Page 52 of Heir of Shadows

We were too close.

Her magic curled around mine, cool shadows slipping into the heat, not fighting it, but melding.

I should have pulled back.

I should have walked away.

Instead, I stood there, my grip tightening, my breath shallow, as if I was the one caught.

Her chest rose and fell unevenly against mine, her breath fanning across my cheek.

“I hate that you affect me like this,” I growled.

Her lashes flickered. “Like what?”

Her lips were inches from mine, close enough that I could taste the answer if I leaned in.

I almost did.

Instead, I shoved myself away from her, putting distance between us before I did something I couldn’t take back.

The heat in my chest refused to settle, my flames still edged with that damning blue.

“Stay away from me, Grimley.” The warning came out hoarse, too raw.

She straightened, brushing ash from her singed sleeve with infuriating calm. “Is that a threat, Raynoff?” Her lips curled slightly, eyes sharp. “Or a promise?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

I turned before she could see whatever was written on my face, before she could see the thought that had been gnawing at me since class. This wasn’t just magic reacting. It was something deeper, older. And I didn’t know what terrified me more—what it meant for her.

Or what it meant for me.

“Both,” I muttered.

But as I stalked away, my pulse still hammering, I knew the truth. She was already inside my head. Already under my skin.

The real threat here wasn’t what I could do to her. It was what she was doing to me.

Ember trilled softly, his flames still edged in that cursed blue.

Everything was changing.

And I was powerless to stop it.

25

Elio

I hadn’t meantto play that particular piece.

The melody was too raw, too unpolished. Mother would be horrified to hear me indulging in something so simple, so real. But tonight, the familiar notes settled into my bones, a release I hadn’t realized I needed. The weight of the day—the combat lesson, Rivera’s warning, the way Marigold didn’t just stand against us but fought beside us—clung to me.

Echo’s scales rippled with remembered pain as I drew the bow across the strings. Up here, beneath the endless stars, I could breathe. No illusions to maintain, no audience to dazzle, no perfect heir to pretend to be. Just music, stripped of performance.

And then—another presence. Impossible.

The violin screeched to silence as my eyes snapped open. Marigold.

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