Page 139 of The Heart Trials

I feel it then—an energy, sudden and violent, like lightning forced inward. It surges to my heart, sharp and electric, like something ancient and wild being awakened against its will.

And then—

Light.

A glow bursts from beneath my ribs, pulsing through the fabric of my chest like a second heartbeat. Bright. Vivid. Alive.

Gasps ripple through the arena. I stagger, breathless—but still standing. Still shining.

Then I turn to Caelus.

And my blood turns cold.

He’s swaying slightly, his face pale and strained. But his chest—his heart—does not glow.

No light. No answering pulse of magic.

Nothing.

Just silence.

My breath catches. My body freezes.

Caelus blinks up at me, stricken, eyes wide with confusion. He touches his chest again, as if he could will the magic to rise and glow like mine, showing we are a truest-love match. But the devastating truth is already there.

The crowd murmurs, the commotion rising like a wave of shouts. I hear the shifting of boots, the faint click of weapons. That’s when I notice everyone is no longer looking at me. All heads have turned toward the base of the stage.

Rhythe.

He stands alone, arms folded across him, expression carved from stone. His chest pulses with light in a glowing steady rhythm. A radiant pulse that mirrors my own in color and cadence. Not just similar—identical.

His heart glows in perfect sync with mine.

It takes me a second too long to understand what I’m seeing. Then everything inside me recoils.

No.

No. No. No.

Not him. Anyone but him.

I step back, like the distance might erase the bond. How? He’s cruel when he speaks. Distant when he doesn’t. He’s terrifying.

He can’t be my truest match here.

I turn, hoping—desperate—for something else. For Caelus.

He’s still bracing himself at the weight of what just happened. He presses his unmoving chest, as though if he holds it long enough, the light might come. Might flicker.

But it doesn’t.

There is nothing. No glow. No pulse. He looks up at me, eyes shining—not with magic, but with pain. Real, raw pain, as if he somehow believes I could truly love Rhythe more than him. None of this makes sense. His jaw clenches, and I see the exact second his heart cracks beneath the surface.

Then his ire moves to Rhythe, who says nothing. Rhythe’s jaw is slack, stunned; his hands rove his chest as if he’s looking for some veil, some mask to pull off this lie. The Benevolent throws his head back in a mocking laugh.

I step forward. “No. No, that’s wrong. That’s—” But I don’t get to finish.

“Seize them both! Shove their faces together. They will kiss!” The Benevolent’s expression darkens.