Page 51 of Heir of Shadows

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Cyrus

I found herin the east training corridor, still flushed from class, her skin damp with sweat and exertion.

My magic had never worked so perfectly with anyone else’s. Not just mine—Keane’s portals had locked into place, Elio’s illusions had solidified, and all of it had centered around her. The moment our power had intertwined, something had clicked into place, something I didn’t understand. And that thought had been clawing at me since combat practice, burrowing into my brain like a splinter I couldn’t remove.

Wrong. Unnatural.

And yet, my control had never felt sharper than when our power had intertwined.

That was unacceptable.

“Running away?” I called, letting heat curl into the narrow space between us. “Not very heir-like behavior.”

Marigold turned, chin lifting in that defiant, infuriating way that made me want to burn something just to see if she’d flinch. “Neither is stalking people in hallways.”

“Stalking?” Flames licked along my knuckles as I stepped closer, reveling in how her pupils flared in the dim light. “Don’t flatter yourself, Grimley.”

“Then what do you want?”

Her breath hitched, so quiet I almost missed it. But I didn’t.

“To remind you what you really are.” I slammed my palm against the stone beside her head, caging her in. Magic surged between us, crackling like an approaching storm. Like gravity itself wanted to pull us together. “A half-breed playing at being one of us.”

She didn’t shrink away. Didn’t cower like she should have. Like she would have, if she had any sense. Instead, shadows curled at her feet, dancing along my fire without fear.

“Is that what’s really bothering you?” Her voice was softer than before, but deadly precise. “Or is it that my half-breed magic worked so perfectly with yours?”

A surge of heat shot through me—fury and something darker, something I refused to name. My flames roared higher, catching the edge of her sleeve. The fabric smoldered but didn’t burn. My control slipped—but not enough. Not enough to make her afraid.

Why wasn’t she afraid?

“You think because our magic didn’t fight each other, that it means something?” I leaned in, the heat between us unbearable. “You think one battle where our power fit together too easily makes you my equal?”

Her lips parted, breath uneven, but still she held my gaze. Still, she didn’t yield.

“I think you’re terrified.” Her voice was quiet but razor-sharp. “Not of me being weak—of me being strong.”

I growled, my hand slamming onto the other side of her, trapping her completely. The temperature spiked, a bead of sweat rolling down her throat. I followed it, unwillingly.

She was so close now. Close enough that the scent of charred fabric mixed with something softer—something uniquely hers.

Her shirt began to smoke, but still, she didn’t flinch.

“I could burn you to ash right now,” I ground out, my voice low, rough. A warning. A promise. A lie.

“But you won’t.” She shifted slightly, tilting her chin up—bringing us closer. Daring me. “Because you felt it too—how right our magic worked together. How natural it was.”

Nothing about you is natural.The words almost left my lips, but my fire betrayed me first.

At the places where the heat licked closest to her, the flames burned blue.

Her lips curved. “Your fire says otherwise.”

A snarl tore from my throat, and before I could stop myself, I grabbed her arms, pushing her harder against the wall.

She gasped—not in pain. Not in fear. But in something far more dangerous.

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