Page 105 of Burning Heir

I watched him, his silhouette stark against the dim light. “Tell me your nightmares,” I said softly, the vulnerability in my voice surprising even me. “Tell me something that makes me believe you feel anything at all.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. “I don’t like bats,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “They swarm my entire realm. Sometimes, I dream they’re destroying my village while I’m away. And…” His voice faltered before he continued. “Losing Klaus nearly killed me. For months, I couldn’t find a reason to smile. But yesterday…” His eyes softened, meeting mine. “Yesterday was the first time I smiled, truly smiled, since his death. And it was because of you. That’s selfish to admit, I know, because his death led me to you. But it’s the truth.”

The words left me stunned, a knot tightening in my chest. “I’ll never be happy Klaus died,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Knowing me… it wasn’t worth his life.”

Archer leaned against the doorframe as though it was the only thing keeping him upright. “You asked for real, Severyn.”

“I know.” My voice wavered. “Did Klaus… want us to be friends?”

His hesitation was brief, but telling. “Yes,” he said, stepping into the room, as though the very act required courage. “He did.”

I exhaled slowly, the shadows above me seeming to shift and settle. “And if we became… more than friends?”

His gaze didn’t waver, the weight of it pinning me to the bed. “He’d suspect the possibility.”

“Klaus was a Seeker, wasn’t he?” I asked, the question tentative. Naraic’s cryptic words echoed in my mind, and I wondered if Archer carried the burden of knowing my brother had been touched by a forbidden power.

Archer’s expression darkened. “They burned everything he wrote,” he said, his voice tight.

My eyes drifted to his ribs, where Klaus’s name was etched in delicate script beneath his heart. “Not everything.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence was heavy, the weight of unspoken fears pressing against my chest. I thought of my own life—a tangle of secrets and shadows, of broken dreams that never seemed to hold their shape. Would they burn my belongings too, when I was gone?

Archer stood beside my bed, the shadows clinging to his form like ink painted onto muscle. It was as though the darkness itself had sculpted him, every line and contour sharpened by its embrace.

“You should go back to sleep,” he said, his voice low, almost a plea. “Before I lose the will to leave you alone.”

I hesitated for only a heartbeat. “Then don’t leave.”

The words hung in the air between us, daring, vulnerable.

Archer sank to his knees beside the bed, as though the weight of everything tethering him to this moment was too much to bear. His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “You are my only warmth, Severyn Blanche. The only warmth I desire.” His breath shuddered as he closed his eyes, his hand brushing the edge of the mattress. “And I am desperately lost.”

For the rest of the night, his shield of darkness lingered over me, a silent protector. He slept on the floor, his presence steady, unyielding. And for the first time, I wondered if he was the only shadow I would ever welcome.

The last piece of Klaus was written on his body, etched into his skin, a memory he carried for both ofus.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The following day, another gown was laid on my bed. This one was made of red silk that snugged my waist. The skirt pooled into a bath of crimson crystals as the neckline swooped against my sternum. It was delicate, yet revealing.

I thought I would ask Archer what receiving a dress from a Serpent meant, but humor seemed grim after last night.

Kian and Archer were outside sparring. Their backyard sprawled with rolling grass, fenced in by tall posts and crowned with a wraparound porch. A swinging woven chair creaked faintly in the breeze, adding a soft rhythm to the crack of fists meeting skin. Welts bloomed across their bare chests, sweat streaking their muscles like war paint. At least Kian had landed a few solid hits on Archer.

I stepped outside, the sun warming my shoulders. Kian spotted me and waved, his grin boyish despite the fresh bruisedarkening his cheekbone. “Last day in Ravensla,” he said. “You’re in luck because tonight there’s a quell show.”

“What’s a quell show?” I asked, stepping closer.

“Anyone with a quell projects it. It’s a ritual for the Harvest Festival,” Kian explained, brushing his damp hair back. “I might even gain mine today.”

Archer snorted, nudging Kian’s ribs. “He’s a late bloomer.”

I turned to Archer, who had wiped the gleam of sweat from his forehead. He gestured to the dress I wore, its red fabric catching the sunlight like flame. “You should show off your flame tonight. Red suits you.”

I fisted the lace bones along the ribs, the corset hugging each shaky inhale. “I can’t exactly run if someone tries to steal me again. What’s with the dress?”

Archer’s expression softened, a rare flicker of sincerity breaking through. “It’s vintage,” he said simply. “And, yes, red is your color.”

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