8. Nicholaus.
Echo walks beside me, not willingly and not at all comfortably. But she walks, her steps uneven, her breathing ragged, her hands trembling from overuse of magic she shouldn’t have touched. I feel every tremor like it’s happening under my own skin, and I hate that. I’ve led armies without blinking. Ended wars without hesitation. Watched empires fall with the same emotion I give the weather. But a single elemental girl stumbles beside me, and something inside my chest feels unsettled and uncontrolled. I shouldn’t care that she’s hurting. I shouldn’t care that she’s glaring at the floor like she wants to burn through it. I shouldn’t care that every few steps, her balance falters. But I do. And that is a problem. Because wanting her is one thing, needing her is another, but caring… caring is potentially suicidal. The others would exploit it. My enemies would weaponise it. The council would use it as proof I’m unfit to rule. And the girl herself—she would hate me even more. She already does. Good. Hatred is safer than affection, for both of us.
We reach the east wing, and Echo tries to surge ahead so I’m not walking beside her, but her legs betray her, and she stumbles again. I catch her elbow before she pitches forward.
She jerks away with a hiss. “Don’t.”
I let go, but I don’t stop watching her. The door to her room opens as we approach, pushed inward by the guards who know better than to make her touch it herself. She storms inside like she owns the castle, ignoring the way her body folds inward, clutching her ribs. I step inside behind her.
She spins. “Get. Out.”
“No.”
Her nostrils flare. “I don’t want you here.”
“I don’t care.”
She lets out a low, furious sound that makes me almost—almost—smile. I close the door behind me, and she stiffens like she knows something important is about to happen. I cross the room slowly, ignoring the way she instinctively backs up until her spine hits the bedpost.
“Why did you go to the armoury?” I ask.
Her eyes flash. “To kill you.”
A huff of laughter escapes me. “No, you didn’t. If you wanted to kill me, you would have gone for my throat while I carried you.”
She goes still, and then her voice drops. “I should have.”
“You will.” I lean closer. “And you’ll fail. But you will try. Over and over again.”
She swallows, throat working. “I don’t want to be here,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“You can’t keep me.”
“I am keeping you.”
Her breath stutters in her chest. She looks away, refusing to let me see whatever emotion flickers through her eyes. I reach up and take her chin, gently, but firmly, forcing her to look at me.
“You’re not my prisoner,” I remind her again.
“Then let me leave.”
“No.”
She snarls softly. “You contradict yourself constantly.”
“No,” I correct, “I protect what is mine.”
“I am not yours.”
“Not yet.”
Rage explodes across her face. She slaps my hand away and tries to summon fire, just a spark, just enough to force me back, but nothing comes. Pain slashes through her and she gasps, hand flying to her ribs. I step forward immediately, but she shoves me back with a shaking arm.
“Don’t touch me,” she says, voice breaking.
“Then stop hurting yourself.”
“Let me go.”
“No.”
Her eyes shine, not with tears, but with fury so bright it could set the world on fire if she had even an ounce of strength left.
“You don’t even know what you want from me,” she spits.
I do. I know exactly what I want. But I can’t tell her that. Not yet. Not until she’s strong enough to stand on her own feet. Not until she stops seeing me as a monster. And gods help me, not until I understand how dangerous wanting her truly is.
Instead, I say: “I want you alive.”
She laughs once, a bitter, broken sound. “You don’t even know me.”
I step closer.
“I know more than you think.”
Her jaw tightens. “Because of their records? Their notes?”
“No.”
I reach out, brushing my fingers over her wrist, right where her pulse flicks fast beneath the skin and she freezes.
“Because your magic answers mine.”
Her eyes narrow. “Magic doesn’t answer vampires.”
“It answers you.”
She’s silent, and I know she felt it too. Back in the training hall. In the den. Even in her sleep. Her powers react to me in ways they shouldn’t. Ways that defy logic. Ways that terrify me more than I will ever admit. I step back, forcing space between us, not for her safety, but for mine.
“Training continues tomorrow,” I say.
“I won’t show up.”
“Yes,” I murmur, “you will.”
“Why?”
“Because you want your power back.”
She hesitates, just a second, but I see it there, the truth. She wants her strength, her freedom and her magic. She wants the pieces of herself the witches tried to carve away. She wants to become whole before she escapes me.
“Rest,” I say. “You’ll need it.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I raise a hand. For once, she stops and doesn't argue with me. The silence stretches between us, thick and crackling, charged like a coming storm. She glares at me, and I stare back. Neither of us moves. The air hums and her eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second before she catches herself and snaps her gaze away. My fangs ache. Danger. This is dangerous. She is dangerous. Not because of what she is, but because of what I’m becoming around her. I break the moment before I do something I cannot undo.
“Your guards remain outside,” I say, turning toward the door. “If you try to escape again, I’ll double them.”
“I’ll get past them eventually,” she mutters.
“I know.”
I glance back over my shoulder.
“And when you do, I’ll come for you.”
Her breath catches, and I don't believe it's from fear or even anger; there's something sharp and electric beneath it, but I leave before she figures it out. The door shuts behind me with a decisive click, and I stand in the hall a moment, breathing hard, hands curling into fists at my sides. This is spiralling too quickly. Too intensely. Too dangerously. The prophecy warned of this.
The Key will unmake the King, long before she saves the kingdom.
I’ve never believed in prophecy. But now…Now I feel it thrumming through my bones. She will ruin me. And I will let her.
