Chapter 21 - Arvoren

The tower air is saturated in midnight stillness. No servants remain in the corridors, and most of the enchanted torches are out, leaving only a sparse scattering of light through the narrow windows from the central wing of the castle.

I sit alone in a guest room of my own tower, which is absurd. Yet, I could not stomach remaining in my chambers with Calliope asleep there, in my bed, caught up in powers she herself has yet to understand. Her presence, radiant and wholly foreign, sharpens each breath I take.

Varya’s absence gnaws at me. Without her counsel, the path forward has turned into an unknown forest, thick with bracken, the path through unclear. I turn toward my bed, her last words echoing in my mind, woven with warning and a finality I’m unwilling to confront. Her intent to vanish permanently was obvious, but I had hoped she’d return. The thought that she won’t leaves a hollow ache, though I cannot dwell on it now. I have other fires to extinguish, other demons to confront—starting with Calliope and the trouble that swirls around her like a storm ready to break.

She survived the sanctum, against all expectations. It seems somehow, her family survived centuries of ostracisation and violence by those who could not—or would not—understand them. If I make her my queen, if we bear an heir, it is certain that our child will be the most powerful being Kaldoria has seen in centuries. Even the prospect terrifies me, though I’ve never admitted it aloud. This girl, this woman I’ve dragged to my throne, who was supposed to be a pawn, a pliable piece—I can’t yet decide whether she is a weapon against me or the last line of defense.

My enemies close in. I feel them even now, as I move to lie across the unfamiliar bed. My wretched brother, Ulric, still takes his dues from the shadows. I recall the last time we spoke. It was a year ago, in the dark of the enchanted woods north of Millrath, where he told me plainly that his loyalty was to himself and that he had his own faction of mages to back him, to offer him security and power. He was bold then, his eyes glittering with something nearing amusement as he said it, as though he wanted me to feel this festering seed of doubt, a creeping realization that my throne is not untouchable.

My brother standing tall and unyielding before me, I keep my expression stony. “You wouldn’t dare to consort with magic, not after everything our family’s lost to it.”

“Wouldn’t I?” he murmurs, taking a single, taunting step closer. “I think you underestimate me, Arvoren.” His voice is a low rasp, quiet but potent, and he leans in, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “I’ve made my own alliances. I have my own mages, a loyal circle, trained and bound to my command.”

It takes every inch of my composure to stay steady, to hide the surge of shock and anger he wants to draw from me. Ulric, with his own troop, his own martial faction, as my brother—an offense so forbidden, so taboo, it reeks of betrayal. And yet here he is, telling me outright, as though daring me to challenge him.

“Is that a threat?” I ask coldly, my hand inching toward my sword.

“No,” he says lightly, pulling back with a disdainful smirk, “merely an assurance, should anything … unexpected happen to me.” His smirk fades, replaced by an intense, almost eerie stillness in his gaze. “I’d advise you, dear brother, to consider my warning. This throne you sit on—it’s a perilous place to rest. Best you be careful with it.”

The silence that follows his words presses like iron between us. I hold my ground, forcing myself not to look away, though I know he wants that, too.

“I don’t need magic to hold my rule,” I reply, voice low, steady. “Nor your blessing.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, the smirk curling back. “I’ll be here, watching. Waiting.”

With that, he turns, slipping back into the shadowed woods, the mist swallowing his figure as though he had never been there at all.

It’s only a matter of time before he acts on his ambitions, and with Calliope in the picture, his arsenal of grievances grows stronger. It’s as if I can feel his presence nearby, though I’m almost certain he’s not in Millrath. Surely, even he is not so brash.

Then again, my enemies seem to grow bolder by the day …

A sound by the door pulls me from my thoughts, faint footsteps, too cautious for a guard or servant. I know who it is before she speaks, though the sight of her here, at this hour, still startles me. She’s draped in a dark robe, her face pale in the moonlight, hair slightly tangled from restless sleep. I’d expected Calliope to stay hidden in my rooms, nursing her wounds, perhaps in silent defiance of whatever fate binds us. But here she stands, at my door, her gaze shifting uncomfortably as she steps into the room.

“It’s cold in there,” she says simply, voice barely louder than a whisper. “Your chambers are too exposed to the wind.”

I arch a brow, struggling not to smirk at her boldness.

“I’ll remind you that you’re still alive to complain about the wind,” I reply, crossing my arms, body laid back against the headboard. “Something to be grateful for.”

She bristles slightly, drawing her robe closer around her. “I came here to ask to share a warmer room, not a conversation.”

I watch her, the half-moon light catching on her face, a face I’ve come to know well yet understand so little. Each time I look at her, it appears there is only more to uncover, more to slip past, to pry apart.

“I’ll let you stay,” I say after a beat, “but only on the condition that you’ll share this bed with me. You are my wife, after all. Despite your best efforts, the ritual took hold.”

For a moment, she seems ready to refuse, her jaw tight, lips pressing together. But then, as if something shifts within her, she nods, almost defiantly, and steps forward, accepting the offer without another word. It is a strategic move. She is telling me, in her own way, that she has nothing to fear from me—or perhaps simply nothing to hide.

She slips into the bed beside me, careful to keep as much distance as the narrow space allows. It is a strange, tense peace we make between the sheets, where heat gathers despite the chill, leaving silence to linger, to swell, filling the space around us.

Neither of us speak at first. Her breathing, low and steady, draws me in closer than I care to admit. I catch the faint scent of herbs and fire, remnants of the sanctum lingering around her, a reminder of how close she came to burning alive within it. Yet she survived, as if defying me, defying even death itself. This has become her signature—a quiet defiance that refuses to bow or break.

I allow myself to close my eyes, but sleep is evasive, too many fragments of past and future darting through my thoughts.

“Do you know,” I say quietly, breaking the silence, “that this castle has stood for almost eight hundred years? My ancestors built it after breaking free from the clutches of the other lords, securing our own sovereignty, our rule over all others in this kingdom.”

She remains silent, but I sense her listening, eyes tracing the ceiling beams, taking in the weight of history here.

“They carved it out of the rock, sealed in their bloodline, their power,” I continue. “It is both a fortress and a curse. There have been kings who died here in battle, others taken by betrayal, and a few by madness, yet the castle remains. It seems none who rule from this place rule peacefully. Perhaps that is its effect.”

She shifts beside me, perhaps sensing the unease lacing my words.

“It’s beautiful all the same,” she murmurs.

“Yes,” I reply, surprised by her insight. “And it’s a bastion. But even the strongest walls fall. And now, it seems, the Gods have turned against us. They’re eager to see Millrath burn to ashes, to strip this fortress from our blood.”

Silence stretches between us again. I feel her glance at me, probing, curious. “You believe it to be the fault of what I am?” she asks, tone cautious.

“I do.” The words are heavy, but nonetheless, they are a simple truth. “Perhaps it can be fixed. I’m still not sure.”

The intensity of her gaze meets mine in the dim light. “I don’t have answers for you, Arvoren. I don’t even know what happened, only that … something inside me shattered, then remade itself.”

I swallow back a retort, finding my frustration softened by her honesty. She survived when she should have died; she defied the forces that sought to end her. That alone should make her a worthy queen for me, and yet, I am more uncertain than I have ever been before, and it is all the doing of her pure, uncut power.

And as the thought sinks in, an idea takes root, a dangerous notion that grows more convincing the longer I stare at her.

“Perhaps,” I say softly, “perhaps this power you have can be harnessed. Trained.”

Her brow furrows, and I see the flicker of apprehension in her eyes.

“You want to make me your weapon?” she says, voice low but steady.

I don’t answer immediately, letting the idea settle between us like a coiled beast, ready to spring.

“If we’re to survive,” I say at last, “we need every advantage we can seize. You are as much a part of this kingdom now as I am, Calliope, and if this power of yours has awakened, then we must find a way to control it. Such is what it means to be a queen.”

She watches me, her gaze unflinching. I can feel the pulse of her breath, slow and measured, yet her mind is racing, I can tell. She’s not dismissing the idea, not entirely. That, more than anything, tells me she’s willing to consider the possibility, to ally herself with me, at least for now.

I lean back, resting my head on the pillow, and let my gaze travel up to the dark beams of the ceiling. My ancestors are watching me, their bloodline knotted in the stones that hold this place. They lived and died by their own strength, their own cunning, but none of them faced what we now face.

If the Gods have decreed that she is the last of her line, I’ll use that decree to my advantage. I’ll train her, sharpen her abilities until even the Gods themselves think twice before crossing us. She may be my wife by reluctant design, but by morning, she’ll be my weapon, my sword, my shield.

For now, as she lies here beside me, I let the calm settle, the battle planning itself in my mind.