Page 40 of Essence of the Throne

We continue deeper into the heart of the city, the scent of cooking fires and unfamiliar spices filling the air. There’s a tanginess to it, and I have the urge to run over and ask what it is. My stomach growls in response—another reminder of the long days without proper food.

Rael stops before a large tree with a spiral staircase carved into its trunk. He gestures for us to ascend. The translator lingers at the base, watching us carefully. “This will be your housing during your stay,” he explains. “It has been prepared for you and is separate from all others.”

I can’t help but snort. “Is that to keep your people from me, or me from them?”

The translator raises an eyebrow at me, but Rael just smirks and dips his head before turning back and leaving.

I ignore Caspian’s amused expression and start climbing the stairs. Each step creaks under my weight, but the wood holds firm. The air grows cooler as we ascend, the thick canopy blocking out the remaining daylight.

When we reach the top, I pause, taking in the small living quarters. It’s surprisingly homey, though simple, with furniture carved directly from the living wood. A bed made of woven vines is set against one wall, and a low table sits in the center of the room, surrounded by cushions. There are shelves along the walls filled with potted plants—some familiar, some strange, all glowing faintly. A common occurrence here.

“Cozy,” Caspian comments, moving past me to inspect the room. “And look—there’s even wine.”

I glance over, spotting the bottles stacked in a corner. “If it’s not poison,” I mutter.

“Always the pessimist.” He uncorks one of the bottles and sniffs it. “Smells decent enough.” He chuckles at my incredulous stare and swallows some, humming to himself. He mutterssomething about how it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted and offers me the bottle.

My head shakes, too tired to argue. “I’m not interested in drinking around strange people who probably just want to make us comfortable so they can kill us.”

Almost as if summoned, a soft knock sounds at the door, followed by the entry of a woman carrying a large tray of steaming dishes. She’s young, with the same markings on her skin, but there’s a warmth in her eyes that makes me pause.

“Essara,” she murmurs, offering a small bow. Her eyes catch the confusion in mine before she stammers, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wouldn’t be familiar. It means welcome in the common tongue. This is for you.” She presents the tray, setting it lightly on the table.

Caspian stands and offers her a gracious nod. “Thank you.”

The woman grins, but lingers for a moment, her gaze flicking between us. “The Seer is not far,” she adds, hesitant. “When they are ready, you will be called.”

I nod once. “Understood.”

She retreats quickly, leaving us alone. Caspian settles next to the table, grabbing my waist and yanking me down next to him. I don't resist, my body too fucking tired to care. The prince lifts the lid from the tray, revealing an array of unfamiliar foods—steamed vegetables, roasted meat that smell faintly of the same spices I can’t identify, and a collection of roots and herbs that are foreign to my senses.

“At least it’s not the dry meat and bread we’ve had for the past few days,” he says, settling into one of the cushions.

I sit next to him and lean my head against his shoulder, barely able to keep my eyes open. I should not be this tired—something feels wrong.

I force my body to move and pick at the food with more caution than hunger. “Do you think this Seer will be able to help?”

He chews thoughtfully before answering, adjusting until his hand grips the back of my neck and begins massaging. I moan into his hold. “I think they’ll have more answers we don’t. Whether those answers are what we need…I’m not sure.”

“Always the diplomat,” I mutter, but there’s no real heat behind the words.

We eat in silence for a while, the food surprisingly good despite my wariness. The spices have a kick to them, a slow burn that lingers on the tongue. It’s oddly satisfying.

When we’re done, Caspian leans back, pulling me with him. “Ariella,” he says, breaking the stillness. “Are you okay? You seem down.”

I stare at the shifting light outside, my voice low and raw. “I’m just tired.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then his hand reaches across my abdomen, brushing the line of exposed skin below my shirt. He lifts me effortlessly, and I laugh as I lean into him. “Well, we cannot have a tired assassin when the Seer calls for us.” His tone is light and comforting. It’s not just his words or his gentle actions.It’s everything I can’t explain—but something inside me shifts toward him.

“Rest,” he says after a moment, pressing a kiss to my head. I’m placed on soft blankets, warmth covering me as he lies next to me, cocooning my body with his.

I nod, the exhaustion too much to fight. I don’t trust the Palmluvela, don’t trust their cryptic words or utter willingness to share exactly what I need. But for now, there’s nothing more I can do. And for the first time in days, the thought of sleep doesn’t seem like a luxury—it feels like a necessity.

My head rests against the thud of Caspian’s heart, something I didn’t think I’d find calming. I don’t speak, and neither does he. There’s nothing left to say.

As my eyes drift shut, I can almost hear whispers, faint and distant. It’s a promise, a threat, a question that I can’t yet answer—things that they want me to know but are hesitant to share.

But one thing has become shockingly clear these last weeks: whatever lies ahead, Caspian and I are in it together. Stubborn bastard he is, but at least this is something real and tangible I can hold on to.

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