Page 154 of Burning Heir

“No one will know.” I touched a tear on his cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.” Maybe he figured I hadn’t tried, that I’d left Damien to die. “My quell… it didn’t work.”

“I didn’t want to ask.”

“It’s okay to grieve him. He had faults, but we all do. It’s okay to be upset that your brother is dead.”

Archer ran his fingers through his dark, drenched locks, still holding me in his arms. “He had issues. When my mother passed, it… ruined him. It ruined all of us, but his quell is a different kind of poison, and he wasn’t strong enough to carry it.”

And I wasn’t strong enough to save him.

Another day had passed as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. I arched my back, tracing my finger along the scaled mark of the serpent etched upon my skin.

We needed to fly to the capital to see the king and announce my title. Then, the rest of Verdonia would hear the Serpent of Night had an heir in the next Serpent Press article. I’d done everything right. I’d saved Father’s wards from falling. I’d claimed Serpent. But I still felt as if my life were tethered to strings.

And I could feel the snaps, the fraying edges with every jerk of my fragile body.

An aide offered me three traditional Demetria gowns—one even worn by Archer’s mother. Silks made of violets and ebony black, trimmed with a million diamonds, hand-sewn with lace.

I stared at the mound of fabrics, not daring to step toward either of them.

“You don’t have to wear Demetria attire, Severyn. I would never force that upon you.”

I shook my head. “They are beautiful. But this is all new to me. The last gown I was in was my grandmother’s, and that made sense. This—this isn’t me.”

Archer leaned against the door, one hand on his temple. “We will have new gowns made for you. Whatever you like, whether silver, gold—hell, even fuchsia. I know this can be unsettling.”

Amria, the aide, grinned. Young with a rounded face. I knew she’d never be called to the academy. It seemed some were meant for this, their fingers too nimble, their eyes too detailed for the life of a Serpent.

“Silver would look best on her skin tone. But I think Severyn is a Summer’s night. Give me an hour—I will sew her something tailored to her body.”

Archer hardened his eyes, waiting for my approval. “It’s up to Severyn. Whatever she is comfortable with.”

“That is very sweet of you, Amria. I would love for you to make me something.”

Amria clapped her fingers as she wound thread, measuring my waist and every limb. Her fingers weaved through the air, gliding like ocean water over a log. Fabric and yarn spooled from her palms. She hummed a tune, closing her eyes while the gown was crafted before my eyes.

Archer motioned for me to follow him as we stepped into the library. Time didn’t exist here, not when sunset was the brim of day and a midnight moon was the evening. I never knew so many stars could lay atop, plucked, and placed into the milky river of the violet galaxy. Books I’d never touched—not concealed behind wards were placed in rows and rows along the brick wall. A simple armchair, only for one, sat facing the large window.

Archer skimmed his fingers over the cover of a book. “Your scar should be healed by now, Severyn, and it still looks fresh and painful.”

I cleared my throat. “Perhaps whatever magic is behind creating a Serpent doesn’t find me worthy.”

“Or you do not accept the Night as your realm,” he replied calmly. “A Serpent is only as strong as their connection to their realm.”

I tensed. “This realm is beautiful—”

“Beauty does not fulfill—it is a mask. I had the same reservations when I became Serpent of the Shadows. I understand, Severyn. I understand more than anyone. So, when we make it to the capital, I want you to ask the king if you can transfer your title to Summer. Given your mother’s history and Veravine, I think he’d consider it… it’s only going to get darker here.”

“Archer,” I breathed.

Archer slumped into the wall, shoulders squared. “I don’t want you to be my heir, Severyn.”

A lantern’s flame dimmed. “What?”

“I would never force you into anything.” His voice was soft. “You can either leave before I fall in love with you or allow the inevitable to happen.”

I lifted a finger. “Light is a mask. I will find beauty within this darkness—if a candle is my only source, I will find it in you.”

Archer furrowed his brows, reaching for my hand slowly before curling it within his. “I think my mother knew you’d come. She stole the Summer’s light, knowing you’d come soon enough. Klaus scribed it—I thought he was reciting the past, not knowing what my mother had done.”

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