Page 38 of King of Flames and Shadows

Calliope.

She continues escaping from her quarters, continues wandering the halls of my castle as if she owns the place. She speaks back to me, refuses food, glares daggers at my courtiers. In her every move is revolt. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand her. Not her defiance, not her silence, and certainly not this strange sense of gravity that seems to draw my thoughts back to her again and again, no matter how I fight it. She’s a human girl, a nobody from a backwater village—a commoner who should mean nothing to me beyond the use I have for her.

And yet … every time I see her, I feel something tighten, something shift and twist inside of me. Anger. Fascination. A hunger that I cannot name, something that burns low and steady and maddeningly persistent.

Eventually, I instruct the guards to allow her to walk, escorted, through the castle. At least then she is followed, supervised, controlled.

She avoids me as best she can. I see it in the way she keeps to the corners of the halls, the way she flinches when I draw near. There’s hatred in her eyes when she looks at me, yes, but there’s something else there, too—something that haunts me when I catch glimpses of her in the gardens or the library, always lingering on the fringes, never daring to draw closer than she must.

Even when I don’t seek her out, it’s as if the castle conspires to push us together.

One morning, I find myself on the second-floor balcony overlooking the training grounds. It’s an unremarkable day, gray and cold, the sort of day that blurs together with all the others. The soldiers below go through their drills, weapons clashing in time to the steady bark of the drillmaster’s commands. I watch them with a distant gaze, my mind elsewhere.

Then I see her.

She’s crossing the courtyard, her movements slow and deliberate, as if testing the ground beneath her feet. There’s a curious stillness to her as she walks, a sort of muted grace that makes her seem almost … ethereal. As if she’s drifting through this place rather than living in it.

A gust of wind sweeps across the courtyard, and the torch flames lining the walls flare and sputter, casting wild shadows that dance across the cobblestones. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. There’s that hum again, that almost-inaudible vibration that seems to emanate from the very air around her.

I don’t realize I’m moving until I’m halfway down the staircase, my feet carrying me toward her as if drawn by an unseen force.

“Calliope!” My voice echoes sharply across the courtyard.

She stops, glances over her shoulder. Her eyes narrow when she sees me, and for a moment, I almost expect her to turn and run. But she stands her ground, head held high, shoulders squared. Defiant as always.

“What are you doing out here? Where are your guards?” I demand as I reach her. The words come out harsher than I intend, but I can’t help it. There’s something infuriating about the way she looks at me, as if I’m a wild beast she’s not quite afraid of. As if she’s testing me.

She lifts a brow, tilts her head slightly. “Taking a walk, Your Majesty. Solitude was ideal. Is that forbidden?”

“Don’t play games with me,” I snarl. “You know the rules. You’re not to wander around without an escort.”

She shrugs one shoulder, a delicate, infuriating motion. “And yet, here I am. I suppose that’s your problem to deal with.”

My jaw clenches. I want to lash out, to grab her and shake her until she understands the danger she’s in, the danger she’s putting me in just by being here, by existing in this place. But I hold myself back, muscles coiled tight beneath my skin.

“Get back inside,” I growl. “Before I drag you back myself.”

For a moment, I think she’ll argue. She opens her mouth as if to retort, but then something changes in her gaze—a flicker of something I can’t quite name. She drops her gaze, her shoulders tightening almost imperceptibly.

“As you wish, Your Majesty,” she murmurs, turning on her heel and heading toward the castle entrance without another word.

I stand there, watching her retreating form, the anger burning hot and bitter in my throat. But beneath the anger is something else—something darker, something dangerous.

It’s the same thing I felt that night in the hall, when I almost lost control. When I wanted to break her just to see if I could, to shatter that infuriating composure of hers and make her feel something, anything, for me.

I shake my head sharply, trying to dislodge the thoughts. They’re poison, a sickness that seeps through my veins, that clouds my mind. I can’t afford to lose myself like that. Not now. Not ever.

But as the days pass, I find myself drawn to her again and again, as if some unseen force is tugging at me, dragging me toward her. I see her in the library, her eyes tracing the lines of ancient texts with a focus that borders on obsession. I catch glimpses of her in the gardens, her face turned up toward the sky as if searching for something beyond the clouds.

And always, always, that strange hum lingers in the air around her, that pulse of energy that sets my nerves on edge.

I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what she is. But I can’t seem to stay away.

The castle is changing around her. I can feel it, and I’m sure she can too. Doors that once remained firmly shut now creak open of their own accord when she passes. Mirrors darken and warp, reflecting images that twist and writhe like living things. And more than once, I’ve felt something brush against my skin in her presence—something cold and intangible, like the ghost of a touch.

Perhaps the Gods really do wish her presence gone from this place.

It’s madness, and it’s driving me mad along with it.

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