Page 261 of A Dance of Water

Even the most skilled of beings left behind a trace of an aura. So for there to be none… he was dealing with no ordinary thief.

"Well played, Merath," Tharen intoned. The words fell into the room, with no answering sound.

The lover of his former Prima was long gone, but she had left him a gift.

His eyes fell on his worktable, relatively untouched. There, a small dagger was notched into the wood, blade keeping it upright, as a small scrap of paper was trapped under the blade.

Tharen lowered his sword, ripping the paper away from the dagger.

Resting his sword on the table, he waved his free hand, using Ignis magic to ignite a small fire at his fingertips to read by.

The note was simple:

Come find me, M.

Tharen crinkled the paper in his fist. "I would if you’d told me where you are, bitch," he seethed. "I don’t have the fucking time for this." He stuffed the wadded-up note in his pocket, quickly gathering the things he had come for.

In no time, the mage’s arms were laden with tinctures and bottles, a satchel he stuffed with dressings and materials for suturing—just in case. He didn’t know what manner of care his lamb would need. Better to be prepared.

The small door of the servants’ passage opened into the King’s room.

Tharen felt Luella before he saw her.

And the sight of her made his knees grow weak.

His grip on the supplies in his arms shook. The low murmur of voices from the bedroom greeted him as he stepped inside.

At once, they all turned to him. But the mage could only stare at Luella. On Vale’s bed, the Princess lay on her stomach. Graves’s cloak was tangled around her legs, her pale face pressed into the pillow, eyes closed, and mouth slightly open as she rested.

Her wings were no longer hidden away now that they were in the privacy of the King’s chambers. It was the first time Tharen was truly able to look at them without being clouded by disbelief.

Closing his eyes, he tried to find a way to run from the godsdamned feelings inside him. But he only saw the Stella, as it had curled over her skin, blessing her. The wings had erupted from her back in a spray of blood and broken skin. How she had arched away from the altar, into him, as if seeking safety. But he had caused it—hadn’t he? How could she find comfort in him?

He knew it wasn’t true. There was much more at work here, but her screams echoed around him, the ghost of her body was still pressed against his, trembling in the aftermath.

Luella had not even been able to relish in her release before it turned to anguish.

"Tharen." Graves’s low voice forced Tharen’s eyes to open.

The male’s face was uncovered, and tension lined his body. He kept reaching up to clutch the amulet at his chest before he released it, looking to Luella, then repeating the motion. This would be a grand shock for the male, Tharen knew.

Graves passed a hand over his lower face in a rare display of agitation. "You have what you need?"

"Yes," Tharen replied. If his voice shook, he just hoped they attributed it to exhaustion.

The demon was sitting on the floor at the foot of Vale’s bed, a hand resting on Luella’s ankle, as if he could not part from her even as she fell into dreams. Bastian stood at her side, brows crinkled, as he swirled a glass filled with thick red blood. He brought it to his mouth and took a sip, lip curling as he all but ripped the glass away in disgust. The vampire pinched the bridge of his nose, a small drop of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

And the King... Tharen watched the rigid lines of Vale’s back ashe stood near the large balcony doors at the side of the room—the dragon shifter hated being away from open air. The curtains were pulled tight, but his hand rested on the edge, as if flirting with the idea of revealing them all to the moonlit skies and cloud-covered stars.

Without turning, Vale hissed, "Heal her, Prima. Now."

Tharen started to unpack his supplies, slapping a hand on Azgorath’s large shoulder and yanking him away from the bed. The demon’s amber eyes flashed as he snarled, but he relented. Tharen felt his eyes burn into his back with a silent threat.

Luella whimpered as Tharen brushed a hand over the line of her shoulder, and a large plume of smoke filled Vale’s room. Leaning over her, he kept her covered with his body, not daring to turn to the hissing dragon shifter.

"Can we trust you not to shift, Vale?" Tharen gritted, hand hovering over Luella’s body. He would not touch her again until he received the King’s word—he very much would like to remain an uncooked mage.

A shuffling noise behind him, then:

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