it, or discover a way to mitigate the damage.

Another fear slithered beneath that: if the artifact ended up useless, would Arabella still have reason to stay?

My heart hammered in my ears from the unstoppable tangle of worry and anger. Dammit.

I tried to focus on the circlet. “Keep monitoring the pulses and chart each fluctuation. I want hourly reports.”

The advisors nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Vex slipping out, probably to trail after Arabella.

I let my gaze drift over Griffin’s charts, but my mind reeled with more urgent matters. If the entire circlet shattered, we’d lose the main advantage we had over Solandris. But the shameful spark of panic that stirred wasn’t just about the artifact’s power.

I felt a violent urge to demolish something—preferably Solandris itself. But such tantrums would accomplish nothing now. So I exhaled, letting the tension coil under my skin.

I’d fix the damage. Because if I lost this artifact, I might lose her too. That possibility, I was starting to realize, terrified me more than I dared admit.