Page 183 of What Blooms from Death

My heart pounded. A simple command…but it had worked. They kept their gazes lowered respectfully as I passed, silently and obediently falling back to their posts as I closed and locked the door behind me.

I’d never been one for commanding people, even when I’d reigned as the Princess of Eldris. It would take some getting used to, this role I was expected to step into—assuming both this world and I survived the next few days.

My mind had started to spiral, thinking of all the reasons we mightnotsurvive, when I caught sight of Aleks emerging from the attached washroom. A soft, relieved sigh escaped me. My racing thoughts slowed, all my questions about the future fading into the background, leaving me to focus on just…him.

He looked as if he’d just finished bathing; his hair hung around his face, water droplets shining on the ends; his shirt was unbuttoned and hanging open, parts of it clinging to his still-damp chest. It was amazing how different he already looked, after just half a day removed from the dungeons. But then, I supposed he was used to bouncing back quickly from hellish situations, given the world he’d grown up in.

His eyes immediately brightened at the sight of me. We didn’t speak at first—we had no shortage of things to talk about, yet words didn’t seem important as he stepped to meet me, taking my hand and drawing me closer. His other hand cuppedmy cheek and guided my mouth to his, and for a few, blissful moments I was aware of nothing beyond his scent; his taste; the warm, buzzing thrill of his tongue dancing with mine.

Then he pulled away and asked, “You spoke with your brother?”

I nodded, quickly filling him in on the things Bastian and I had discussed outside.

As I finished speaking, Aleks went to the window, studying what he could see of the disturbing gloom I’d mentioned—though it wasn’t much, as this room opened only to an interior courtyard, which was shaded from the sky by a ceiling of tinted glass. He stared at it all for several minutes, lost in thought, while I moved restlessly over the scantly-furnished space, picking up a few books from otherwise bare shelves, flipping through them only to set them back down without reading anything.

“There’s something Lorien said that I can’t stop thinking about,” I said.

Aleks glanced over his shoulder at me, listening.

“You are the only one who has ever managed to force him out of your body. And your magic is still deeply connected with his, somehow. So I wonder…”

I let the thought hang in the air.

“If we can use these things to our advantage?” he guessed.

“…What if you could force him out of Zayn, too? Maybe seal him back into Luminor, where he ended up after you ousted him from your own body.”

He turned away from the window, making his way to the chair by the unlit fireplace and slowly lowering himself into it, his expression troubled.

“And perhaps I could help, too,” I pressed. “I can use my abilities to possess objects, so if I could gain control of his energy, his life-force, and make it an easier target somehow…”

“He’s not an object,” Aleks pointed out, frowning. “And his energy is far more powerful than anything you’ve ever tried to control. It’s also…messier. We don’t know what his actual powers are at this point. The Light Vaeloran have always had somewhat predictable abilities, as I understand it, but what abilities has he stolen from you and Calista? And if he’s in Nerithys, like we believe, and he’s been in contact with the Aetherstone…”

Every point he made was like another stone piled onto my shoulders, until the weight became painful. Frustrating. But I knew he was right. I was just grasping at threads—at something,anythingresembling a plan.

“It’s not a bad idea. It’s just…” He raked a hand through his hair, sinking farther down into the chair cushions.

“A dangerous one.”

“Yes.” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, his brow scrunched in thought.

I went back to my restless wandering. But my gaze kept finding its way back to him. Kept getting caught on the thoughtful part of his lips. The rise and fall of his chest as he took deep, calming breaths. The way his body folded over the chair, his form a beautiful study in contradictions—relaxed yet poised, graceful yet powerful.

He must have felt me staring, because he eventually cracked one eye open, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

He beckoned me toward him.

I moved as if connected to his hand by an invisible chain, crossing the room and settling into his lap. I curled into all the arcs and edges I’d just been admiring, exhaling a soft, contented breath at the way my body molded so perfectly to his.

His arms slipped around my waist, drawing me more fully into his embrace.

For a few minutes, I merely relaxed there, letting his strength envelop me. But soon I found myself intimately aware of every breath he took. Every heartbeat. Every move of his fingers as they grew bolder, more deliberate in the way they touched me.

“I thought of this while I was in the dark,” he mumbled against my shoulder. “Of your body, pressed against mine. My hands on your skin.” He slipped one of those hands beneath my shirt, the cool, rough pads of his fingers making me sigh as they caressed my stomach. “It helped keep me sane in that prison, thinking I had to hold on if I wanted to have you in my arms like this again.”

My heart clenched at the thought of him locked away in the darkness.

But he seemed to have escaped that hopeless place—at least for the moment; all of his focus was on me. The intensity of his gaze was nearly overwhelming, stealing my breath, bringing every nerve in my body to life.

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