The silence that followed the chime was a living thing. It was louder than any scream, heavier than the iron door of the reliquary. My hand tingled, a phantom echo of silver light and impossible sound running up my arm. My gaze was locked with Jorvik's, and for the first time, I saw the absolute absence of control in his eyes. The clinical detachment was gone, burned away. In its place was a raw, primal shock that mirrored my own, but beneath it, the hunger I had glimpsed before was now a raging inferno.
He broke first.
With a speed that seemed to defy the laws of physics, he closed the distance between us. One hand shot out and clamped around my upper arm, his grip a band of iron. The other slammed into the stone wall just beside my head, the impact echoing like a death knell in the small room. I was caged, his body a wall of heat and power, trapping me against the cold, unyielding stone.
His face was inches from mine. I could see the faint silver flecks in his winter-blue eyes, could feel his breath, now coming in harsh, unsteady gusts against my cheek. The clean scent of the storm that clung to him was sharper now, charged with a volatile energy.
"What was that?" he demanded, his voice a low, vicious snarl that was nothing like his usual measured tones. "What did you do?"
"I-I don't know," I stammered, the words catching in my throat. My training, my composure, everything evaporated under the sheer force of his presence.
"Lies," he hissed. He leaned in closer, his gaze dropping to my lips and then back to my eyes, a gesture so intimate and threatening it made my blood run cold. "A void does not create. It consumes. It negates. That was not negation."
He was right. My power was a drain, a hollow, a pulling-apart. What had just happened—that spark of creation between us, channelled through a dead object—was a perversion of my very nature.
His grip on my arm tightened, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh just enough to make me gasp. He was searching for a reaction, for an answer I didn't have. His other hand came up, his bare fingers tracing the line of my jaw with a touch that was half-caress, half-assessment. His skin was warm, a shocking contrast to the icy terror he inspired.
"You felt it," he stated, his voice dropping again, becoming a dangerous murmur. "Do not deny it. It was inside both of us for a moment."
I couldn't speak, could only nod mutely. The feeling had been undeniable, a strange resonance that had vibrated in my bones, a note of harmony where there should only be discord.
For a long moment, he simply stared at me, the muscle in his jaw jumping. I could see the war raging within him—the king, the scientist, the man, and the beast, all battling for dominance. His control, the bedrock of his entire existence, was fracturing, and I was the cause. The realization was both terrifying and, in a strange, horrifying way, empowering.
Then, as if touching me had burned him, he recoiled. He released me so abruptly I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the pedestal. He turned his back to me, stalking to the far side of the room and placing his hands on a glass case, his knuckles white. He drew in a long, shuddering breath, fighting to wrestle his composure back into place.
"The experiment is over," he said, his voice strained, tight with suppressed violence. "Come."
He did not wait for me, but strode out of the reliquary, leaving me to scramble after him. He didn't call for a guard. He escorted me himself, a silent, menacing shadow at my back. The walk through the deep corridors was an exercise in pure agony. Every footstep of his behind me was a drumbeat of doom. The air between us was thick, charged with the aftermath of what had happened, with all the things we had not said.
As we ascended the main staircase, the sounds of the keep returned. We passed two courtiers who froze mid-conversation, bowing their heads so low their noses nearly touched their knees, their fear a palpable wave in the air. Jorvik ignored them completely. His focus was a physical weight on my shoulders, pushing me forward.
A guard captain, clad in the black and silver of the royal elite, intercepted us, bowing sharply. "My King, a report from the Sunstone emissary. They grow impatient."
"I am aware," Jorvik bit out, his voice laced with ice. He did not slow his pace. "They will learn patience, or they will learn what my impatience looks like. Do not disturb me again unless the keep is on fire."
"Yes, my King," the captain murmured, retreating with a haste that bordered on panic.
The brief exchange sent a new jolt of fear through me. Sunstone. Politics. A world outside my cage that was still turning, a world I had forgotten. A world where this king's volatile temper had real, deadly consequences.
When we reached the door to my suite, he didn't stop. He pushed it open and followed me inside, letting it swing shut behind us. The room, which had once felt like a cage, now felt impossibly small with him in it. He stalked to the center of the furs, the barely contained violence rolling off him in waves.
I stayed by the door, my hand on the cold wood, ready to flee a flight that was impossible.
He turned to face me, his eyes now hooded, his expression once again a mask of cold control, but it was a fragile mask now. I had seen the monster beneath it, and I could not unsee it.
"Today's events," he began, his voice dangerously soft, "will not be spoken of. They will not be contemplated. They did not happen." He took a step toward me. "Do you understand?"
I nodded, my throat too tight for words.
"Good." He stopped just before me, looking down at me with an unnerving possessiveness. He was no longer a scientist studying a specimen. He was a dragon, and he had just seen a flicker of gold in his hoard that he never knew existed.
He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing my cheek in a gesture that was a chilling parody of tenderness.
"Whatever that power was," he whispered, his winter-blue eyes pinning me in place, "whatever that spark between us might be… it is mine. And I will have it."