Page 123 of Wings of Shadow
The porcelain teacup in my hands steams faintly—Juliette’s special blend, she’d called it. Chamomile and valerian, yes, but threaded with something older, more potent. Magic that tastes like moonlight and peace.
“Drink,” Kaisner murmurs, his fingers brushing mine as he steadies the cup when my hands still. “All of it, Liebes.”
His thumb traces the back of my hand, a gentle command wrapped in silk. I take another sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest. Already, the edges of my sight feel softer, the electric buzz that usually precedes my visions mercifully absent.
“Better?” He crouches beside my chair, bringing himself to my eye level, studying my face with fierce intensity. His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb stroking across my skin. “The tremors are stopping.”
I hadn’t even realized I was still shaking until his touch soothed me. “The tea is helping,” I admit, leaning into his palm. “I feel... quiet.”
Relief and satisfaction flicker in his gaze. “Good. No more visions tonight. No more pain.” His voice carries the weight of a vow, as if he could command the universe itself to obey.
Through the crack in the study doors, I glimpse them—Gavriil and Luciana, lost in their impossible reunion. His massive frame trembles as he cups her face, thumbs catching tears that slip down her cheeks like liquid starlight. I watch as Gavriil falters forward, the once-imposing Ursa King now undone.
They kiss like a myth being written—tears falling, their brows pressed together in reverent reunion. Like lovers who’ve defied death, each breath a borrowed miracle.
My throat tightens. Kaisner’s hand finds my back, his thumb brushing a steady line between my shoulder blades.
“Love like that never fades,” I whisper, my voice catching.
“It doesn’t,” he agrees softly, taking my hand and pressing it against his lips. “And neither will ours.”
The silence stretches taut as a bowstring when footsteps ring against marble—measured, deliberate, each one echoing like a death knell through the corridors.
Cassandra appears in the doorway like an apparition conjured from moonlight and sorrow. Her gown catches the dying firelight, silver-rose fabric that should shimmer but seems to absorb the glow instead, as if even light dare not touch her tonight. She moves with the careful precision of someone walking across breaking ice.
Her face is porcelain perfection—every line controlled, every breath measured. But her eyes... her eyes hold the hollow exhaustion of someone who has just bargained with death itself and won. The kind of fragility one wears only after performing a great act of sacrifice.
She doesn’t enter. Doesn’t speak. Simply stands sentinel in the threshold, watching the reunion she orchestrated with the quiet intensity of a goddess surveying her handiwork.
Gavriil lifts his head from Luciana’s golden hair. When his gaze finds Cassandra’s, the world stills—magic hanging in the air like motes of dust caught in the hazy beams of dawn, each particle shimmering with unspoken truths that linger between them, waiting to settle into reality.
Understanding sails through the silence, delicate as the first light filtering through ancient windows, and as profound as destinies being rewritten in real time.
He knows. The cost. The price. What she sacrificed to tear his love from death’s embrace.
Cassandra’s hands clasp before her, knuckles white against rose silk. She turns, ready to leave the room?—
“Cassandra.”
Her name falls from his lips like a prayer, like a plea, like an absolution.
She freezes mid-step, spine rigid as iron.
The silence that follows could shatter glass.
Slowly—so slowly the movement feels carved from eternity—she pivots. Her chin lifts, meeting his gaze with the unflinching courage of someone prepared to face judgment.
“My loyalty,” Gavriil says, his voice breaking on the words, “my friendship, my debt—they are forever yours.”
The words don’t just land—they detonate. The very air seems to crack with the force of an oath sworn in blood and starlight. Luciana’s breath catches, her fingers tightening in Gavriil’s as she adds her own silent pledge with a bow of her golden head.
Cassandra’s composure fractures for a single heartbeat. Her lashes flutter like butterfly wings against her cheeks, and when she nods, the gesture carries the might of destinies shifting.
Gavriil’s arm tightens protectively around Luciana’s waist, drawing her close. “However you managed this...” His voice drops to a rumble. “There will be consequences.” He pauses, letting the truth settle between them like ash. “But whatever they may be—you won’t face them alone.”
Something swells in my chest, vast and wordless. Having witnessed so much anger between them, so many battles fought with words sharp as blades, this moment of profound gratitude feels like watching winter finally surrender to spring.
“After countless nights walking in shadow,” Cassandra says, her voice heavy with shared grief. Her gaze shifts to Luciana, taking in the impossibility of her presence. “You have found your moon again.” A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “At last, happiness has returned to you.”
