My prince…more valuable alive?The voice that I vaguely recognized then but couldn’t place. It was him. It was Moreus.
Who would stand up for me?The question I wondered about then returns, now answered.
“Fucking Twenty.” I push myself off the sofa and storm over to the hearth, leaning against the mantel. “Does he think stopping Ravin from killing me makes up for anything? That getting you to help me makes up for anything?”
“I doubt he does,” Kaelis says gently. “But I don’t think he could watch his daughter die, probably why he didn’t turn you in last year.”
His daughter.The words strike me like an arrow of ice, and I fight a shiver.His daughter.Me.
“I guess I was a lost heir to a clan after all, Kaelis. You just got the wrong one,” I say bitterly.
“It doesn’t matter.” Kaelis stands and crosses to me, his footstepsmuffled by the plush rug. His arms slip around my waist, holding me once more. His lips find my shoulder, and he repeats softly, “It doesn’t matter. You are your mother’s daughter. You are the heir to ancient and powerful knowledge—and you will be the one who remakes our world.”
I know he’s trying to be encouraging, but that reminder of all that’s led me here and the responsibilities I now bear has me nearly pulling away. He must feel me flinch because he holds tighter. Somehow, he’s capable of clutching me, yet not making me feel captive at the same time.
“This only needs to change things if you let it,” he says with a note of finality. I nod. Kaelis rests his chin on my shoulder, staring into the fire. “The winter recess is coming up quickly…Stay with me this year. No castle. No celebrations. Let’s spend it here quietly, together.”
“No,” I say softly, fingertips running from his knuckles to his forearms. “Last year, I lost spending my favorite season with those I love. I won’t lose the season again, not after Jura and Gregor.” It’s the last one I’ll have with them all as we are.
The moment I finish, I can feel his disappointment hovering over me like a storm cloud. I twist, and his arms loosen but still rest on my waist. Taking his face in both hands, I study his eyes. The purple flames that illuminated them still flicker deep within those voids—now that I know they’re there, I can’t ignore them.
“You’re part of that family,” I whisper. Now I see a spark of hope in the tempest voids that are his eyes, like a lightning bolt across the darkness. “I was with your family last year, Kaelis. Come be with mine this year.”
“Would they even want me there?”
“You are mine. There is no other place for you to be.”
His forehead presses against mine, the tips of our noses touching. He breathes a sigh that almost sounds like relief. “Say it again.”
“You are mine.”
“I am yours,” he echoes. “For as long as you will have me, and whatever form I will take.”
Chapter 73
Arina and Thal play cards at the kitchen table. Twino is on his fourth book in two days. Sorza is chatting Ren’s ear off in the kitchen, leaned halfway across the bar to grab samples of the candied nuts recipe he’s currently experimenting with.
“And here you are.” Ren passes me a mug of mulled wine.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” I bring it to my mouth. Spicy. Hot. Sweet, but also with the sharp tang of liquor. “Perfection. Just like she used to make.”
“Glad I finally got a recipe right when it matters most.” We share a sad smile. He sets out two mugs of wine on a side bar near where Twino sits. They won’t be touched for the rest of the night. The coffins for Jura and Gregor are full, and this is how we mourn. “But—”
A knock on the front door. Gilly lifts his head from where he had it resting on his paws by Twino’s feet. Twino reaches down to scratch him between the ears, and the pup settles down once more.
“Ah, excuse me,” I say, stepping away.
Ren nods, a knowing but still somewhat wary look in his eyes.
I cross through the rooms and open the front door. I am greeted by Kaelis, hood shadowing his face. He doesn’t lower it until the door is shut behind him. I refrain from asking how things were at Ravin’s manor. He couldn’t completely get out of familial obligations.
“Where are they?” he whispers as he sheds his cloak and hangs it by the door. Underneath he’s wearing shockingly simple clothes—by his standards. A pair of navy trousers and a loose blue-gray shirt that barely skims his lean frame. He fumbles with his silver cuff links, even though they’re not the slightest bit out of place.
“Kitchen and balcony,” I answer.
He nods, staring across the foyer and down the hall.
“You look terrified.” I wrap my arm around his.
