Page 29 of Essence of the Throne

“Then don’t ask.” I could feel guilty for saying what I did, but now he’ll not ask any further questions, and I’ll not have to lie.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Do you need anything before you go?”

I shake my head. “No, we’ve got what we need. And judging by the sounds out there,” I gesture to his door, where the sounds of Valoria awaken, “we’re well past the time we needed to leave at.”

My legs push me to stand as I grab my pack and throw it back over my shoulder. Marek gives Caspian a charged look—it hurts.

I am certainly not the embodiment of a girl who brings her crush to meet her parents, but this is as close as I will ever get to experiencing that.

I stretch my neck, shaking my hands off. This is just another one of those firsts I knew twenty years ago I’d never have—thanks to my companion's father.

We exchange our goodbyes and walk through the common area, where at least a dozen students tense as their jaws drop when they notice Caspian.

I let them look. It’s the only time they’ll be in such a presence, anyway, and I can be benevolent sometimes.

I halt at the door Caspian just walked through when something grabs my arm. Marek steps around, blocking my view of the others. “You sure you’re okay? You know you can tell me, or ask me, for anything.”

My lips rise at his concern, and I nod. “I know. I’ll see you soon.”

We share a silent understanding before I follow the prince down to the street. We turn west and begin our trek to find the Palmluvela.

Chapter Nine

Caspian

Too many hours pass in a blur of silence, the kind that’s taut with barely contained tension. Ariella strides ahead, her steps relentless and purposeful, as if she’s prepared to keep walking through the remainder of the night. She hasn’t spoken a word since we left the guild this morning, and I suspect it’s her attempt to avoid processing what just happened. I can’t blame her—if I had nearly killed someone in a fit of rage after walking through my dead friend’s room when the night before I'd bitten into someone's throat…

But I’m fucking tired. I’m not used to being dragged through a darkened forest for hours on end without rest; and as much as she’ll deny it, neither is my wraith. I’m worried her body is going to give out on her if she doesn’t at least eat something soon. I’ve tried to give her food, yet she ignores me and keeps pressing forward, fueled by whatever flood is churning inside her.

“Ariella,” I try again, my voice low and calm. “We need to stop.”

She doesn’t slow down. If anything, she quickens her pace, her shoulders tightening as if my words are just one more annoyance she’s determined to outrun.

Fucking Aether, I have never met such a frustrating woman.

I catch up to her, stepping in front of her path. The moon is bright enough that I can make out most of her features. “Angel, you need to rest.”

Her eyes flash with a cold stubbornness, and I groan as that means I’m about to lose this argument. “No,” she snaps, her voice raw and edged with fatigue. “We keep going.”

I sigh, clenching my pack and resisting the urge to rub my temples. “This isn’t a race. We need to keep our strength up if we’re going to reach the Palmluvela in one piece.” These last hours I’ve voiced my concerns of her, but perhaps bringing myself into the conversation will get through to her.

She glares at me as a spark of defiance flicks through her gaze. “I’m not weak.”

“I know you’re not.” I keep my voice gentle, though I’m starting to lose my patience. Truthfully, I’m well past that threshold, but I don’t wish to fight. “But you’re human. And so am I, in case you forgot.”

Her jaw works, and my stomach coils as she tenses again. For a moment, I think she’s going to push past me and keep walking, but then something in her expression shifts—a trace of uncertainty, quickly masked. It’s enough to make me soften my approach.

“Ariella,” I say, stepping closer. “You can’t run from this. Whatever is going on in that brilliant head of yours…it’s going to catch up to you, eventually.”

Her eyes drop to the ground, and she exhales, a sharp sound that’s more frustration than surrender. But it’s a start.

“I’m not running,” she mutters, though her voice lacks the usual conviction. “I just need to keep moving.”

“I know,” I reply, reaching out to grasp her arm. Her muscles are rigid beneath my fingers, but she doesn’t pull away. “But you’ll burn out if you don’t rest. I’m here, Ariella. You don’t have to do this alone—not anymore.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes searching mine for something—trust, maybe, or the assurance that I won’t abandon her. It’s a vulnerability she rarely shows, and my heart squeezes with the weight of protectiveness and something dangerously close to loving affection. That’s new, though not unwelcome.

“Fine,” she relents, her voice no more than a whisper. “We’ll stop.”

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