Page 73 of The Book of Legends
A mark.
No… arune.
Curved. Ancient. Familiar in a way I can’t explain. It pulses once—soft and golden—then fades before I can cry out.
“Kainen,” I breathe, my heart skipping a beat.
But when I look up, he’s already watching me, a furrow carved deep between his brows.
“You saw something,” he says quietly.
I nod, but I don’t tell him what.
Not yet.
Because something inside me whispers: it’s not time. That this mark means more than either of us can comprehend. It’s not just a scar.
Not just a prophecy.
It’s a bond.
A thread spun in flame.
Ieat carefully, savoring every bite, still tasting him on my lips. The contrast between the warmth of the food and the fire still burning in my chest gives me vertigo. I don’t know how I should feel—about any of it. The meal should bring comfort, but the ache between my thighs and the storm churning in my chest makes it impossible to sit still. I bite into a piece of cheese; the sharp tang grounds me.
The door creaks open again. This time, a Nymph enters without knocking. She closes it behind her, saying nothing. Her gown whispers across the stone floor, the air around her humming with quiet magic. It's only now that I begin to grasp how powerful she might truly be. Not just a flower Nymph—but something older. Something more.
“You’re flushed,” she says softly, her tone unreadable. “Your color is back. My name is Tinetha.”
I nod, not trusting my voice just yet.
She sits beside me, like she’s done it a hundred times before. “He keeps people out,” she says. “But not you.”
“I don’t think I’m in,” I whisper. “I think I’m just a pawn.”
Nieve tilts her head, regarding me with ancient eyes. “A pawn he kissed?”
I open my mouth, but she lifts a hand before I can speak.
“I know it’s complicated. You want to protect yourself—I understand. But sometimes, protection becomes its own prison.”
We sit in silence for a while. Outside, the wind howls like it’s mourning something ancient. I realize how much I’ve missed silence without danger.
“Newt is waiting,” she says finally, standing. “She wants to check on you. Make sure the spell didn’t leave behind anything... lingering.”
My brow lifts. “Lingering?”
She nods. “Tristan’s magic is like poison. Some Fae enchantments weren’t meant to bind humans. They linger, like bruises on the soul.”
I follow her down the spiraling stone staircase. The castle feels different—quieter. The guards are fewer. The usual weight in the air has shifted into something heavier, something brewing in the distance. A storm not yet seen. We pass windows with fractured glass, hallways lined with stone cracked by time. I realize this place isn’t just ancient in age, but in memory.
Newt’s cottage smells of scorched herbs and the sharp sweetness of dried berries. The fire in the hearth crackles low, shadows curling across the ceiling like living things.
She stirs a thick concoction in her cauldron, glancing up with large bright eyes. “Well. You didn’t die. That’s a good start.”
“I don’t plan to,” I mutter.
She gestures to a chair. “Sit. This won’t take long.”
