Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Emily walked alongside Varis and Tess down one of the sunlit corridors, the little girl skipping between them as they chatted about nothing in particular. The air was calm, the stone halls unusually warm with the daylight spilling in from the high windows. Tess was animated, chattering about some drawing she’d done earlier and how she hoped her afternoon teacher would let her use the “sparkly inks” again.

Varis smiled, nodding along, her robes swishing quietly as they walked. Emily found herself relaxing more than she had in days. It felt almost… normal.

She glanced sideways at Varis. “So… how did it go? With the court?”

Varis’s smile softened, almost shy. “It was… intense. I stood before Caelan and the full court. Made my formal request to adopt her.”

Emily’s brows lifted. “And?”

Varis nodded slowly. “He listened. Then he said, ‘If that’s what you truly want, and you’re willing to take full responsibility, then make it known to the court.’” She let out a breath. “So I did. I gave my vow aloud, in front of everyone. Promised to raise her as my own, protect her, give her everything I never had.”

Emily felt her throat tighten, but she smiled through it. “And they accepted it?”

Varis nodded again, more firmly now. “They did. It’s official.” She looked down at Tess, who was happily twirling a lock of her own hair. “She’s mine.”

Emily barely had time to smile before the pounding of boots echoed down the corridor.

Two guards appeared around the bend, breathless and urgent.

“Varis. Emily,” one of them said, nodding respectfully. “You’ve both been summoned. His majesty wants you in the conference hall.”

Emily’s brows drew together. “Summoned for what?”

The other guard stepped forward and crouched beside Tess. “I’ll take her to her afternoon lessons.”

Tess glanced up at Varis, hesitant.

Varis knelt beside her, brushing her thumb across Tess’s cheek. “It’s alright, love. We won’t be long.”

Tess nodded and allowed the guard to lead her down the hall, her small form quickly swallowed by the shadows between the floating lights.

Emily and Varis exchanged a look, then without another word, followed the guard toward the main hall.

The guard led them not toward the throne room, but deeper into the keep—toward the old stone double doors of the conference hall.

Emily glanced at Varis, who looked just as puzzled as she felt.

The moment the doors opened, Emily understood why.

Inside, a massive round table dominated the room, and gathered around it were five unfamiliar figures—older, serious-looking people dressed in high-collared uniforms and robes. Officials. Advisors. Military, maybe. All of them were staring down at the center of the table, where a scale model of a sprawling fortress stood—grey, angular, with narrow towers and high walls. Ten small metal figurines were placed in two distinct clusters on either side of the model. Soldiers, judging by their stances and weapons.

Caelan stood already at the head of the table.

He looked up as they entered, his eyes scanning Varis first. Then he gave the subtlest nod and flicked his gaze toward a spot to his left. Wordless, Varis moved into place there, not needing further instruction.

Then his eyes landed on Emily.

“Come here,” he said, his voice calm but edged with command, gesturing to the open space on his right.

Emily didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, the thick stone floor cool beneath her boots as she moved through the quiet hum of tension in the room.

She could feel the eyes of the others on her as she took her place beside him—but Caelan didn’t look away.

Caelan didn’t sit. He remained standing at the head of the table, hands clasped behind his back as his voice cut clean through the murmuring tension.

“You already know Varis,” he said, glancing to his left. “And this,” he gestured to his right, “is Emily.”

A few of the gathered officials gave polite, if stiff, nods. One older man bowed his head slightly. Most just glanced at her.

Caelan continued, moving clockwise around the table. “You already have met Markerum and this is Commander Hadran, head of external defense for the Western Rim. Beside him is Marshal Revek, strategist for the wall units stationed along the north border. Next—Scholar Tarlith, our archive lead.”

A tall, silver-haired man in layered blue robes gave a slow blink and nod at the sound of his name.

Caelan kept going. “This is Syra—the one responsible for portal logistics and transit sequencing.”

The woman he gestured to inclined her head, her sharp eyes already scanning Emily with mild curiosity.

“And finally,” Caelan said, his voice tightening just slightly as he turned his gaze to the striking woman seated directly across from him, “this is Luvney. One of my top spies.”

Luvney didn’t smile.

She tilted her head slightly, assessing Emily with eyes the color of molten copper. She was tall, even seated—elegant in a high-collared black dress, every red strand of hair in place.

Then her gaze flicked down Emily’s frame and back up again, something cold curling in her lip. She scoffed, turned to Caelan, and said, “Why is she even here?”

The room stilled.

“This is a battle meeting,” Luvney went on, her voice edged with disdain. “And she’s a servant.” She said the word like it tasted wrong, her eyes slicing back to Emily.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Emily blinked. Heat flared up her neck as a thousand thoughts collided in her head—but none of them made it to her lips. She had never seen this woman before in her life.

She looked to Varis instinctively, needing something—guidance, reassurance, even just a look—but Varis wouldn’t meet her gaze. Her eyes were lowered, fixed on the table.

That hurt more than she expected.

Caelan didn’t flinch. “She is here because I want her here,” he said flatly. “And I will emphasize—”

His tone sharpened like a drawn blade.

“—we are doing all of this because of her.”

Emily’s stomach turned. She blinked and looked up at him, confusion rippling across her face. “What do you mean?”

Caelan turned to her fully, his gaze sharp but calm. He gestured to the large, miniature building in the center of the table.

“This,” he said, “is Deepbind. My father’s private archive. It’s where he keeps everything he doesn’t want the public to know exists—and everything too dangerous to destroy.”

Emily’s eyes widened as she studied the model more closely. She whispered to herself, “It’s a giant vault.”

Then, louder, she said, “I’m assuming it’s heavily guarded.”

Caelan gave a tight nod and turned back to the table. He began pointing to specific spots around the model.

“There are four main entry points,” he said, “each with overlapping patrols and locked by layered spell work. Most of the guards rotate every two hours, but these two wings—” he tapped the western and northern corners, “—are static units. Loyalists. My father’s personal selections.”

Emily followed his gestures, her mind spinning. Deepbind wasn’t just a vault—it was a fortress.

He continued, “The upper floors are mostly storage and decoys. The deeper you go, the more dangerous the contents. The book we’re looking for? If it exists it’ll be at the very bottom.”

The conversation around the table shifted quickly—terms, formations, incantation shields, ward disruption tactics. Caelan spoke fluidly with the others, each person chiming in with knowledge from their own field. To Emily, it sounded like a high-level strategy game in a language she only halfway understood.

Until—

“I’ll lead the primary extraction team,” Caelan said, pointing to a narrow passage near the base of the Deepbind model. “If we strike at this hour, patrols will be light, and the inner sanctum will have fewer active wards.”

Emily’s head snapped up. He was going?

She reached out, her fingers brushing his forearm. “Wait, Caelan—you’re going?”

Caelan glanced down at her, surprised by the touch.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Isn’t that kind of… dangerous? You could get hurt. And if you get hurt…”

Her hand slipped away as she trailed off, the shared pain unspoken but heavy between them.

Before Caelan could answer, Luvney scoffed from the far end of the table.

“It’s Your Majesty,” she said coldly. “And this is none of your concern. You shouldn’t even be in this room.”

Emily froze, her shoulders tensing—but Caelan’s gaze cut hard across the table, his voice a razor.

“Watch your tone,” he said, his voice like thunder in the still room.

Everyone went quiet.

He didn’t look away from Luvney. “Emily may call me what she likes. She is here because I want her here.”

Then, lower—deadly. “And if you can’t keep your mouth shut, Luvney, I will replace you.”

Across the room, Luvney’s expression shifted.

Her cheeks flushed—not with shame or regret, but something far more transparent. Hunger. That sharp gleam in her eyes, the way her lips parted just slightly, said it all.

She liked it, Emily realized.

Not the warning. Not the threat. But the power in his voice. The dominance in his posture. The absolute, unquestioned authority he carried.

Emily stared at her for a beat longer, unsettled. Luvney’s gaze lingered on Caelan, lower lip drawn between her teeth now, eyes dark with something that made Emily's stomach twist.

Then Luvney blinked once, forced her face neutral again, and looked away.

The tension in the room didn't fade. It simply changed temperature.

Caelan turned back to Emily, his voice low. “Before we leave, I want to run bond tests again. See if anything’s changed.”

At the word bond, Emily's eyes flicked across the table, suddenly aware of every person watching them.

Caelan noticed. “They already know,” he said simply.

Emily’s brows lifted. “Since when?”

“I had to tell them,” he said, his gaze steady. “I was in a meeting the other day when I randomly started bleeding.”

Of course. That must’ve been when she was being thrown around like a ragdoll at the farmhouse. He hadn't been alone.

Emily’s stomach twisted. “Right.”

Emily stayed quiet, the weight of it all pressing on her chest. But Caelan didn’t seem to expect a reply.

He straightened slightly, his voice steady again. “Once I get a good read on our bond,” he said, “it’ll tell me how involved I can be in this heist.”

Emily blinked. “What do you mean?”

“If the bond’s still as strong as it was,” he said, “then I can’t risk throwing myself into a fight without knowing exactly what it’ll do to you. If I take a hit, you take a hit. That limits how reckless I can be.”

He gave her a quick, almost apologetic glance.

“And I am going,” he added before she could argue. “But how I go… depends on what we find out.”

Just as Caelan began mapping out a potential route through the lower quadrant of the vault, the conference room door creaked open.

A guard stepped inside and gave a short bow. “Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty. There’s a messenger here requesting an audience.”

Caelan’s jaw ticked. “Send him in.”

A moment later, a scrawny man in deep red robes scurried into the room, head bowed so low he nearly tripped over himself. He stopped in front of Caelan, panting slightly, and extended a sealed letter with both hands.

Caelan took it without a word. He broke the wax, unfolded the paper, and read quickly—his features tightening with each line. A muscle in his jaw clenched. Without comment, he passed the letter to his left, starting a slow, silent circuit around the table.

“Continue,” he said, tone cool as ever. “We were discussing contingency if the eastern wall is reinforced.”

The room shifted back into motion, his advisors picking up the thread of strategy as if nothing had happened. But Emily wasn’t listening.

Her eyes tracked the letter as it moved from hand to hand.

One man’s brows lifted. Another woman’s mouth parted slightly. Each person, upon reading, glanced at Caelan like they were measuring his reaction, gauging his silence.

When the paper finally reached her, Emily took it carefully.

Her gaze scanned the neat, official handwriting. Then it stopped.

His Majesty King Meridan Morviel has entered into new union with Lady Brasha Eliven of the Outer Rosehold. Her pregnancy has been confirmed—twins, both male.

Emily blinked.

Twins.

Two sons.

The implications settled slowly, like snow falling over the room.

A new heir. No—two.

And suddenly, Emily understood why everyone had looked at Caelan the way they did.

This could change everything.

Is he upset about this? she wondered, watching him from the corner of her eye. His expression was unreadable—jaw tight, shoulders still. Did he want the throne?

Or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe this distant, ash-covered realm was enough for him. A keep of shadows, a throne of bone and silence. Or maybe, she thought, this was the only place that would have him.

But still… twin boys. Heirs. Real ones. That kind of news didn’t just change the line of succession—it shattered it.

Caelan continued speaking, pointing to the vault layout again, voice steady as stone. But Emily could tell—he was rattled. Beneath the calm, something sharp was coiled tight. She looked down at the letter in her hands. The royal seal at the bottom was crisp, confident.

Whatever this meant for Caelan… it meant more than he was letting on.