Page 39 of Wings of Shadow
I tuck the message away, my mind whirling with the implications of these offerings. Each gift, each carefully worded summons, is more than it appears. They’re calculated moves in a grand chess game—bids for power, attempts at forging alliances, subtle grasps at the dragon’s legacy that flows within me.
The orchestra stirs, drawing me back to the present as the lights dim and the curtain rises once more.
I sit, spine straight, the rose resting lightly in my lap. And for a while, I let the music carry me away—into Giulia’s tragedy, into her defiance, into the storm I can feel building just beyond the stage.
By the time the final, haunting notes of “Tu che invoco con orrore” fade into silence, I’m undone. My heart pounds with a tangle of emotions I can scarcely name. Tears gather behind my lashes, and I blink them back, struggling to steady my breath.
Giulia’s torment—her wrenching pull between love and sacred duty—has found a mirror in me. Her voice, filled with agony and devotion, lingers like a bruise on the air.
“You whom I invoke with horror,
Terrible goddess!
Listen to me at last;
May this miserable heart of mine breathe…”
The words echo through me, a chilling reflection of my own turmoil.
Like her, I teeter on a precipice—torn between fear and longing. I whisper Kaisner’s name in the privacy of my thoughts, even as I recoil from the raw power he holds over me. The affanno—that aching, breathless anguish—gathers in my chest whenever he is near. A torment so exquisite it’s almost holy.
Somewhere deep within, I find myself pleading. Not to a goddess, but to him. To the warlock whose presence both steadies and unravels me. I want him to see me. To hear me. To quiet the storm he’s awakened.
And yet… the thought terrifies me.
How did I get here?
What frightens me most is not the intensity of my emotions, but the quiet truth that I don’t want to relinquish them.
Thunderous applause erupts around me, but I remain still—adrift in the storm of my thoughts. La Vestale has pierced deeper than I ever anticipated, laying bare the conflict I’ve tried so hard to silence.
Almost without meaning to, my gaze sweeps the opera house, searching for the one face that has come to mean so much to me.
And there he is, in his private box, dark eyes already fixed upon me.
Kaisner.
Our gazes meet, and in that instant, the world falls away. The gold leaf decorations blur into a hazy glow. The plush red velvet of the seats fades to a distant smudge of color. Even the swelling crescendo of the orchestra diminishes to a faint, far-off hum.
All that remains in sharp focus is Kaisner.
His maroon eyes hold mine, and the contact hits me like a live current. My skin prickles. A shiver climbs my spine, sharp and sudden.
I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away.
Every detail of him imprints itself in my mind: the chiseled line of his jaw, his closely trimmed beard, the flicker of hazel hidden in the deep brown of his gaze. The faint crease between his brows betrays the depth of his focus. I see the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath a tailored suit that fits like a second skin—power wrapped in restraint.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t need to.
The space between us is nothing. Whether he’s across the opera house or standing beside me, I feel him—in me. As if my body is attuned to his in some ancient, unspoken way.
Warmth spreads through my chest, down to my fingertips. Not just heat, but something deeper. A recognition. Completion. As if a piece inside me has shifted into place, quiet and irreversible.
The air is charged—alive. An understanding passes between us, silent but unmistakable.
Then, Kaisner rises. He steps back into the shadows of his private suite, moving toward what must be the door.
I don’t think. I simply rise from my seat with practiced grace and slip away from our family’s box, leaving Giulia’s tormented voice echoing behind me.
