Avegar froze.
His mouth opened—but nothing came out.
Elvira stepped back, shaking her head. The wind screamed through the trees, ripping her words as she threw them like knives.
"Did you come for me… or to quiet your guilt?"
He took a step forward, reaching—
"Elvira, it wasn't—"
"Don't." Her voice cracked. "Don't lie. Not now."
Rain carved paths down her skin, mixing with her tears. She didn't look away from him, even as everything inside her crumbled.
"I begged the bond to hold me together. I waited. I believed."
Her voice dropped, barely a whisper.
"But you didn't come sober. You came... stained."
Avegar's hand fell to his side. The hickey—Marco—his silence—the way he ran too late.
All of it.
"I thought I was your anchor," she whispered. "But maybe I was just your consequence."
She turned from him, walking away — slow, staggering, but purposeful.
He called after her. Once. Twice.
But she didn't look back.
—
Avegar's POV
The hall of the Jinshi stronghold was built from silverwood and obsidian, a great arched cathedral of ancient design hidden deep within the heart of the dynasty's northern province. Here, the winter never melted, and the snow fell like whispered omens. Avegar's ancestral home sat like a black crown upon the cliffs, its halls cold with memory and silence.
The council chamber, circular and vast, bore a domed ceiling of glass and iron lattice. Snowflakes drifted down onto it, melting into rivulets that streaked the moonlight and torchglow. At the center stood a long table of dark-polished granite, carved in the shape of a serpentine ring—a circle with no head and no tail.
Around it sat six men, each of them forged from war, loyalty, and bone-deep tradition.
Avegar stood at the threshold of the chamber, cloak dripping from the ride across the ice fields. His jaw was tight, his knuckles pale as he clutched the scroll he'd carried since the eastern scout returned.
Evan sat directly across the table, pale as pearl, white hair falling in a thick braid down his back. His red eyes—piercing and cold—settled on Avegar the moment he entered.
"You're late," Evan said, his voice as calm as winter rain.
Avegar stepped in without reply, taking his place at the head of the circle.
To his right, Cassian lounged with his boots on the table, flames licking lazily from his fingertips as he flicked fire from nail to nail. He was the fourth brother—bronzed skin, russet red hair tied in a loose tail, a golden ring through one ear, and a mouth that never shut.
Next to him sat Markus, the second eldest—blond and stern, his hands folded atop the ironwood staff he always carried, the twin scars down his neck hidden behind the high collar of his robe. His silence was the kind that bruised.
Across from Markus was the third, Leon, with his long black coat and military posture, shoulders squared, the crest of their father etched into his gloves. His raven hair was always slicked back, his discipline iron-tight.
To Evan's right sat Silas, the youngest—barely older than twenty-two winters, still with a softness behind the eyes, though his daggers were always sharp. He was the only one who smiled when Avegar entered.
The last was Theron, red-haired and golden-eyed, the self-proclaimed lover of queens. He leaned forward now with a crooked grin, picking at the edge of a dried bloodstain on the table.
Evan spoke first.
"You haven't returned our summons in three nights. Our scouts report you've been in the Rosegrave territory." His gaze narrowed. "Near the ruins."
"I was scouting leads," Avegar said shortly, unrolling the scroll. He didn't sit. "There's confirmation. Princess Elvira's father is alive."
All six heads turned.
Markus lifted an eyebrow. "Impossible. He was declared dead in the siege."
"A lie," Avegar muttered. "A cover. He's being held underground in a Rowegan outpost—north-eastern frontier. We believe Elijah's forces are involved."
Leon scowled. "And the queen?"
"Dead," Evan answered for him, voice flat. "We confirmed that her blood runes dissolved."
Theron whistled low. "So the princess is truly alone now."
Silas leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Then she's more vulnerable than ever."
Evan looked straight at Avegar. "So why haven't you brought her in?"
The question dropped like a blade.
Avegar stiffened. "She isn't a prisoner."
Cassian laughed. "Not yet."
Avegar's glare could've frozen fire. Cassian raised his hands in mock surrender, flame extinguishing.
"We're not here to play games," Evan said, eyes never leaving his brother. "You're the only one of us who's had consistent contact with her. You've walked into the lion's den half a dozen times, and yet here we are. She's still free."
"She isn't a threat."
"She's not our ally either," Leon cut in. "And her bloodline is one of the strongest remaining. If we control her, we control the prophecy."
"Prophecy," Avegar spat, finally sitting. "You all talk like it's already written."
Theron grinned lazily. "Isn't it? She's beautiful, you've tasted her magic, and still you act like a wounded hound."
He leaned forward, eyes glittering. "Tell me, Avegar—was she worth the wait? Or does she cry when you—"
Avegar slammed his fist into the stone.
Silence.
Theron blinked. Cassian stopped smiling. Even Markus's cold eyes twitched.
Avegar rose slowly. The silence was razor-thin.
"Don't ever speak of her like that again."
Theron gave a slow blink. Evan, however, nodded slightly.
"Enough."
Markus spoke, voice cold. "We're wasting time. The Rowegans have her father. That's leverage. If we retrieve him, we use him to bargain. With her—or against her."
Evan finally stood. His presence commanded attention more than volume.
"I propose a vote," he said. "We send a team to extract the former king. Alive. Bring him here."
"And if the princess interferes?" Cassian asked.
"Then Avegar can finally decide where he stands, and it's a dangerous move for him if he leaves us."
That drew attention.
Evan faced him fully now. "You've been stalling, brother. You've delayed every direct order. Lied about your movements. We ask again—why are you so reluctant to find her?"
Avegar's jaw tensed. For a moment, no one spoke. Snow pattered against the ceiling above.
He met Evan's red eyes. "Because I'm not sure which side I'm on anymore."
Silas sat back, eyebrows rising. Cassian looked away.
Evan didn't flinch.
"Then make up your mind. Quickly. Before it's made for you."
A long breath passed.
Avegar nodded once. "I'll lead the mission to extract her father."
"Not alone," Markus said. "You'll take Leon and Silas."
"Fine."
Cassian leaned back. "And what if she shows up?"
"She won't. Not yet."
Theron smirked. "How do you know?"
Avegar didn't answer. But his thoughts burned.
Because I know her.
Because she won't risk him.
Because even now… she doesn't know she's being hunted.
Because part of me still hopes… she'll come to me first.
Even if it's just to scream.
---
The meeting dissolved into silent agreement. They would move at dawn.
Avegar remained seated long after the others had gone, staring at the circle of stone where Theron's joke had died in the air. He flexed his hands, knuckles cracked raw.
Outside, the wind howled.
Inside, Avegar whispered one word under his breath.
"Elvira."
Then he rose, and disappeared into the night.
---
Elvira's POV:
Elvira's steps echoed through the quiet hallway of Anna's apartment building. The autumn light filtered low through the stained-glass window in the stairwell, casting fractured rainbows across her path. Elvira paused before the door, inhaling deeply—as though it might steel her nerves.
Inside, Anna was curled on the couch, feet tucked beneath her, reading. She looked up, smiling as the door clicked shut and Elvira entered.
"Hey," Anna said softly. "You okay?"
Elvira's gaze flicked away before meeting Anna's eyes again. "I… I need to talk."
Anna closed her book, shifting to face her best friend fully. Elvira sank to the floor, leaning against the couch, her knees drawn to her chest.
Anna joined her, concern knitting her brow. "What's on your mind?"
Elvira's hands fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. "It's… about Avegar."
Anna's heart skipped. She forced her voice to stay calm. "Yes?"
He had been the center of Elvira's world lately—mysterious, distant, devastatingly handsome. Anna already suspected what was coming.
Elvira looked into her lap. "I—"
"Do you… like him?" Anna asked gently, but her voice wavered—revealing more than her words. Anna's fingers tingled with the electric anticipation of what Elvira was about to admit.
Elvira looked up, tears in her blue eyes. "Yes. More than I should. I've tried to keep it in—tried to tell myself it's just a crush, or just… admiration—but it's deeper than that."
She swallowed hard. "Anna, I think I'm falling in love with him."
Anna's breath caught. Her face betrayed her before her voice did—those faintly parted lips, the warmth in her cheeks, a spark in her eyes. Outwardly, she managed a steady tone: "Elvira… that's big. I—Wow."
Inside, she was tumbling: she loved the confession, yet angst knotted her chest because she'd long held hope—for herself, for them.
Elvira continued, voice trembling. "But he… he's emotionally unavailable. He's guarded, aloof… Anna, it's killing me. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in silence—like he's a closed book I can't pry open."
Anna reached out—to comfort, to steady them both. "You deserve someone who shows you their heart."
Elvira's eyes glistened. "What if I can't get him open? What if he never lets me in?"
Anna's face set with firm resolve. She'd been waiting for this moment—the moment to be the friend who warns you, tough and tender. "If he's emotionally unavailable—if he can't see what an incredible person you are, if he can't match your feelings—you deserve better. You deserve someone who meets you halfway, who opens up and holds your hand. Love is a two-way street."
Elvira nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I know. But that doesn't make loving him hurt any less."
Anna held her. "I know." She kissed the top of Elvira's head. "But you need to believe: you deserve someone who chooses you."
Later that evening, the apartment lights were dimmed. A single candle flickered at the center of the small coffee table, surrounded by scattered petals and incense smoke curling upward. Elvira had insisted on a tarot reading—Anna's specialty, though she'd never read for her best friend before.
They sat cross-legged across from each other, the tarot deck between them. Anna shuffled the cards, carefully laying them out: three for the spread—Past, Present, Future of Elvira's love.
Elvira watched, breath shallow.
Anna drew the first card: The Lovers—but it was inverted. She frowned. "Past… a deep connection tangled in choice or sacrifice." She also saw in Elvira's eyes—but didn't speak it. She slipped the card aside.
Next: The Devil, shadowed and stark, with horns and chained figures. Anna's heart stuttered; she hadn't expected this. She swallowed.
"Elvira…" she began, voice quiet. "The Present card is… the Devil."
Elvira's pulse quickened. "What does that mean?"
Anna inhaled. "It can mean temptation, unhealthy bonds, being controlled or obsessed… someone who holds power over your emotions." She paused, meeting Elvira's eyes. "It can also mean you're entranced in something that might bring harm."
Elvira's breath caught. The Devil. Her heart pounding like a drum. She looked down at her hands.
Anna placed a gentle hand on her arm. "It doesn't mean you're doomed. But you're in the grip of something fierce."
Elvira swallowed. "That sounds like what I'm feeling."
Anna nodded, breathing in rhythm. "Let's see the Future."
She turned the third card: The Two of Cups—a classic love card, two figures exchanging cups, a hopeful, romantic image. But Anna blinked. Behind the obvious was a background figure—someone else, someone similar yet unseen.
Elvira lifted her head. "Is that… good?"
Anna studied it. "It is good—but the energy is dual. I'm seeing two souls. One cup is offered by someone sweet, kind… But there's another presence, same intensity, but quieter. No horns, but… complexity. A rivalry within your heart, or around you."
Elvira's pulse thundered. "Does it mean he isn't it? Or… that I'm torn?"
Anna's fingers lingered on the card, the flickering candlelight reflecting in her eyes. As she studied the delicate image of the Two of Cups—those entwined figures, the silent exchange of hearts—something shifted. The flame danced, curling upward in a sudden twist of smoke, and within it, fleetingly, unmistakably—
Avegar.
His name shimmered in the flame's core like a whisper scrawled in fire. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but Anna saw it. Felt it.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Avegar. The one Elvira already longed for. The one who'd left Anna herself uneasy, not just because he'd stolen Elvira's heart, but because he mattered, in ways even Elvira didn't fully see yet.
Anna looked away from the candle.
But she couldn't say it. Couldn't tell Elvira that her instincts were right—that her heart was already tethered to the one fate had woven into her path. Avegar's energy was complex, dark, unfinished—but it was also powerful, transformative.
Instead, Anna softened her voice, schooling her face into a careful calm.
"The Two of Cups… it's a strong love card," she said gently, fingertips brushing the card's edge. "But I think it represents not one choice—two. Two men. One you feel something for already—deeply. The other… maybe you haven't met him yet. Or maybe he's closer than you think."
Elvira blinked. "Two?"
Anna nodded, her tone wrapped in a mysterious warmth. "One is fierce. The other is steady. One pulls you like a storm… the other might grow on you like light after rain."
Elvira's lips parted, lost in thought.
Anna glanced at the flame again. Avegar's presence still hovered—silent, smoldering.
And then, another image formed in her mind: her cousin, Michael. He'd just returned to town, heart still tender from a breakup, eyes full of unspoken kindness, that quiet warmth Elvira always craved when the world turned sharp. Michael wasn't dark or brooding—he was music in a quiet room. Gentle hands and fierce loyalty.
He was different from Avegar. But Anna felt something stir, some knowing that he should be in Elvira's orbit—if only to give her heart a fuller view of what love could be.
She smiled to herself, then looked back to her friend.
"Elvira," she said, voice soft, "maybe this card is telling you to keep your heart open. To more than just one possibility."
Elvira glanced up, confused. "You think someone else… could be out there?"
Anna hesitated. "Maybe. Someone who could show you a different kind of love. One you didn't know you needed."
She wouldn't say it—not yet. Not that Avegar was in the flame. Not that she'd already decided to invite Michael over tommorow under the pretense of "catching up." Not that her own heart ached with the burden of holding this secret.
Instead, she reached for Elvira's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Sometimes, the cards don't give answers," Anna said. "They offer a mirror. To what's already stirring inside you."
Elvira nodded slowly, eyes shimmering in the candlelight.
And somewhere beyond the smoke and petals, fate turned another quiet page.
Avegar's POV
Avegar stood at the window of his apartment, one hand in the pocket of his fitted charcoal slacks, the other cradling a half-full glass of deep red wine. Twilight laid its fingers across the skyline, bleeding gold into a violet dusk. The day had been long—another series of closed-door meetings and unreadable faces—but his thoughts weren't on work.
His phone buzzed, interrupting the stillness. He let it ring once before answering.
"Alexis."
The voice that greeted him was breathy, musical—tinged with excitement. "Avegar! Don't pretend you forgot."
"I didn't," he replied smoothly, sipping from his glass. "Vivienne's birthday. Seven-thirty. Some glittering palace of a restaurant downtown. I said I'd be there."
"Well, darling, I know how easily you vanish," Alexis teased. "You're a fog machine in a tuxedo. But Vivienne would be heartbroken. We all want you there. Especially…" A pause. Then, with deliberate lightness: "Will Elvira come?"
Avegar's grip tightened slightly around the stem of his glass.
"She was invited," he said, voice unreadable. "She hasn't answered yet."
Alexis's tone was coy. "Ooh. Mysterious. Or dangerous. Either way, wear something sharp, Ave. You'll want to look unbothered."
The line clicked off before he could respond.
---
By eight, the restaurant had begun to glow.
The place was called La Scène Cachée, and it was the sort of place no one found by accident. Tucked behind a curtain of ivy and discreet signage, it seemed like the entrance to a dream. The host led Avegar through hushed halls lit by crystalline sconces and tall candles trapped in antique cages. The scent of bergamot and black tea drifted through the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses and soft jazz from a live trio in the corner.
The room opened into an opulent dining hall with marble pillars and arched ceilings painted with celestial frescoes. Gold-veined mirrors reflected the shimmering crowd—Vivienne's friends, all bedecked in couture, their laughter bright, their perfume expensive.
Avegar took his seat at the long, curved table near the front. He was still pretending to read the menu when he felt it—a shift in the air. A ripple of silence moved like the hush before a storm. Conversations paused. Forks hovered.
The door had opened.
And she walked in.
Elvira stood in the entryway like a flame in the dark.
Her dress was unlike anything Avegar had ever seen—a sheath of silk and fire, hugging her curves in black and deep orange, baroque swirls of Renaissance paintings blooming across the fabric: angels in agony, cherubs with sly smiles, hands reaching heavenward. The gown shimmered as she moved, alive with every step. Her hair was curled in dark, glossy spirals that fell like velvet over her shoulders, and her eyes—lined in sharp cat-eye flicks, glinted under the chandelier's light.
Every inch of her demanded attention. Commanded it.
And at her side, there was a man.
Avegar's chest went still.
Tall, angular, poised. The stranger wore a midnight blue suit with a high mandarin collar and no tie, something old-world but impossibly modern. His hand rested lightly at Elvira's lower back, his touch effortless. Familiar. He leaned toward her to murmur something, and she tilted her head to reply—her smile soft, private. Intimate.
They looked like a painting.
They looked like a match.
Avegar stared, stone-faced, but something ancient and ugly coiled inside him. A quiet, sharp jealousy that moved like ink in water. She hadn't just come. She had arrived. And she had brought someone who looked like he belonged beside her.
The host guided them closer, gestures gracious, deferential. And still, Elvira didn't look at him.
But as they neared the table—when they were close enough for Avegar to breathe in the warm, spiced scent of her perfume—she finally looked up.
Directly at him.
No pause. No hesitation.
Her eyes met his with quiet intensity, lined in shadow and firelight, expression unreadable. Her lips curled—not quite a smile, not quite indifference. But a message. A warning. A challenge.
The man beside her helped slide the chair back for her. Avegar watched her sit. Watched her cross one leg over the other, the slit in her dress parting just enough to show the gleam of a thigh-high boot.
The room buzzed around them—Vivienne rising in delight to greet her, Alexis cooing theatrically—but Avegar barely heard any of it. All he could hear was the blood in his ears, the beat of something rising and unfamiliar.
She was seated across from him now. Not beside him.
And the stranger—the man with the quiet confidence—sat close. Too close.
Avegar lifted his wine glass and drank, eyes still locked on Elvira's as she turned to speak softly to her companion.
Her voice, warm and low, curled in the air like smoke.
Avegar swallowed, but it did nothing to ease the heat in his throat. Or the twist in his gut.
The candle at the center of the table flickered.
And the war inside him burned brighter.