Mirelle
Age: 17
Kaelith didn't speak to me for a week.
Not in the halls. Not in the ring. Not even in the silence we used to share so easily as children.
But I could feel him.
Like a storm pressing behind my ribs. Like shadows curling along my spine when no one else was near.
His absence wasn't empty. It was heavy. Loud. And it made me reckless.
I trained harder. Fought dirtier. Let bruises bloom along my arms just to feel something other than the burn his silence left behind.
He wasn't ignoring me.
He was avoiding himself.
And it only made the creature inside him stir louder.
"Again!" I snapped, breath fogging the cool morning air.
My sparring partner—Darin—frowned. "You've already disarmed me twice."
"Then maybe learn faster."
He grunted and lunged, sword cutting through air like it could wound ghosts. I caught it, twisted, dropped low, and drove my elbow into his ribs.
He hit the ground with a thud that satisfied something feral in me.
I offered a hand. He took it. His smile was bloody but warm.
"You fight like you've got something to prove."
"I do," I said, without explaining.
Darin was kind. Tall, blond, always ready with a joke and never cruel with his strength. And lately, he lingered longer after training. Close enough to notice. Close enough for others to notice, too.
Especially Kaelith.
I found him watching us two days later. Again.
Leaning against the far edge of the courtyard wall, dressed in a dark tunic that made his already-too-sharp features more dangerous. His arms crossed. Eyes narrowed. Power curled around his boots like smoke.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
Darin followed my line of sight, then whistled low. "He's been watching you like that for days. Possessive little bastard."
I didn't deny it.
And I didn't stop Darin when he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear—slow, deliberate, just to see if Kaelith would move.
He didn't.
But the air around him changed. Sharpened.
Like his control was bleeding at the edges.
"I should go," I murmured.
Darin's brow lifted. "Why? Afraid of what he'll do?"
"No," I said, stepping back. "Afraid of what I'll let him do."
That night, I dreamed of Kaelith.
Of hands on my skin. Of his voice, rough and shattered, saying my name like it hurt him. Of shadows wrapping around us both like a vow he couldn't take back.
I woke up gasping.
And not alone.
I didn't see him.
But I felt him.
The ripple in the veil between waking and sleep. The brush of something ancient just outside my door. Not Kaelith. Not entirely.
Tairn.
His bonded. The creature inside him.
He hadn't come to me in years.
But tonight, his presence curled against the edge of my bed like a whisper. Unseen. Unwelcome. Familiar.
He's unraveling, the thought came, unbidden. Or maybe we both are.
The next morning, I was summoned.
Not by a page. Not by a steward.
By him.
Kaelith.
The letter was short. Just a name and a time.
The dueling hall. Dusk.
I went.
Of course, I went.
He was waiting at the center of the ring, alone. No court. No guards. Just him and a pair of practice blades on the rack behind him.
I stepped inside without a word, and the doors sealed behind me with a flick of his hand.
He didn't look at me. Not at first.
"Pick a sword."
My fingers brushed the hilt of one. "What are we doing?"
His gaze lifted—sharp, bright, and burning. "What we should've done years ago."
The clash of metal shattered the quiet.
He fought like fire. I fought like hunger.
We didn't speak. Couldn't.
Not with words.
But each blow said what we didn't dare: I miss you. I hate you. I want you. I'm still yours.
He moved faster than I remembered, darker than I knew. But I didn't flinch. Didn't fall.
And when I disarmed him—when the wooden blade hit the stone floor and he stood there, breathless, watching me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered—he didn't lunge again.
He stepped forward.
One step. Then another.
And then...
His hand reached for my throat. Not hard. Just enough to tilt my chin. To force me to look up at him.
His thumb brushed the place where my pulse thundered beneath my skin.
"You let him touch you," he said softly.
Darin. He meant Darin.
"You've made your choices, Kael," I said, breathing hard. "Don't ask questions you're not brave enough to hear the answers to."
His eyes flared golden.
The creature stirred again.
"I'm not brave," he said. "I'm starving."
The shadows behind him shivered. His jaw locked. And for a second, I saw it—him—Kaelith without the mask. Without the kingdom. Just the boy who used to watch me from the riverbank like I was the only real thing in a world full of noise.
His hand dropped.
He turned.
And walked away.
I stood there long after the door shut behind him.
Sweat cooling.
Heart splintered.
And gods help me, I wanted him to turn around.
-----
Mirelle
Age: 17
He didn't look back.
Not once.
The door shut behind Kaelith like the end of a spell. Like the air itself had been waiting to exhale until he was gone. I stood there—fists still curled around the phantom weight of a sword, heart still racing from the pressure of his touch and tried not to feel hollow.
But I did.
Gods, I did.
I hated how easily he could unmake me with a look. A single word. The brush of a thumb against my throat.
I hated it even more that he knew.
Because Kaelith always knew.
He was the boy who could hear what I didn't say. The prince who became a weapon just to protect what he couldn't claim.
And now he was unraveling.
Not in public. Not where the courtiers could see.
But in the quiet, behind closed doors. In the way his shadows moved faster than he did. In the hunger he kept swallowing back.
Varethos was rising.
And the prince was losing.
I didn't go to dinner that night.
Didn't want to see him seated beside Elowen, feigning loyalty like it didn't cost him a piece of his soul. Didn't want to see Darin, either, even though I knew he'd glance toward the empty chair beside him, probably with concern. Maybe even regret.
I wasn't in the mood for either.
Instead, I went to the river.
It was darker this time of year, the water high and cold, the banks slick with moss and memory. The same place Kaelith and I had once played as children. The same place we used to train, hidden from the eyes of a court that never thought I was worthy.
He taught me how to grip a sword here. I taught him how to hide his footsteps.
We'd been inseparable.
Until the crown came calling.
Until his father sent him away.
Until I became just another ghost of his past.
I sat on the mossy ledge, legs dangling over the river, and let the silence fold around me like armor.
Then a voice broke it.
"He hurt you."
I turned sharply.
Not Kaelith.
Arienne.
The queen's niece. Seventeen like me. Raven hair, silver-threaded eyes, and a smile sharp enough to draw blood. She'd been watching me for weeks, lingering in the places Kaelith didn't. Saying little. Not saying what mattered.
Until now.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
Arienne tilted her head. "The prince. Kaelith. I saw you two after the duel."
"I don't remember inviting an audience."
"You didn't." She stepped closer, boots silent on the damp grass. "But he makes a spectacle of his restraint every time you're near. And I happen to like watching men fall apart."
I studied her, carefully.
Arienne was dangerous in the way roses were. All beauty and bite. She was also favored by the court, and by some whispered accounts, Kaelith's aunt had considered her as a potential match before Elowen claimed her place at his side.
"Why do you care?"
She sat beside me like we were old friends. Like she hadn't just revealed she'd been watching.
"Because I know what it's like to want something you're not allowed to touch." Her gaze was steady. "And I know what it's like to make him bleed for making you feel that way."
My breath hitched.
"Is that what you want?" I asked, quieter now. "To make Kaelith bleed?"
Arienne laughed, but there was no cruelty in it. Just clarity. "No, sweet girl. I want you to stop pretending he doesn't already burn for you."
I looked away.
Because it was easier than admitting how badly I wanted to believe that.
The next morning, I returned to the ring.
Kaelith wasn't there.
But Darin was.
He grinned when he saw me, easy and unbothered. Like the world hadn't tilted on its axis just a day ago.
"Thought you ran off," he said, tossing me a practice dagger.
"I considered it."
"Fair. The prince has that effect on people." He angled a look at me. "Though I don't think he wants to have that effect on you."
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter what he wants. He's promised."
"Not yet," Darin said, almost too casually. "That deal's still ink and paper. No binding ceremony. No blood vow."
My stomach twisted.
Because it was true.
Kaelith hadn't sealed the bond with Elowen. Not magically. Not formally. Not yet.
But everyone acted like it was already done.
And the weight of that act was breaking both of us.
We trained harder than usual.
Darin pushed me. I pushed back.
He landed a hit on my side. I slammed him into the ground in retaliation. He laughed through the dirt and blood and asked me if I wanted to get a drink that night.
I said yes.
Not because I wanted him.
But because I wanted to feel wanted.
Because Kaelith wasn't allowed to say it.
We went to the eastern wing of the palace, where the soldiers drank and the nobles rarely visited. The torches burned low and the music was rough and real. No strings, no court songs. Just drums and teeth and the kind of rhythm that made your bones forget how to ache.
Darin pulled me to the floor.
We danced.
I laughed, genuinely, once, and let myself move like I didn't care who saw.
Like I wasn't still bleeding inside.
And then the music shifted.
Darkened.
He arrived.
Kaelith stepped into the hall like a sentence being written. Sharp and slow and final.
The crowd parted.
Not because he was crowned.
Because of the look on his face.
Because Tairn was riding too close to the surface.
He didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
He walked up to us, eyes locked on mine, shadows already licking at his shoulders like smoke and said nothing.
Until Darin, brave and stupid, put a hand on my lower back.
Kaelith snapped.
Not visibly. Not like a prince.
But like a predator.
His shadows lashed out—subtle, quick, unseen by most and Darin flinched, wincing as something unseen scorched the skin of his wrist.
"Careful," Kaelith said, voice low.
Darin's mouth twisted. "You can't have it both ways, Your Highness. You don't get to ignore her for weeks and then act like you own her."
Kaelith didn't answer.
He looked at me.
And only me.
The hunger in his eyes was a wildfire.
"Come with me," he said.
It wasn't a question.
But it wasn't a command, either.
It was a plea.
And gods help me, I followed.
We didn't speak as he led me out.
Not through the garden. Not through the halls.
Only when the door shut behind us in one of the abandoned towers did he finally move—fast, faster than I could breathe—and slammed his hands against the wall on either side of my head.
His eyes were golden.
His mouth was thunder.
And his breath fanned against my cheek like it hated the space between us.
"You don't get to do that," he growled.
"Do what?"
"Let him touch you. Let him see you."
I tilted my head, defiant even now. "And you do?"
His hands shook.
"Kaelith," I whispered. "Say it."
"I can't."
"Then feel it."
His mouth hovered near mine.
Not touching. Not yet.
But everything in him trembled with the effort it took to hold back.
"Every time I see you," he rasped, "I forget I'm promised to someone else. I forget I'm supposed to protect you from me."
I stared at him. "I never wanted protection."
His fingers twitched against the stone. His shadows rose like a storm tide. And for the first time, I saw just how close to the edge he truly was.
"Mirelle " he choked.
"Say it."
"I want you."
Silence cracked between us.
"I've always wanted you."
----
Mirelle
Age: 17
I didn't sleep.
Not really. I laid in bed, watching moonlight crawl across my ceiling, tracing the cracks like they were maps leading somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere without Kaelith's voice in my head or the echo of his eyes on my skin.
But he lingered.
In the aching hollow of my chest. In the places he hadn't touched, but now burned.
By dawn, I was already up, already dressed, and already regretting how deeply I was falling for someone who could never fall back.
Except—I wasn't sure he hadn't already started.
The gardens were empty when I slipped out. The guards didn't stop me. I wasn't sure if that was because they didn't care, or because Kaelith had told them not to. Either way, I welcomed the cold morning air biting against my cheeks. I needed the sting. I needed anything to ground me again.
I found him at the edge of the training yard.
Not dressed in black this time.
But crimson.
A color that looked like fire on him. A prince's robe, but unbuttoned at the throat, revealing a hint of the ink that coiled over his collarbone.
He turned as I approached. Like he felt me. Like he knew it would be me.
"You shouldn't be here," I said, voice rough from disuse.
His mouth twitched. "Neither should you."
I crossed my arms. "Then why are you waiting?"
A beat of silence passed between us, crackling like a held breath.
Then he stepped forward, just once, closing that terrible gap that always stretched too wide. "Because you show up. Even when you shouldn't."
My chest tightened. I wanted to reach for him. Shake him. Kiss him. Curse him.
Instead, I said, "That night in the garden—you almost said it."
He flinched. Just slightly. But I saw it.
"You almost said you loved me."
His jaw worked. "Mirelle..."
"Don't. Don't lie. Not when I already know."
Kaelith closed the distance this time.
Fully.
And when he reached for my wrist, his fingers trembled like he was afraid I'd vanish if he held on too tight.
"It's not about love," he said, voice hoarse. "It's about what love costs."
I stared at him, lips parting with the ache in my throat. "Then let me pay it."
He didn't kiss me.
But gods, he wanted to.
I saw it in the war flickering behind his eyes. In the way his thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, slow and reverent.
He leaned in, breath ghosting my cheek.
"Don't tempt me, Mirelle."
"Too late."
The air tightened.
And for one, beautiful, breaking moment, we didn't say anything at all.
We just stood there, two broken halves of something whole.
I left before he could stop me.
Because if I didn't, I was afraid I'd never want to again.
----
Kaelith didn't speak to me for three days.
Not a glance. Not a breath. Nothing.
And yet, I felt him everywhere.
In the way the guards at training stiffened at my approach. In the way the shadows near the palace stretched too long, too close. In the way I woke each morning with the weight of a name in my mouth that I hadn't said aloud since the garden.
Kael.
The name tasted like fire now. Like memory. Like everything I couldn't have but refused to stop wanting.
When I passed through the courtyard on the third day, his voice stopped me cold.
"Mirelle."
I turned slowly. He was standing beneath the stone archway, arms folded, dressed like war.
Black again. Of course.
"I need to speak with you," he said, jaw clenched like he hated every word.
I almost laughed. "Now you have words?"
He didn't rise to the bait. He just held my gaze like he was daring me to walk away.
I should've.
But I didn't.
Not when he looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to the last piece of himself still untouched by the throne.
We didn't speak as we walked. Not through the halls, not past the eastern wing, not down the silent spiral that led to the inner sanctum beneath the palace. My breath hitched when I realized where we were going.
The Varethyn Vault.
The place where ancient magic lived. Where only heirs to the line could go.
And those they trusted not to die inside it.
"Why are we here?" I asked as the final door sealed shut behind us, magic humming low and furious around the stone.
Kaelith turned to face me. There was something raw in his eyes now, like he hadn't slept, like he'd been fighting something inside himself and losing.
"I need you to see," he said quietly.
"See what?"
He stepped closer, until I could feel the heat of him, the power humming just beneath his skin.
"What I am."
He dragged his hand across his chest—and shadows spilled out. Like ink from a wound. They coiled around the walls, danced around my feet, sang to something deep in my bones.
Then… the air shifted.
And I saw it.
Not the prince.
Not even Kael.
But the thing inside him.
Golden-eyed. Crowned in fire and smoke.
The Varethos, Tairn.
The ancient spirit that had chosen him.
My knees nearly buckled, but Kael caught me before I could fall.
"This is what I've kept buried," he said, voice like a storm barely caged. "This is what I am, Mirelle. This… this hunger. This power. It's not just magic. It's need. It lives in me. It wants things."
My pulse roared. "What does it want?"
His hands trembled where they held me.
"You."
The shadows surged at that word. Swelled like a tide. The vault trembled, ancient stone groaning under the weight of his craving.
"I fight it," he whispered, forehead resting against mine now. "Every time you speak. Every time you look at me like I'm still worth loving. I fight it because I can't have you. Because if I take you, if I touch you, it won't stop."
I could barely breathe. "So don't stop."
His gasp was a curse, half pain, half prayer.
But then he stepped back.
The shadows recoiled.
"No," he said, voice frayed and furious. "Not like this. Not in a vault full of dead kings and curses."
And when the shadows finally died, all that was left was Kael.
Broken. Burning.
And still… walking away.
Again.