Page 28 of Stolen
“I followed the thread,” I answer simply, but Dagan snorts and turns away, disgust curling his lip.
“You’re going to trick a human into believing she’s your fated mate?” he growls. “You’d bind an innocent soul to a lie, enter a falsezareth, just to grab power?”
I raise a brow. “And you wouldn’t?”
“I’d rather die with honor than rule as a fraud.”
“Good,” I murmur. “Then we understand each other, Lord Dagan. Die and leave the throne to someone stronger.”
Before Dagan can lunge, Thorne chuckles from the shadows, stepping forward with fire flickering along the ends of his hair like it’s alive.
“So, this human. What is she like? What did it take to woo her to your side?”
“What do you care, Thorne? She is mine now,” I reply, wary of giving him, or really, any of them my back.
“Careful, Alaric,” he says, voice teasing, dangerous. “You’re getting attached. What if I decide I want her instead?”
I go still.
The air drops ten degrees.
“If you try to take her,” I say softly, “I will put your fire out. Permanently.”
The threat lands. Thorne’s grin falters, then sharpens with challenge. But before he can reply, Kael raises a hand.
“Enough.” His voice carries the weight of oceans, deep and unbothered.
“We didn’t come to scratch at each other like feral beasts. We came for this.”
He gestures, and with a ripple of magic, a box appears in the center of the room.
A glass cube, sealed with binding glyphs etched in molten silver.
Inside it rests the crown of Nightfall, taken from the head of our lost Prime.
Ancient. Glorious. Unclaimed.
It pulses faintly with dormant power, as if it knows what’s at stake. As if it’s waiting.
“We must guard it,” Kael says, stepping forward. “The SoulTakers grow restless. Their scouts are sniffing along the outer planes. If they find it before a new Prime rises,” he murmurs, leaving the rest unfinished.
We all know what will happen then. Kael doesn’t need to tell us.
“They’ll devour the realm,” Dagan finishes grimly.
“So we bind it,” Kael says. “With all our magic. And we leave it here, safe at Alaric’s Eyrie. High above the shadows they cling to. The one place they’re least likely to look.”
I approach the box slowly.
The crown thrums in response, not quite recognition, but curiosity.
One by one, we raise our hands.
Each of us casts a ward, layering our power atop the last—earth, sea, flame, and wind.
Old magic. Sacred. Binding.
When the last symbol flares, Kael lets his hand fall and says quietly, “We all want it. But if we lose it, there won’t be a realm left to rule.”
