Aether & Ash, page 13
I stepped inside, my boots clicking against the marble floor. His gaze met mine. “Your Hunt departs tomorrow,” he said without preamble, voice as smooth and cold as glass. “Are your units prepared?”
I stepped into the room, letting the door shut behind me. “They are.”
He looked up at me then, blue eyes steady. “And are you?”
“I don’t have the luxury of not being ready.”
A beat passed. Something unreadable flickered across his expression, maybe a calculation of how little I’d give away.
“You’ll be crossing into territory where alliances bend like reedgrass,” he said. “Nyxaria will be watching. The Sages will be listening. Do not mistake the silence for peace.”
“I don’t.”
I paused, then added, “The Majors didn’t take the news well. About being deployed. They think it’s too soon for them.” I didn’t blame them. Most had barely caught their breath since the last trial, and now they were being sent into Etheris with creatures that didn’t belong in any natural order.
“They will be coming anyway,” I said. “Everything’s moving faster than we are ready for. Waiting won’t slow it down.”
He nodded once. “That’s yours to command.” No approval or disapproval. Just that ever-neutral tone, the way he handed me full responsibility without ceremony. But I knew what that meant. If I failed, I’d fall alone.
“Was it the Elders’ council that insisted on sending more of their own to accompany us?” I kept my tone even. “Or was that your call as well?”
My father leaned back in his chair, fingers steepling. “The decision originated with the Elders. Haldric, Ophira, Velis and the rest were deemed essential oversight, given the weight of this Hunt. I agreed to it. It’s only for a few days.”
Only. I bit back a sound that wasn’t quite a sardonic laugh. “So, we strip the capital of its council for the Hunt none of them are prepared to face,” I said. “And leave the remaining Royals to manage what exactly?”
His eyes narrowed just slightly. “Your concern is noted. But I trust the remaining council can manage. The Hunt takes precedence.”
“Haldric thinks he can command the field. That will be a problem.”
“Then make it not one.”
I held his gaze. There was no point in arguing. I didn’t argue further. So I gave a short nod.
His eyes narrowed in thought before his tone shifted, becoming more pointed. “And what of the female? Mirabelle, isn’t it?”
I stiffened, though I kept my composure. “She’s been moved to a palace chamber,” I answered calmly. “The Majors who live with her will be joining the Hunt, and it was necessary to ensure her safety in their absence.”
His lips pressed into a thin line as he studied me. “Damien,” he said, his voice weighted with an edge of warning. “Do not lose sight of what is important. That one is a distraction. Whatever this is, treat it as a passing indulgence, nothing more.”
My jaw tightened, but I didn’t respond immediately, waiting for him to continue.
“You know your future holds greater potential,” he said, his tone taking on a note of certainty. “An eternal-alliance with a Clan, potentially Zarkon or Nyxaria, could solidify our standing in the Realm for Celestial Dissonance,” my father continued, his voice steady and calculating. “Their Heiress would make a formidable Eternis for you. The ceremony would bind her to you, ensuring their loyalty, securing our future.”
Zarkon—wielders of lightning and storm. An alliance with them would be invaluable and I’d agreed to the idea the last time it was raised in passing—out of strategic sense rather than personal interest. Back then, I didn’t care much about my Bonding. I knew it would happen eventually, for the sake of the Clan.
A union that would tether me not just to a person, but to a duty, to a fate that was never mine to choose. Yet now, the very thought was suffocating. I masked my reaction. The memory of Mirabelle flared unbidden, and the idea of binding myself to another felt like a chain tightening around my throat.
That was also a reason why I had tasked Rowane with uncovering more—quietly, thoroughly. Her story had too many cracks, and if she wasn’t what she claimed to be, I needed to know before anyone else did. Whatever I found, it would stay with me. For her sake as much as mine.
For now, let them overlook her, dismiss her as unimportant. The longer their attention strayed from her, the safer she would remain. I kept my voice steady. “I understand,” I replied, concealing the discomfort that churned beneath the surface.
“Good,” he said, his gaze steady with quiet approval. “You’ve always known where your duty lies, Damien. See that you don’t forget it.”
“I will take my leave,” I said finally. “I need rest before tomorrow.”
My father nodded, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. I turned and left the study. I could not afford distraction. Yet my foot led me to her chambers.
I’d moved her to a chamber closer to mine. I told her it was for convenience—closer to the infirmary, easier to keep an eye on her. But the truth was simpler, and far more selfish. Part of me feared that one day she’d wake up and see it all clearly, how reckless it was to give herself to me. But even if she did...there wouldn’t be much she could do about it.
I stepped in without knocking. The door creaked softly, but she didn’t notice, too absorbed in the task before her. She sat on the floor, hunched over a balance scale and a set of small metal weights. All of them were identical to the eye. But only one was heavier.
I stood at the doorway, silent, arms crossed, watching her.
A simple trial. One used to test recruits in logic and restraint. Most of the Legion could solve it in two weighings or fail miserably trying.
She was frowning, plotting, scribbling something across a half-creased parchment, then scratching it out again with a frustrated grunt. She twisted a strand of her hair so tightly around her finger I half expected it to snap. Then she released it, only to bite her bottom lip and mutter something under her breath before trying again. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbow, ink smudged along the side of her wrist.
She was breathtaking in the kind of way that crept up on you, even when she was like this. Absorbed in her thinking. She shifted again, huffing, leaning back on her palms like she’d just sparred a full round. The neckline of her tunic dipped just enough to reveal the soft curve of her breasts, the faint, flushed shadow resting in the space between.
The sight made my mouth go dry, not from desire alone, but from the brutal awareness of how easily she turned want into something far less manageable. She wasn’t trying, and that made it worse. My every instinct screamed to go to her. To drag her up into my arms and finally taste what I’d denied myself since the first night she stood in that courtyard—full of defiance and trembling grace.
I shouldn’t have found it as enticing as I did. But she wore her femininity like a second skin, effortless and unknowing. Was she crafted from everything I ever desired, or had I simply come to desire everything she is? I don’t know.
But I didn’t move. I couldn’t, wouldn’t, be the man who reached first and claimed what he wanted. Her first touch, her first trembling sigh, her first surrender—they were all mine to savor. And she deserved to feel them too. To trace the shape of each new sensation before the next one came like a tide. If I took too much too soon, she might not know where one feeling ended and another began. And I wanted her to devour every single one of them—every breath, every ache, every flicker of what I would give her, until she knew exactly what it meant to be wanted by me.
So, I stayed—leaning against the doorframe like a man bewitched, biting down on the need like a curse, and watched the most dangerously beautiful thing I’d ever seen try to solve a puzzle with ink-smudged fingers and absolutely no idea that she was undoing me.
There were eight identical-looking weights in front of her, one of them just slightly heavier. You were allowed only two weighings to find it. Most of the players failed on the first try. Some took longer just trying to figure out where to begin.
At first, those being tested consider just splitting the eight weights into two groups of four and weighing them. But that wouldn’t work. Even splitting the weights into four groups wasn’t enough to narrow it down.
I’d already watched her cross those options out with an annoyed scowl. Then, I saw it—that gleam in her eyes. And before I realized it, my own lips curved at her smile.
She had it. Three, three, and two.
She split the eight weights into three groups— three on one side, three on the other, and two left aside. Then she weighed the first two sets of threes. The right side dropped lower.
If they had balanced, it would’ve been easy. The odd one would be in the pair she’d set aside, and one final weighing would reveal which.
But since one side was heavier, she ignored the lighter group and the two extras. That left her with three suspects. She picked two from the heavy group and weighed them. Equal. Which meant the last one, the one she didn’t weigh—was the heavy one.
She smirked at it, and tsked softly, “There you are, little shit.”
I shook my head—half smiling, pushed off the doorway and stepped forward.
She startled. Just for a breath, but her entire body flinched. She scrambled back a step like she’d been caught trespassing.
That stopped me cold. A bitter, furious pulse surged through me at whatever twisted piece of her past had carved that reaction into her bones. She blinked up at me, then caught herself, cheeks flushing. “You really shouldn’t sneak up on someone when they’re solving the world’s most important riddle.”
I didn’t smile. Not until she gave a small, crooked one of her own, and I let it ease the tightness in my chest.
I crossed the room and lowered myself onto the floor beside her. My leathers weren’t made for it, and neither was I, but I sat anyway. Then reached for her wrist, slow, and pulled her toward me.
She let me. I settled her between my knees, her back resting lightly against my chest, my arms bracketing either side of her.
“Why did you flinch?” I asked softly.
There was a beat of silence, then, “I didn’t.”
I said nothing. She sighed, curling her legs under her. “It’s nothing. I’m just mostly…aware. Of everyone. Their presence. Movement.” A pause. “I don’t react well when caught off guard.”
Could be a deflection, but I didn’t press. Her voice dipped quieter. “When are you leaving?”
“First light.”
She nodded slowly. “Will it be dangerous?”
“Yes.” She didn’t ask more, just leaned slightly back into me like she hadn’t meant to but forgot to stop herself.
My chin hovered near her hair, close enough to catch the scent of parchment and the cedar-musk bath brick she must’ve stolen from my bathing chamber. It was a distinct scent— sharper on me but softened somehow on her skin and I was starting to like it too much.
“I have arranged for a Thrall to assist you while I’m away,” I said quietly. “She will see to anything you need. And Rowane will be staying behind. If you need help, he’ll find you.”
She didn’t reply, but her fingers tightened slightly around my knees. Like she was grounding herself.
“Be good,” I added, voice low, near her ear. “Stay low. Don’t give anyone reason to look too closely right now.”
“I’m always good,” she murmured, but her voice was softer than usual. Then, a beat later, added, “Mostly.”
I leaned in, my breath skimming the shell of her ear before I caught the delicate curve between my canines with just enough pressure to make her moan. The sound went straight to my groin, hot and insistent. I shifted her to my lap, turning her toward me, breaking contact before I lost the will to.
Her head tilted, just enough to glance at me from the corner of her eye. “I don’t like the sound of you making arrangements, like you’re planning to disappear.”
“I am not.” The words came out heavier than I intended. “But I need to know you are looked after.”
She studied me for a long moment, then, with a slow exhale, she reached up and curled her fingers into the front of my tunic, pulling me to her.
I leaned down, catching her chin between my fingers and pressing a kiss to her lips, slow, grounding, like I meant to tuck a promise into her skin. Then one more kiss on her brow.
“Sleep,” I said, voice low. “Before I forget why I shouldn’t take you to my chamber tonight.”
Her fingers curled in my tunic, a silent pause like she might protest. But after a breath, she let go. I rose, stepped back and looked at her one last time. “Don’t ever leave your door open to the hall again.”
Then I left, before I gave myself another reason to stay.
Chapter 17
Mirabelle
Sleep had been elusive. No matter how I twisted and turned, rest would not come. The new chamber in the palace was grand, adorned with silken drapes and polished stone floors, yet it felt anything but welcoming. An uneasiness had crept into the night, curling into the corners of my mind, clinging to me like a second skin.
By the time I finally succumbed to shallow sleep, the morning had already begun its slow ascent. I awoke groggy and later than usual, the remnants of restlessness still clinging to my limbs. Not that it mattered, there was little for me to do here.
Everyone I had worked alongside had already left for the Hunt, and with Damien gone, the palace felt even less like a place I belonged. If I were being honest, I doubted anyone here was particularly fond of my presence. Even the very walls seemed to regard me with disdain, their gilded embellishments cold and unwelcoming.
I exhaled sharply, brushing off the foolish thought. Staying here felt suffocating, and with nothing anchoring me to the palace, I decided I would go to Amara’s for a few days. At least there, I wouldn’t feel like a trespasser in my own skin.
After freshening up, I made my way toward the dining hall. The halls were quieter than usual, a subdued tension lingering in the air. As I passed through one of the archways, the hushed murmurs of conversation caught my ear.
The Elders or Royals.
I stilled, pressing myself slightly against the cool stone as their voices drifted toward me in low, urgent tones. Something they said about Damien being in danger caught my attention. Their words were clipped, careful, as if they feared even the walls might betray their secrets.
“…the Forsaken Lands…”
“…ruins have already been arranged in sequence to open a passage, one way…for Hunting.”
A sharp prickle ran down my spine. The Realm of Etheris—the Hunting grounds. My breath caught as I strained to listen.
“…could open with the key...until they return.”
A pause. A breath. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper—
My stomach twisted. The words were spoken so quietly, as if merely acknowledging them would make them true. I inched closer, but before I could catch more, the conversation faded, their voices swallowed by the shifting of robes and the sound of retreating footsteps.
I stood there for a moment, heart pounding, mind racing. Damien. In danger? They’d said something about danger.
I wanted to go with him. Stars, I should have gone with him. I’d tried to convince him, hadn’t I? Said I could help, that maybe whatever I did that day in the Hold—whatever tether I’d somehow sparked, might be useful again. But he shut me down before I could even finish it. Told me it would be dangerous with untamed Tameables involved. That they reacted unpredictably during hunts, more feral, more reactive. That he wouldn’t risk anything happening to me.
I knew what he meant. Overprotective bastard. Always so decided. But also wrong. Because I could help, and I could feel it in my bones—no, in my gut. That same deep pull that flared when the Tameable leaned into my touch instead of tearing me apart. Whatever this strange connection was, it wasn’t just a fluke.
One way. That’s what they said, about a key and opening it. Couldn’t I do the same?
I had nothing left here. Nothing but stale air, silence, and the ache of waiting. But there, in Etheris, maybe I had a place there, a purpose. A way to keep him safe while being with him. A way to prove, not just to Damien, but to myself, that I wasn’t just something to be protected.
I wasn’t a risk or liability, but the answer they hadn’t considered. And if I was right about the fragments I overheard…I could go. I would go. The thought echoed in my mind like a struck bell, reverberating through my bones. I clenched my fists, I needed a plan.
How was I supposed to get there without anyone noticing my absence?
A reasonable person would have stopped there, weighed the risks, and perhaps chosen a path of patience and logic. Fortunately—or unfortunately—I was not particularly reasonable when it came to matters of life and death.
I was going. The ‘how’ could come later.
I turned on my heel and strode back to my chamber, my mind already whirring through the possibilities. Sneaking out of the palace premises wasn’t the hardest part—I had done it before, and I could do it again. The problem was getting through the portal without raising suspicion. I needed a story, something convincing enough to buy me time but not so elaborate that it would unravel under scrutiny.
I began packing my satchel, stuffing in essentials while brainstorming.
Alright, Bellebelle, think. What’s your best trick?
A little lie. Nothing terrible. Nothing that would get anyone hurt—except, perhaps, me, if I was caught. But Damien would understand. If anything, he’d be more frustrated that I didn’t tell him outright than the fact that I was going.
I grinned to myself. Oh, he was going to be so mad. But later. For now, the plan.
Step one: Tell the palace I was going to stay with Amara. Completely believable. She’d cover for me, no questions asked.
