Emmaline’s head snapped up so fast that her vision swam. She took a step back, only now realizing just how close she’d let Caelith get.
“Very well.” Caelith looked up and down the corridor.
Deyric stood rigid, his hands held stiffly behind his back. His jaw twitched—a minute, barely perceptible movement—but his eyes remained fixed on some invisible point in the distance, unblinking. Not a glance in their direction. Not at her. Not at Caelith. But for a fraction of a second, his breath hitched.
Caelith turned back to her, lifting her hand to his lips. But this was no chaste farewell. His mouth lingered, pressing against the delicate skin of her wrist, parting just enough for his tongue to taste her pulse. His lips curved, savoring and claiming.
Emmaline barely contained her shudder, forcing herself to stay still, forcing herself to let it happen.
Her eyes darted to Deyric.
He was stone. Shoulders locked, arms stiff, fingers digging so deep into his own palms that she thought they might bleed. He wouldn’t look at her. Wouldn’t acknowledge her.
She wanted to scream that this wasn’t what it looked like. That she hadn’t chosen this. But she could say nothing. She could do nothing. Not without arousing Caelith’s suspicion.
“Enjoy your day off, petal.” He let her go, turning away.
As he strode past, Deyric’s gaze finally found her. It was cold. Detached. An ocean of emotion—of rage, pain, betrayal—buried so deep their bond might as well have never existed. And then he turned, following Caelith, never sparing her another glance.
The moment they disappeared into another corridor, Emmaline’s knees buckled. She caught herself against the cold stone wall, pressing her forehead against it as laughter bubbled up from her throat—wild, breathless, hysterical.
Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot and unchecked, her shoulders shaking with the crushing fear and the suffocating pretense. The look on Deyric’s face. It was too much to bear.
Her stomach lurched, nausea twisting through her, but she made herself take a breath, then another.
Three more days.
Her laughter turned hollow, rasping out between clenched teeth. Pushing off the wall, she dragged a shaking hand through her hair and staggered forward.
“Fuck the tea.” She wiped her face, shoving the door open with a force that rattled the hinges.
No, she needed something stronger.Tonight, we’re starting with the Firethorn.
Chapter twenty-five
“Down!”Cassidy’shandclampedonto Emmaline’s shoulder, dragging them both further into the dense foliage.
Sunlight filtered through the towering trees, dappling the soft moss beneath them. It was another beautiful day in the Vale—wasted as they crouched in the underbrush, sneaking further onto Caelith’s cursed estate.
Cassidy had tried to convince Emmaline she didn’t need to come, that she shouldn’t come, but there was no arguing. Emmaline had to see the charm’s effect with her own eyes. No one else could even perceive her particular blend of light and dark magic, let alone determine if it was working.
A faint, familiar hum vibrated through the air.
“There shouldn’t be anyone here,” Emmaline whispered.
Cassidy clapped a hand over her mouth, then shoved her lower, pressing both of them into the ground. Branches scraped against Emmaline’s arms, the smell of crushed earth and moss filling her nose.
“Shh.” Cassidy’s voice was barely more than breath. “Listen. Watch.”
The glider pulled up along the gravel drive, its enchantments dissipating with a hiss as it settled. The door swung open, and Deyricstepped out, his movements cold and mechanical. Without hesitation, he opened the back door and moved aside.
Caelith emerged next, stretching as though he were a king surveying his domain, the faintest sneer on his lips.
Deyric didn’t spare him a glance, didn’t even wait. He shut the door and strode toward the manor’s entrance, disappearing inside without a word.
The moment he was gone, Caelith reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass vial.
Emmaline’s breath hitched. It looked like the one he had that night, but… different.
