Chapter 5 You are not a void

The transition from the courtyard to my private wing felt like moving from a storm into the eye of a hurricane.

The silence between us was heavy, charged with the lingering heat of the ceremony and the sudden, jarring reality of the bond. I didn’t miss the way Aria’s shoulders remained tight, or the way her eyes darted toward every shadow as we moved through the stronghold. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I stopped at the entrance to the royal chambers, feeling Pierce’s gaze burning into my back before he finally peeled off to handle the perimeter.

“We’re alone,” I said, the words feeling stranger than they should have.

Aria finally looked at me, her expression a mix of exhaustion and that sharp, biting defiance I was starting to realize was her primary defense mechanism. “Alone is a relative term in a castle full of vampires, don’t you think?”

“In here, it’s just us.” I opened the door, ushering her inside.

The room was bathed in the low, flickering orange of the hearth. I watched her take it in the dark wood, the heavy velvet, the sheer distance between the door and the windows. She looked like a bird trying to decide if she was in a nest or a cage.

I leaned against the closed door, crossing my arms. My senses were dialed to an uncomfortable frequency; I could hear the frantic rhythm of her heart and the soft, steady rustle of her dress.

“You said it in the meeting,” I started, my voice low. “About your magic. Or lack of it.”

She went still, her back to me. “I didn’t think you were the type to care about a witch’s pedigree, Kael.”

“I don’t care about pedigree. I care about the truth.” I moved away from the door, closing the gap until I was standing just a few feet behind her. “You said it fails when you touch it. Those spells slip through your fingers.”

Aria turned around, her chin tilted up. “It doesn’t just slip. It breaks. I’m a void, Kael. A mistake in the bloodline of Queens. If you’re looking for a powerful ally to fight your wars, you picked the wrong bride.”

I studied her. I thought about the scent that had haunted me from the moment she entered the council room, the one that felt like a memory I hadn’t lived yet. I thought about the way the room seemed to bend toward her, regardless of her 'lack' of power.

“I didn't pick you for your magic,” I said, and the honesty in my own voice surprised me. “I agreed because you were the only person in that room looking at the future instead of the past.”

Aria let out a breathy, cynical laugh. “The future I saw involves everyone dying. Not exactly a glowing endorsement.”

“Then we change it.”

I reached out, my hand hovering near hers for a second before I took the risk of closing the distance. I wrapped my fingers around hers. She froze, her eyes widening as she stared at our joined hands.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Testing a theory.”

I felt it then. It wasn't the cold snap of a failing spell or the static of a misfire. It was grounding a sudden, profound sense of stillness that washed over my own internal thrum of power. She didn't break me; she leveled me.

I looked back at her, seeing the confusion and the spark of something else in her dark eyes.

“You aren't a void, Aria,” I said, my voice dropping to a rougher edge. “You’re an anchor.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but the sound of a sharp, frantic tapping against the glass of the balcony cut her off.

I was across the room in a blur, my hand on the hilt of the blade at my hip. Through the glass, a familiar, bedraggled shape was clinging to the stone railing, his face pale and eyes wide with terror.

It was Julian. And he was covered in blood.