Sophie's POV
The door to the vault slammed shut behind him, its echo rattling through Sophie's bones. She stood rooted in the dim light, her palms damp, her heart hammering like it was trying to escape her chest.
Her lips still tingled with the memory of his nearness. His voice—low, commanding, threaded with something unspoken—kept replaying in her head. She hated it. Hated that even when he frightened her, he still had the power to make her blood run hot.
Eira squeezed her arm sharply, dragging her back to herself. "You shouldn't have pushed him like that," she whispered fiercely. "The king doesn't forgive disobedience. You saw his eyes."
"I saw more than anger," Sophie muttered, though she wasn't sure why she said it aloud. Maybe to convince herself. Maybe because a small, traitorous part of her wanted to believe there was more.
Eira frowned, worry deep in her gaze. "More can be just as dangerous."
Sophie sank against the nearest pedestal, covering her face with her hands. "I thought the book would have answers. I thought if I could just… see Seraphina's name, something would make sense."
"And did it?"
Sophie lowered her hands slowly. "Yes. And no. Now I just have more questions—and he has them too. He won't let me out of his sight after this."
Eira's jaw tightened. "Then we'll have to be smarter. You can't afford to show him your hand again. Not yet."
Sophie nodded weakly, though inside, her thoughts churned like a storm. Alexander's words haunted her: 'You are walking a path that will burn you.'
Was he warning her—or threatening her? She couldn't decide. And that uncertainty was its own prison.
Alexander's POV
The heavy door of the royal archives groaned shut, sealing the book behind iron and stone. Alexander slid the lock into place, his hand lingering against the cold metal.
His reflection wavered faintly in the polished surface, but he hardly recognized the man staring back. The tightness in his chest hadn't eased since he'd seen Sophie clutching the prophecy's pages like they belonged to her.
He should have been furious. Should have had her dragged back to her chambers under guard, should have broken her defiance with the sharp edge of his authority.
But when he'd stood in front of her, so close he could hear the uneven hitch of her breath, fury hadn't been the only thing he felt.
Desire had coiled low and fierce, tangled with fear, tangled with a strange kind of ache he hadn't known in years.
He pressed his palms hard against the table, grounding himself. This was weakness. He couldn't afford weakness. Not with Draven watching for cracks in his rule. Not with whispers already crawling through the court.
The book's weight lingered in his grip even though it was gone. Seraphina's name written across those pages… Sophie's desperate eyes meeting his… it all blurred together until his control frayed.
"What are you hiding?" he murmured under his breath, his voice rough with frustration. "And why does it matter to me?"
A knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. A guard's voice followed. "Your Majesty, the council requests your presence. Lord Draven says it is urgent."
Of course. Draven. Always circling like a vulture. Alexander straightened, tugging his cloak into place. His mask of cold command slipped back over him like armor.
Still, as he strode from the archives, one thought clung stubbornly at the back of his mind:
He had seen Sophie defy him. He had seen the fire in her eyes. And now, he wasn't sure whether he meant to crush it—
—or to guard it, no matter the cost.