Evelyne whipped around to face him. “I heard perfectly well. And I’m choosing not to bring you along.”
Alaric’s hand closed lightly around her wrist, just enough to stop her from storming off. She jerked back, but his grip held firm. “You are not doing this alone, Evelyne. You have no idea what’s waiting for you out there. You don’t know the land or the people. You wouldn’t last a day alone.”
“I don’t care.” Her jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.
Alaric arched a brow. “I mean no offense, but are you at all versed in cartography?”
The insult hit its mark, and for a brief, burning second, she wanted to slap him. “I’ll figure it out, Alaric,” she hissed. “Now leave me be.”
His refusal was instant. “No. You need me, and I need you. And those books in your bag? They hold answers, answers I need just as much as you do. You don’t have the luxury of pride right now, Evelyne. You’re not going without me.” He stepped closer. “Now get your things. You’re riding with me.”
Evelyne let out a frustrated breath, her fingers curling into fists before she yanked her wrist free. “Fine.” She hesitated, her mind warring with itself, before she turned back toward her carriage.
“I’ll help you,” Alaric replied, though she didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she pushed forward, determined to ignore his presence at her side. Even as she hated every second of this, she knew he was right. Their arranged marriage was a far less pressing concern than what they were about to face, but still, this was not the partnership she wanted.
At the carriage, she lifted her chin and forced herself to speak. “Finnegan, you may return home. I’ll be riding with Mr. Stonebridge forthe rest of the evening. Please inform my father that I’ll be assisting him for the next few days and intend to… make amends with mybetrothed.”
The word sat like poison on her tongue, and she fought not to wince as she said it. Finnegan merely nodded and passed her luggage to Alaric, who took it without a word.
Evelyne inhaled deeply, willing herself to keep her temper in check. Like it or not, this was happening.
Chapter 22
The Night of the Ball
The fire in the hearth had burned low, leaving only smoldering embers glowing faintly. At a small table in the library, Cillian sat in the flickering candlelight, its glow casting shadows over the worn pages before him. Outside the library walls, laughter and music filled the ballroom as the court celebrated Evelyne and Alaric’s engagement—news his handmaid, Sonya, had shared with him earlier. He was truly happy for his sister and would tell her when the time was right. But for now, he found comfort in the soft patter of rain against the window and the quiet stillness of the library.
The Lantern’s Keeperlay open; his fingers traced the words as he read, trying to uncover their meaning.
The Lantern’s light must never fade, for in its glow lies the last defense against the encroaching dark. No mere flame, it burns not by oil or wax but by the Keeper’s very soul. To be chosen is not to wield power but to become it—to surrender breath, will, and essence to the eternal balance of light and shadow.
Yet the path is perilous. Should the Keeper falter, the Lantern may dim, and in its absence, the darkness will rise unchecked. But to burn too brightly is to be consumed, lost to the very light they sustain. And so, the Keeper walks the edge of fate, neither wholly of this world nor apart from it.
Cillian murmured the words again and again, tasting them on his tongue, trying to feel their significance. He kept asking himself questionshe wasn’t ready to answer. Could the old stories be more than stories? Could something unnatural have taken root in him? And what if there was a way to purge it? Perhaps the answer lay within these pages, waiting to be uncovered. And if it did… then maybe his suspicions weren’t so far-fetched after all. But he kept them to himself, because part of him feared they might be right.
His hand moved independently, circling phrases within the passage. That was when she appeared.
“Hello, Cillian.”
The voice slithered into the room like silk, tinged with wicked amusement. He knew it before he even looked up. She stood before him, the woman who had haunted his visions, always beyond his grasp. Tonight, she was here in the flesh, if she was real. Dressed in black satin, the gown clinging to her luscious curves, her lips blood-red against her porcelain skin. Her frost-white hair cascaded over one shoulder, gleaming like a silver moon.
“I felt you were missing me,” she smiled, stepping closer, “so I thought I’d pay a visit.”
She reached for him, her fingers gliding over the back of his hand, the one that held the quill poised above the book. Her touch was cool, yet it sent a heated prickle up his arm. He met her gaze—eyes once silver, now black, cold, and depthless.
She tilted her head, watching him. He shouldn’t have admired her, but he did. Every curve, every perfect, unearthly detail. She noticed, of course. She always did.
“I see you’re reading another book.” Her voice dipped, sultry and teasing. “What an intelligent man you are. You know, I always admired intelligent men. Perhaps you can teach me about what you’ve been reading?”
Cillian exhaled through his nose, unwilling to entertain her games tonight. But he did nothing to stop her from moving closer. She was always in his mind anyway. What was the difference now?
“I know you’ve been thinking about me,” she purred, stepping between his legs, her presence pressing into him. “I can feel it when you do. That’s why I’m here. For you.”
She always said that.I’m here for you.
He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaustion seeping into his bones. “Why are you here for me? I don’t even know your name.”
That made her smile grow. She moved closer still, placing her cold hands against his face, fingers trailing along his jaw. Her breath, warm against his lips, sent an unwanted tremor down his spine.
