Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The next day, Emily woke with determination burning in her chest.

She was going to talk to Caelan. Clear the air. Force the conversation if she had to. But apparently, Caelan had other ideas.

Every time she saw him, he turned abruptly in the opposite direction. In the halls, he passed without even glancing at her. When she stepped into a room, he would suddenly remember somewhere else he urgently needed to be. It became almost absurdly predictable.

By the second day, her frustration sharpened into genuine anger.

She wasn’t summoned for the village meetings anymore. No guards arrived to escort her to the throne room. Varis tried to reassure her, gently suggesting patience, but Emily was done waiting.

On the third day, when again no summons arrived, Emily stood abruptly from the breakfast table.

Varis glanced up, concerned. “Emily?”

“I’m going to make him talk to me,” Emily said through clenched teeth. “He’s had enough time to hide.”

Varis’s brows rose slightly, but she just nodded, giving a small encouraging smile. “Good luck.”

Emily strode out, tension coiled tight in her chest. Her steps were sharp, determined as she moved swiftly toward the throne room. But instead of barging straight in, she stopped just outside the massive double doors and leaned against the cold stone wall.

If he wouldn’t summon her, then she would simply wait until he stepped out—where there was nowhere left for him to hide.

Minutes stretched painfully slow. Her arms were folded across her chest, fingers tapping impatiently against her elbow. She was certain he was deliberately dragging out the meeting, sensing her presence on the other side.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the heavy doors swung inward, and villagers began filing out quietly, murmuring softly as they passed her by.

Caelan was last.

He stepped out into the hall, already looking in the opposite direction, clearly planning his escape route.

“Caelan.”

He froze mid-step. His shoulders stiffened, then slowly relaxed as he turned to face her, his expression carefully blank.

“Emily,” he said softly, almost cautiously.

“We need to talk,” she said firmly, stepping closer so only he could hear her. “And this time, you don’t get to walk away.”

Caelan’s jaw tightened, his expression carefully controlled. "This isn’t a good time."

Emily didn’t back down. "No, this is the perfect time."

He glanced over her shoulder as if looking for an escape. "We can talk later."

She stepped closer, deliberately blocking his path. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

He frowned slightly, shifting his gaze just enough to avoid her eyes. "I’m not. I’ve just been busy."

Emily scoffed. "Busy? Caelan, I know you've seen me looking for you."

He shook his head, expression neutral, infuriatingly calm. "No. I haven't seen you at all for days."

Emily felt a flare of anger and disbelief. "Are you seriously going to pretend right now? Every time I walked into a room, you practically sprinted out the other side."

His eyes flicked briefly to hers before looking away again, jaw clenched tighter. "I have responsibilities, Emily. The village needs—"

"What about what I need?" she interrupted sharply, stepping even closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I need you to stop hiding."

His gaze finally snapped fully to hers, sharp and conflicted. For the first time, she saw the struggle clearly on his face.

He exhaled roughly, voice quiet. "Emily…"

"Don’t," she said firmly. "Don’t try to brush me off again. Please, Caelan. Just talk to me."

Caelan held her gaze for a long, charged moment, his expression caught somewhere between longing and stubborn resolve. Emily waited, heart hammering, hoping desperately that he’d finally let down the wall.

But then he shook his head slowly, pulling back into himself.

“I can’t do this right now,” he murmured.

Before she could respond—before she could even breathe—he sidestepped around her and strode quickly down the hall.

“Caelan!” she called after him, her voice strained, almost breaking.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even look back. Just kept walking until he disappeared around the corner.

Emily stood frozen, her chest tightening painfully, a wave of frustration and hurt washing through her. She pressed a shaking hand to her forehead, swallowing down the hot burn behind her eyes.

“Damn it,” she whispered to the empty corridor, feeling the bitter sting of rejection settle deep in her chest.

That night Emily lay flat on her back, staring up at the dark canopy above her bed.

The room was quiet. Still. Too still.

She had dimmed the lights a while ago, but her thoughts refused to follow. They twisted and tangled like vines, looping the same questions, the same ache, over and over again.

He had walked away. Again.

She had waited outside the throne room specifically so he couldn't avoid her. She had demanded answers—finally tried to make him talk about it. And he had looked her straight in the eye, sidestepped her, and left.

No explanation. No reassurance. Nothing.

Emily turned onto her side with a frustrated huff, then onto her back again. Her sheets were soft, her pillows cool. It didn’t matter.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Was it regret? Shame? Or something else entirely?

She clenched her eyes shut, the ache in her chest deepening. She’d been so sure after that night together. The tenderness, the warmth, the way he looked at her… She was sure it had meant something. To both of them.

Her stomach twisted again.

But maybe she’d read it all wrong. Maybe for Caelan, it had only been the bond—just convenience. Something he’d taken without considering how it would affect her. But she knew—she felt—it was more than that.

Frustration rose again, hot and bitter in her throat.

He didn’t get to just pretend that it never happened. He didn’t get to decide alone what this meant, what she meant.

She’d faced death, faced monsters. But the way he made her feel—the confusion, the uncertainty—was worse than anything else she'd been through so far.

Emily rolled onto her stomach, pressing her face into her pillow with a groan.

“Damn you, Caelan,” she whispered, her voice muffled against the fabric.

But the empty room offered no comfort, no answers. Just silence, stretching endlessly until sleep finally, reluctantly, claimed her.

Emily grunted and shoved the blanket off her legs, sitting up fast.

“Screw this.”

She swung her feet to the cold stone floor, grabbed her robes, and yanked them on with the finesse of someone one breath away from marching into war. Her hair was a mess. Her heart was pounding. And she couldn’t stop thinking.

They had sex. Very hot sex.

And now he was avoiding her.

“Coward,” she muttered as she shoved her feet into her boots. “Emotionally stunted coward.”

She threw the door open.

Empty hallway. No guards.

She blinked. Then smiled.

“Well, would you look at that. Win for Emily.”

Apparently, avoiding her didn’t extend to basic protocol. That, or he was so tied up in his own brooding spiral he’d forgotten to post a new set. Either way, it worked in her favor.

Emily stepped out into the hallway, her steps swift and determined, white lights bobbing gently overhead in their glass casings. The castle was quiet at this hour—eerily so—but her thoughts were loud enough to fill the silence.

She turned down a dim corridor and muttered, “Okay, if I were a dark, mysterious, emotionally unavailable mage who just had mind-blowing sex and then ran for the hills... where would I sleep?”

Her boots echoed softly on the stone floor as she paced, weaving through halls she barely knew.

Then it hit her.

The two places he’d explicitly told her to avoid.

The basement.

And the tower.

She stopped in her tracks.

Of course he’d hide in the creepiest corner of the keep. The dramatic bastard.

Stolen novel; please report.

Emily spun on her heel, muttering, “Tower it is,” and stormed toward the eastern wing like a woman on a mission.

She wasn’t going to cry about it.

She wasn’t going to beg him to talk.

She was going to find him, look him dead in those damn silver eyes, and demand some goddamn answers.

Because if she mattered enough to hold him like that—to burn like that—then he didn’t get to pretend it never happened.

Not anymore.

The eastern wing was colder than the rest of the keep. Fewer lights. Narrower halls. Like even the castle itself wanted her to turn back.

Emily didn’t.

She kept moving, scanning each corridor for something that looked like a tower—until she spotted it.

A narrow stone archway at the very end of the hall.

No lights above it.

Just a heavy black door, tall and plain, with no handle. A faint shimmer clung to its surface—like the air around it was thicker somehow.

Magic.

She stopped a few feet away, pulse suddenly loud in her ears.

This had to be it. The tower. His tower.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, biting the inside of her cheek.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

What if he really didn’t want to see her?

What if she barged in and he was just… cold? Indifferent?

What if it had meant nothing to him?

Her heart squeezed painfully.

She’d survived a blood cult. She’d killed people. She’d stared down death.

And yet this—the idea of walking through that door and being dismissed—this terrified her.

Her breath caught. She took a step back.

Just go back to your room. Go to bed. Pretend it didn’t happen.

But then she remembered how he looked at her. How he kissed her. How he touched her like she was something he’d been waiting for forever.

And then how he’d left.

She clenched her jaw.

No. Screw that.

She was done being ignored. Done with the hot and cold. Done letting him dictate how much of her he got to see.

Her hands curled into fists.

He’d said not to go in the tower.

Too bad.

She took a step forward—and the door eased open with a soft, almost reluctant whisper. Like it recognized her.

Beyond it, a narrow spiral staircase rose into shadows.

Emily stared up into the darkness, heart thudding.

“Figures,” she muttered. “Of course it’s a dramatic spiral staircase. Why wouldn’t it be.”

She hesitated only a second more—then squared her shoulders and started up.

One determined step at a time.

She wasn’t afraid of him.

And she wasn’t running this time.

By the time Emily reached the top of the spiral staircase, her thighs were on fire and her breath came in short bursts.

“Stairs,” she muttered, bracing one hand against the cold stone wall. “So many goddamn stairs.”

She gave herself a second. Maybe two. Then stepped forward and knocked.

Just once.

A pause—long enough to make her stomach flutter—and then the door eased open with a low creak.

Emily stepped inside.

The room was enormous.

Cavernous ceilings arched overhead, shadows flickering across them from the tall fireplace blazing to the left. The walls were dark stone, and warm light glowed from a cluster of floating white orbs trapped in thick glass near the center of the room. Every detail screamed quiet luxury—thick rugs underfoot, intricate carvings in the stone, deep bookshelves built into the walls.

But it was the bed that stole her focus.

It sat at the far end of the room—huge and canopied, draped in dark fabrics and layered in pillows. Easily big enough for a dozen people.

She barely had time to register it before her gaze shifted left—

And locked on him.

Caelan.

Sitting in one of the armchairs before the fire, angled perfectly toward the door.

As if he’d been waiting for her.

His posture was relaxed, one arm draped over the chair’s edge, the other resting on his thigh.

Shirtless.

Of course he was shirtless.

Firelight danced across his skin—shoulders sharp and cut, chest smooth and lean with just enough muscle to make her mouth go dry. Shadows traced the curves of him, and her eyes flicked down, helpless, to the deep V just above the waistband of his black pants.

His gaze met hers. Calm. Watchful.

But there was tension in his jaw. Like steel under silk.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

Emily stepped further into the room, the door easing shut behind her with a soft click. The sound echoed far too loudly in the silence.

She took a breath.

Held it.

And then—quietly, pointedly—she said:

“Did you know I was coming?” she asked, motioning to the chair turned toward the door.

Caelan nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

Her brow shot up. “How?”

Caelan tilted his head slightly. “Didn’t you notice the door at the bottom of the stairs just… let you in?”

She blinked.

Caelan continued, “Only two people are allowed in here, I felt you cross. So I waited.”

Her stomach flipped. Wait. He spelled it… just for them?

He’d locked the rest of the world out—but left it open for her.

She didn’t know what to make of that. Was it just a precaution? A matter of control? Or something else?

Before she could process it, Caelan stood.

The sudden motion snapped her back to the moment. She watched him rise from the chair—bare chest catching the firelight, shadow and flame sliding across muscle and collarbone. It was unfair how much heat he carried in a single glance.

He took a step forward.

Emily’s eyes darted away. Her thoughts were spiraling, and his body wasn’t helping.

She forced herself to speak. “You’ve been avoiding me. For days.”

He stopped a few feet in front of her, saying nothing.

Emily folded her arms, searching the far wall, anywhere but his face. “You won’t talk to me. You won’t look at me for more than a second. And you wont stay in the same room as me.”

He was in front of her before she could retreat. He cupped her chin—firm, but gentle—and tilted her face toward his.

Emily’s breath caught.

He leaned in, brushed his lips against hers—slow, lingering, apologetic.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond. Not with words.

He exhaled through his nose, letting her go and stepping back a few paces, putting distance between them again. The warmth of his hand lingered on her skin.

His voice was quieter now. “I just… I know how this conversation is going to go. And I guess I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.”

Emily didn’t move.

Didn’t answer.

Her arms stayed folded tight across her chest, but not just out of anger now. It was protection. Restraint. Her jaw ached from how tightly she was clenching it.

She watched him—how he looked away when he spoke, how his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t. The guilt in his voice, the distance in his eyes.

It didn’t make sense.

They’d crossed a line. Together. Took, devoured, claimed.

Emily let out a sharp breath. “You know what? No. I’m not doing this. You don’t get to act like that night never happened.”

Caelan blinked, his brows lifting slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

She took a step forward, her voice rising. “You don’t get to touch me like that, take from me like that, and then vanish. You kissed me like you meant it. You held me like I mattered. And then—what? Silence? Avoidance?”

His mouth opened, but she cut him off.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, jaw tight. “Was I just some side effect of the bond to you? A… a moment of weakness?”

“No,” he said immediately, but she barely heard it.

“Because it sure as hell feels like that!” Her voice cracked. “You looked at me like I was the only thing in this world, and then the next day you can't even be near me.”

He took a step toward her again, slow, cautious.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”

Emily laughed bitterly. “Right. So you said nothing. Brilliant plan.”

Caelan flinched.

“I’m not asking you to declare your undying love,” she snapped. “But I am asking for basic respect. If it meant nothing to you, then just say it. Say it now.”

His voice came low, strained. “It didn’t mean nothing.”

“Then why are you acting like it did?”

The silence that followed was different now—sharper. Cracked open by truth and frustration. Emily’s hands were shaking, but she didn’t back down. She met his eyes, steady and seething.

Caelan stared at her, something raw flashing in his gaze.

Caelan’s jaw clenched. He looked away, as if the words were physically hard to push out.

“I feel wrong,” he said quietly. “For touching you. For taking what I wanted.”

Emily’s breath caught, thrown off by the softness in his voice.

“You’re my servant,” he went on, eyes dark and conflicted. “I knew better. I shouldn’t have used the bond like that.”

There it was—shame. He wasn’t avoiding her out of indifference. He thought he’d used her.

Her heart stuttered. “Wait—” she blinked. “You think it was the bond? That I didn’t actually want to?”

He nodded once, slow. Painfully.

Emily’s mouth fell open, then curved into something between disbelief and laughter. “Oh, I wanted to,” she said. “I’ve wanted to since the moment I saw you. It was... infuriating.”

Caelan looked up, startled.

“When you told me to kneel,” she continued, stepping toward him, “I did it because I wanted to. Not because of the bond. If I didn’t want to, I would’ve said so. Remember—it doesn’t control my mouth.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “I remember.”

He held her gaze then, eyes searching, like he needed to see the truth written across her face.

“So you actually wanted me?” he asked, voice lower now.

Emily didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”

Something inside him cracked open. The weight he’d been carrying fell away, and in its place was something raw and reverent.

He let out a slow, shaking breath. Almost a laugh. Then he stepped forward—carefully, deliberately—and slid his hands to her waist.

Emily’s breath caught as he lifted her, slow and sure, and she wrapped her legs around his hips like it was instinct. His arms held her securely, her body flush against his, and for a long second, they just stayed like that—breathing the same air.

And then he kissed her.

Softly.

His mouth moved against hers with a kind of aching reverence—like he wanted to savor the moment, not rush it. There was heat, yes, but it simmered low and deep, tangled in something far more dangerous.

Tenderness. Worship.

Her hands threaded into his hair, pulling him just a little closer as their lips parted in perfect sync. He tasted like fire and something faintly sweet, and the way he held her—anchored her—made the rest of the world fall away.

This wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a promise.

He kissed her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered.

Without another word, he stepped forward to the side of the bed, holding her close as he knelt with her still wrapped around him. Then he eased her down, laying her back against the dark bedding like something precious.

Caelan kissed her like time had slowed. Like he needed her to feel every ounce of care he hadn’t known how to give before.

Then, wordlessly, his fingers found the edge of her robes. He hesitated—giving her space—but Emily reached down and guided his hands. Together, they lifted it over her head and let it fall to the floor.

He drank her in like she was the most sacred thing he'd ever seen.

She tugged gently on the waistband of his pants, and he leaned in, brushing a soft kiss over her lips before stepping back to remove the rest of his clothes. Every movement was slow. Quiet. There was no rush now. No hunger. Just reverence.

When he returned to her, bare and warm and beautiful, she reached up and drew him close again, kissing him with all the affection she hadn’t yet dared to say aloud.

His body settled between hers, the heat of his skin sinking into her own. He supported his weight on his forearms, his face still close to hers. He didn’t rush. Didn’t reach. He just… was there, brushing the tip of his nose along her cheek, down to her jaw, as if memorizing her shape all over again.

Emily’s hands ran down his back, tracing the lines of muscle, the ridges of old scars. Her fingers didn’t tremble—but something inside her did. Something quiet and aching and so full.

He kissed her again, lips parting just enough for her to taste the warmth of him. And when he finally eased into her, it was like the world went still.

No slamming. No frantic tearing of breath.

Just… presence.

A soft gasp escaped her lips, her body arching into him. It was full. Deep. Gentle in a way that undid her completely.

His breath shuddered against her skin as he held himself still inside her, forehead resting against hers. “You feel like fire,” he whispered, barely audible. “Like home.”

Her hands cradled his face, guiding him to kiss her again, and this time it was more than want. It was yes. It was finally. It was everything they hadn’t said.

Caelan moved slowly, rhythm deep and unhurried. His mouth found her shoulder, her collarbone, her throat, leaving warmth in every place his lips touched. And Emily—Emily met him with all of it. The softness, the vulnerability, the raw trust.

Every time he whispered her name, it sounded like a prayer.

Every time she whispered his, it sounded like surrender.

Their bodies moved together like tide and shore—meeting, retreating, returning again. And when the tension finally broke, it wasn’t an explosion, but a wave—long and sweet and soul-deep. Emily held him close as she came apart, and Caelan followed with a quiet, broken sound against her skin.

Neither moved for a long time.

His weight draped over her like a shield. Her fingers combed through his curls. And in the silence that followed, there was no need to speak.