Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Earth | Evelyn’s Apartment

The apartment’s temperature suddenly felt too hot, the air heavy with tension that had nothing to do with magic.

Evelyn broke eye contact first, turning and heading toward the small kitchen area to keep her hands busy. She reached for the electric kettle, her movements a little too fast, a little too deliberate. “Right. Clinical inspection over. Since you’re clearly recovered enough to play the critic, maybe you can explain how a man who hasn’t spent twenty-four hours in this century managed to figure out how to survive a day without burning down the building.”

From the living room, the soft rustle of fabric against fabric marked his movement. Footsteps—silent, measured, and entirely too close—crept up behind her before she could flip the switch on the kettle.

“Survival demands adaptation, Evelyn,” Auberon murmured, pitched low near her ear. The subtle, unique scent of jasmine seemed to follow him, cutting through the smell of herbal tea.

She stiffened, refusing to turn around, her hands braced against the counter. “You’re dodging the question.”

Auberon chuckled as he leaned closer. “Not dodging. But are you not afraid? I could do anything, and you would not be able to stop me,” he murmured. His breath tickled the nape of her neck. She was hyper-aware of how close he was, the sheer physical presence of a king occupying her cramped kitchen.

She turned to face him, finding his face dangerously close. “Perhaps. But as a librarian, I don’t think fear is in my vocabulary.”

Auberon hid his surprise well. This fragile mortal dared to stare right back into his eyes without flinching. Back in Aundil, his highest advisers barely dared to meet his gaze for more than a heartbeat. A slow, unreadable tension stretched between them before he finally cleared his throat.

Stepping away, he offered a low, warning note. “You should be. This time, it is only me. Next time, you do not know who might walk through your door.”

Evelyn turned back to the counter to finish making her tea, her voice softening to a more nostalgic tone over the hum of the kitchen. “You never told me your full story.”

Meanwhile, across the veil, the night was far from quiet.

***

Aethyria | The Borderlands

The horses moved at a steady, bone-rattling canter beneath the canopy of ancient ironwood trees, the pale twin moons casting long, silver light across the frost-covered dirt.

Linrel kept her head low, her hands fidgeting as the chilly air made her shiver. Every snap of a twig between the thick trees made her flinch, her mind flashing back to the assassin’s hands and how they felt on her skin.

Behind her, Jeonran’s body shifted with the mount’s rhythmic, powerful stride. His left arm remained loosely braced around her waist to steady her on the rough terrain, but he tightened it a bit, offering comfort amid the dreadful absence of her brother’s protective presence.

“How far to the safehouse?” Alden called out from a few lengths ahead, his voice muffled by the thick wool scarf wrapped around his lower face as he scanned the treeline.

“Another hour if we push the horses,” Jeonran replied, his tone clipped, though he kept his body angled slightly outward to shield against the wind. He lowered his head, speaking just loud enough for Linrel to hear over the hoofbeats. “Hold on a little longer, Princess. We’re almost out of their immediate search grid.”

Linrel closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath that plumed white in the freezing air. For the first time since her brother disappeared from her life, she felt the full heaviness of grief—the loss of every comfort she’d known, replaced by the sudden, urgent need to fight to survive.

***

Aethyria | Elden’s Residence

Elden sank deeper into the steaming waters of his vast, marble-lined bath, letting out a long, satisfied sigh as he leaned his head back against the cool stone. The water rippled gently around his shoulders, scented with crushed night-blooming jasmine and rich oils fit for a true ruler.

He should be done with House Vaelorian by now, he thought, a slow, triumphant smile curving his lips.

A sharp, hesitant knock rapped against the heavy double doors before they eased open. His second-in-command, Vai, stepped into the vaulted chamber and bowed low. “Your Highness.”

Elden didn’t open his eyes, too relaxed to bother acknowledging Vai directly. “Is she dead?” he asked, his tone dripping with undisguised amusement, fully confident that the young princess stood no chance against his elite Vaelith assassins.

Vai swallowed, treading carefully across the mosaic floor. “She… escaped.”

The silence that fell over the bathhouse was absolute, so heavy and dense that it felt suffocating. Vai knew that kind of silence all too well; it was the quiet before a catastrophic storm.

“She escaped,” Elden repeated, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Then, the rage broke.

With a roar that shook the damp, echoing stone walls, Elden surged up from the pool like a striking predator, water crashing violently against the edges. In a blind fury of raw magic and white-hot wrath, he swept his hand outward, sending a massive wave of telekinetic force crashing into the marble vanity, shattering bottles of crystal and porcelain into a thousand lethal shards across the floor.

“How did you fail this, you incompetent fools!” he roared, his brown eyes wide and burning with a terrifying, unhinged fury as water dripped down his muscular frame. “Find her! Tear the borderlands apart if you must, but I want her gone from the face of this world!”

“None must hear about this, you hear me!” Elden snarled—then stopped himself, chest heaving, suddenly aware of how far his voice had carried through the bathhouse. He lowered his tone. “Are the servants outside?”

Vai shifted under Elden’s gaze. “I sent them away earlier, Your Highness. No one heard.”

Elden’s jaw worked for a moment before he exhaled, some of the wildness draining from his eyes, though his hands—still braced against the shattered vanity—had not stopped trembling.

“The operation was contained, Your Highness,” Vai continued, carefully. “Only the strike team deployed to the lower capital knows, and they—”

“They failed,” Elden cut him off, his chest heaving as water dripped down his carved frame. He planted both hands on the edge of the steaming marble basin, his knuckles turning white. “Failure is a luxury we no longer possess. If Linrel reaches the borderlands, or worse, finds anyone loyal enough to rally behind her, our entire foundation crumbles.”

He straightened, his face back to being a mask of cold, calculated malice, and reached for a silk robe tossed over a nearby bench.

“I want every single shadow tracker we have scouring the outer provinces,” Elden commanded, his tone dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. “Do not send assassins this time. Send trackers.”

Vai hesitated. “The Vaeliths can be redeployed within the hour, Your Highness—”

“The Vaeliths kill. They do not find,” Elden cut in sharply. “Shadow trackers can read the trace a mage’s own power leaves on the air—if Linrel ran, if she used so much as a trace of arcana to ward herself, they will smell it the way a hound smells blood on the wind. Assuming,” he added, his jaw tightening, “no one with real strength was clever enough to mask her trail behind them.”

Vai swallowed hard, keeping his gaze lowered toward the mosaic floor littered with shattered glass. “At once, Your Highness. I will personally oversee the deployment.”

“See that you do,” Elden snapped, pulling the sash tight around his waist. The smooth, composed facade of the new ruler had entirely fractured, leaving only a desperate, calculating tyrant beneath. “And Vai… if you or your trackers fail me a second time, I will not be merciful.”