Page 27

Chapter

Twenty-Six

“As thrilling as it is to see you, I’m not sure you’re supposed to be here.” Dainan emerged from the shadows, his voice smooth as the moonlight that bathed the garden.

The silver glow danced across the sharp lines of his features, emphasizing the coppery strands of his hair that shimmered like a flame in the night.

I knew he was right.

The weight of Illerium’s vague warning hung heavy in the back of my mind: “You never know what spot you might find yourself in, and I, for one, will not come to save you.” I should have listened.

After what I’d uncovered tonight, every cryptic caution felt less like idle chatter and more like a dire prediction.

“I’m not sure how I got here,” I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself as if the gesture could somehow shield me from the uncertainty swirling in my chest. The air was thick with the scent of earth and flowers, but underneath it all, I could still smell the secrets this place seemed to hold.

Dainan took a few more steps forward, his presence both commanding and comforting as if he belonged in this mystical space.

The scent of smoke and citrus surrounded him, weaving through the air like a warm embrace.

It was oddly familiar, grounding, even as the world around us felt far from steady.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, breaking the silence before he could come too close.

My voice sounded smaller than I intended, fragile and filled with an unsteady rhythm.

His brow arched, as if he hadn’t expected me to question him.

“I often come here,” he said, his tone softening as he glanced around the moonlit garden.

“It’s not far from my quarters. Besides, there is a plant here that has always fascinated me.”

“Larrea tridentata,” I whispered, not realizing I’d spoken aloud until his gaze snapped back to mine, sharp with intrigue.

His eyes narrowed, the playfulness in them fading.

“Now, how would you know about Larrea tridentata? To my knowledge, it only grows in Azmeer, and this, dear Ilia, is your first time visiting.”

His words hung between us, a challenge, a subtle threat wrapped in curiosity.

He folded his arms, studying me with a mixture of suspicion and something deeper—something that stirred a spark within me.

“How can you be so sure this is my first time in Azmeer?” I asked, raising my chin, trying to regain some sense of control over the strange energy thrumming between us.

Dainan’s smile deepened, his eyes glittering with amusement as he stepped closer, the distance between us shrinking to nothing but a whisper of breath.

“I would have known otherwise.”

His words sent a shiver through me, and I found myself taking a step back, needing space, needing air.

“I believe you’re overestimating yourself,” I retorted, though my voice wavered.

I made my way toward a bench beneath a pomegranate tree, its branches heavy with ripening fruit.

The leaves whispered secrets in the breeze, and the night air felt cool against my flushed skin.

To my surprise, Dainan laughed—a rich, warm sound that somehow felt out of place in the stillness of the garden.

It tugged at something deep within me, something I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge, igniting an ember of warmth in my chest.

“And what, may I ask, is so funny?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady, but it wavered under the weight of his gaze.

“Your candor,” he said, following me with graceful ease, his presence enveloping me like the shadows surrounding us.

“It is refreshing to be reminded that I am more than a prince.” He sat beside me on the bench, his movements fluid, as if he belonged in this realm of whispers and moonlight.

“Do you care to share why you’ve wandered into my garden, Brida?”

The way he said my name—a lilt of amusement mixed with something almost tender—sent a flutter through my chest. His gaze held mine, a mix of flame and shadow, soothing yet unsettling, igniting a tension that crackled in the space between us.

Why had I wandered here?

The question echoed in my mind, a ghostly refrain that refused to quiet.

Addie’s revelations had torn apart the image I’d held of my mother—of the woman I thought I knew so well.

She’d lived two lives, one of which I was only now discovering, and my father had been complicit in keeping it all hidden from me.

The weight of their silence pressed down on me, suffocating, leaving me lost in a sea of questions I didn’t know how to answer.

“Ilia?” Dainan’s voice was gentle, pulling me back from the edge of my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I muttered, but the word felt hollow.

A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it.

The grief was sudden, overwhelming—the realization that I would never get the answers I needed from my mother, that soon, my father might be lost to me too, leaving me to navigate these treacherous waters alone.

“Ilia, what’s wrong?” Dainan’s voice was softer now, more insistent.

Before I knew it, he’d closed the space between us again, his arm wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me into his warmth.

For a moment, just a moment, I let myself lean into him, let myself feel the steadiness of his breath, the solid comfort of his embrace.

The heat radiating from him seeped into my skin, wrapping around my heart like an unexpected balm.

His hand gently cupped my cheek, guiding my gaze back to his.

His eyes, so often filled with fire and shadows, now held something gentler, something deeper.

“Please, tell me,” he whispered, his voice a soft breath against my lips, the intimacy of the moment stretching taut between us, daring to cross the invisible line that separated us.

“She was the light in my world, my beacon, my guiding post. And then, that light was gone. And for a long while, all that remained was darkness.” I am more than my fear; I am the story I choose to write , I reminded myself.

I am…

“Who was?” The light caress of Dainan's fingers against my jaw felt as inviting as an evening breeze, warm, tender, and soothing enough for me to rest there.

“My mother,” was all I could say. As much as I wanted to talk about her, to share stories of how she'd danced around the kitchen every morning, or how when she was proud of you, you felt like the center of the world, as if you were the only person.

Her loss felt like a void, and continues to feel like something is forever missing.

Something I can never reclaim.

“I’m certain she was an extraordinary woman,” Dainan murmured, his voice so soft it felt like it was meant to wrap around just the two of us.

His eyes, dark and steady, lingered on mine, and for once, there was no teasing, no veiled humor—only quiet sincerity.

“She would have to have been to have had you as her daughter.”

The weight of his words settled into the space between us, tender and unyielding, as though he were stating a truth that had always existed.

His hand, warm and steady, brushed the edge of mine, just enough to tether me to the moment.

“For only a woman of immense strength and unshakable fortitude,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, almost reverent, “could have brought someone like you into this world.”

I felt my chest tighten, an ache blooming where his words had taken root.

There was no mockery in his tone, no embellishment.

Just him, speaking as if he could see parts of me I hadn’t dared to show anyone else.

“She would be so proud of you,” he added, his voice laced with a quiet conviction that unraveled something deep within me.

“Of everything you’ve done, everything you’ve fought for.”

Would she?

Forging an invitation, lying to be here…

I am more than my fear; I am the story I choose to write.

“Brida, look at me.” Dainan tilted my face towards his and I found myself drawn into the depths of his eyes.

The darkness that lingered there mirrored my own, swirling like the shadows that enveloped us.

The intimacy of the moment—his closeness, the tenderness in his touch—made my heart ache.

The shadows that usually clung to him now danced around us, less threatening, more like playful spirits in the night, amplifying the electric tension coiling in my gut.

His words felt like a gentle caress, softening the sharp edges of my grief, coaxing a warmth I hadn’t expected to feel.

I tried to blink away the tears welling in my eyes, but the way he looked at me—with such unguarded tenderness—made it impossible to hold them back.

I let out a shaky breath, unable to find the words to match the intimacy of his.

But in that moment, it didn’t feel like I needed to.

Dainan wasn’t asking for anything in return; he wasn’t trying to fill the silence or pry open the places I kept hidden.

“Today, I realized that the road to the past is one we can never walk again, no matter how much we wish it.”

The light touch of Dainan’s fingers grazing my cheek sent a shiver through me, a gentle current that I couldn’t resist. My body betrayed me as I leaned into his touch, seeking more of the warmth he offered, more of the calm that seemed to radiate from him in a way that made my heart ache.

For a moment, the storm inside me quieted, silenced by the tenderness of his gesture.

“You do not have to fight your battles alone, Brida,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, a quiet promise that wrapped around me.

His thumb brushed against my skin, a motion so deliberate and intimate it felt as though he could read the fractures in my soul.

“There are those who will travel those peaks and valleys with you.”

Without thinking, I reached for his hand, curling my fingers around his.

His thumb traced a gentle circle over my skin, a silent reassurance, and I felt the lump in my throat dissolve just enough to whisper, “Thank you.”

He tilted his head, an exasperated chuckle escaping him, an inviting warmth that made me want to stay.

“And what exactly are you thanking me for?”

“For offering me a moment of peace when I needed it,” I said, my voice soft as I glanced at him.

My pulse quickened at the proximity of our bodies, a sensation that both thrilled and unnerved me.

Rising slowly, I put a little distance between us, the space a necessary shield against the pull I felt toward him.

I kept my hands at my sides, fingers curling into my palms, grounding myself.

His gaze lingered, heavy and unreadable, and for a moment, I swore he knew—knew how my resolve threatened to crumble under the weight of his presence.

I swallowed hard, my breath uneven, as though the air had thickened around us.

“I should go,” I said, though the words felt hollow.

I turned before I could see his reaction, afraid of what I might find—or worse, what I might not.

Before I could take another step, his voice stopped me.

“What do you know about Larrea tridentata?” he asked, his tone curious but careful.

I turned back to the blooms, their yellow petals glowing in the moonlight.

“It’s a healer,” I whispered, my fingers brushing one of the blossoms, a thrill sparking at the contact.

“Used to treat respiratory issues, inflammation, skin problems…but only in small doses. It’s potent, powerful.”

Dainan’s shadows shifted around him, swirling in the air like a low, soft hum.

He stepped closer, plucking a few blooms and handing one to me, his fingers brushing mine, igniting a spark that traveled up my arm.

“A token to remember our evening,” he said, “or perhaps a reminder of what you aren’t saying.”

I took the bloom, tucking it carefully into my pocket, my mind heavy with the weight of everything left unspoken.

“Thank you, Dainan,” I whispered, my heart pulling me in two directions as I turned to leave.