Page 30 of Burning Heir

The sound of his knock still rattled me. My eggshell-colored gown clung to my legs as I stood frozen. It was autumn, and the fields stretched wide with roots, nearly ready for the second harvest. Visitors were rare, except on Thursdays when the post arrived. But this was Friday, and noon seemed to hold a foreboding weight in my chest. The wind chimes shuddered as his shadowed fingers curled against the door. He said no more than three words before the door slammed shut behind him.

“Klaus is dead.”

Bones could heal, but a bruised heart never beat the same—never regained its color as grief stained the blood grey. And he died for a title that bore no likeness to him. I clipped my thoughts short, swallowing the rising ache. Archer stood before me, his eyes heavy with the same truth they’d carried when he first spoke those words.

He had no idea who I was.

“Your wrist doesn’t look reset to me. Your bone is protruding out.” He narrowed his eyes. His shadows were subdued in the sun, but his coolness blanketed me as he shifted closer.

And it wasn’t fear I felt, but a roll in my gut as I stared at the row of thick lashes lining those cruel blue eyes.

Death crept toward me one final time, and I mistook his bones for beauty. That was the end of Cully’s poem. Archer was beautiful in a way I wanted to hate every cell in his body. But I didn’t understand why he’d delivered the burden. Why him, of all people?

Everything about him set something on fire in my stomach. I’d make a fool if I dared to part my lips, but I did anyway. He was a Serpent,mySerpent, and if Alaric and Jace had broken bones to prove themselves to him, then what was I?

“Estella couldn’t do much until the healer comes in a week. Since this is my last few days, I might as well explore the grounds.”

“Are you always this insufferable?” he asked, shading me with his tall figure. “No one will pity a frown.”

I slid my gaze to meet his. “I haven’t found my quell nor my enigma. I—I understand if you’re upset.” I felt like a begging dog seeking approval.

I swore his face fell as I did it, but his words were a mask for that bleak stare. “You’re expected to find your quell by the end of the week, Blanche. Don’t make me regret allowing you to stay under my house.”

“Why did you?” I asked softly. “Why—why did you come to my house that day?” He knew what I meant as a single brow cocked for a second.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. If you do not reset your wrist, it will heal broken, and you surely won’t make it very far.”

“Too painful.” I shuddered.

He blew a deep sigh. “I’ll reset it for you.”

“No.” I pressed my spine against the stone wall as he angled his knee, trapping me.

He forced a grin. “As your mentor, I insist. It would look quite bad on my part if one of my first-years could not defend themselves during the trials. You’ll need to win, and your tears will not help. People will not take pity on you. Everyone here has lost someone. You aren’t special.”

He closed the distance between us, and my heart stopped for a second as he lifted my sleeve and delicately held my forearm between his hands. “This is an order. Let me help you.”

Burning. I was burning from his touch. I swallowed my dry spit and nodded, knowing nothing I said mattered. “Please be quick.”

“Look into my eyes and take a deep breath.”

And so, I did. I saw the depths of the sea whirl in those eyes, my startled reflection captured within their storm. His thumb brushed over the tender part of my arm, sending an involuntary shiver up my spine. My heart beat embarrassingly fast as he hovered over my pulse. “One… two,” he said. “Why do I make you nervous?”

Perhaps I was mesmerized by his cruelty. My gaze lingered on the violet buttons of his coat, each thread meticulously looped. Then my eyes drifted to the hissing snake tattoo curling up his neck. “You—don’t,” I said, though my voice betrayed me.

On the second breath, I was on my knees—falling forward as a sharp snap echoed in my ears. My vision spun, my body betrayed by the searing pain. But Archer’s arms caught me before my nose could meet the unforgiving pathway. He held me firm, his shoulders carrying the scent of dirt and leather, his presence heavy and grounding. His arms hovered over my spine, as though afraid to fully touch me, while the darkness creeping at the edges of my sight blurred everything.

Or perhaps it wasn’t the pain, but his shadow quell slithering up my back, cold and invasive, seeping into the cracks of my will.

His voice muffled, but I heard his last insulting whisper,“She’s weak, Ciaran.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, staring at the lantern flickering on the side table in my dorm. Malachi was fast asleep in her bed. My clothes from the day before were neatly folded at the end of mine, and I realized—he had undressed me. He had carried me back.

No. Warmth crept up my face at the thought of dangling limply in those strong arms, but it was quickly overtaken by a boiling rage. How dare he rummage through my belongings? How dare he undress me?

How dare he speak of Klaus’s death so casually.

My wrist throbbed, though the bone no longer jutted outward. I flexed my fingers, wincing as pain shot down my forearm. Tolerable pain. I imagined clinging to the ice wall again in less than an hour, sliding helplessly when my grip failed.

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