Ariaxa’s vision blurred as Kaedan carried her through the corridors, each throb of her wound radiating heat that felt wrong. Not normal. Not natural. Not clean.
By the time he set her down on his massive bed, she was shaking violently.
Mirel barreled through the door moments later, hair unbound, eyes blazing. “Move. Both of you.”
Kaedan stepped aside—but only barely, his body coiled with predatory tension.
Ariaxa gasped as Mirel lifted her tunic, exposing the gash across her waist. It wasn’t just red.
It was black.
Black veins creeping outward like hungry fingers.
Mirel swore under her breath. “Seren’s blade was hexed. Dark rune magic. Old. Vindictive. It wants to rot her from the inside.”
“Fix it,” Kaedan growled.
“I’m trying,” Mirel snapped. “But this isn’t regular corruption. It’s designed to kill Sun-blood.”
Kaedan stiffened.
Slowly… deliberately… he turned toward Ariaxa.
“Sun-blood,” he repeated, voice soft in a way that was infinitely more dangerous.
Ariaxa didn’t answer—her breath hitched as Mirel began mixing powders, crushing something golden that shimmered like burning honey.
Kaedan’s eyes narrowed. “What is that?”
Mirel ignored him.
But when the salve touched Ariaxa’s wound, the room filled with golden light.
Kaedan recoiled as if burned. “That is Sun magic.”
Ariaxa trembled. “Kaedan—”
“Where did you get this?” he demanded, stepping forward, shadow swallowing the glow. “Who taught you? How long have you hidden this from me?”
Ariaxa’s fevered body shook harder. “I… didn’t want anyone to know.”
Mirel shot her a warning look—not now—but Ariaxa’s head lolled back, pain scorching her nerves.
Kaedan slammed his hand into the bedpost. “Answer me.”
Ariaxa forced her eyes open. “I used it once… during Elyndor’s ritual.”
The room froze.
Even Mirel stopped breathing.
Kaedan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What ritual?”
Ariaxa’s throat tightened. “The ritual to sharpen the bite. To make your soldiers stronger. They wanted to bind Sun magic into the blood of the vampire legions. It would have… killed thousands.”
Kaedan stared at her with dawning horror.
“And you interfered,” he said.
Ariaxa nodded weakly. “I sabotaged it. I broke one of the glyphs. It… exploded. Killed some of the ritual masters.” Her breath hitched, eyes glassy. “But it saved your soldiers. It weakened Elyndor’s plan. It—”
“You?” Kaedan whispered, stepping closer. “You stopped it?”
“Yes.”
He sank to his knees beside the bed as if his legs simply failed him.
“You’ve been…” He touched her cheek with trembling fingers. “…fighting us.”
Ariaxa swallowed. “And saving you.”
Kaedan’s thumb brushed her fever-hot skin. He looked devastated. “Ariaxa…”
She tried to sit but pain tore through her. Her breath fractured.
Mirel pressed her down. “The infection is spreading fast. I need to use more salve.”
Kaedan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “This magic—how long has she known it?”
“Since before she came here,” Ariaxa whispered.
“And I watched you,” Kaedan murmured, voice shaking. “I caged you. Hurt you. And all this time—”
“You didn’t know,” she whispered.
His jaw clenched so hard it cracked.
Mirel smeared more of the golden salve across the blackened skin. The wound hissed. Light pulsed. The corruption receded, then surged back twice as dark.
“Damn it,” Mirel hissed. “It’s fighting me. The blade carried intent. Seren wanted you gone.”
Kaedan surged to his feet. “Then I will end her myself—”
Ariaxa cried out as her body convulsed.
Kaedan froze.
Mirel barked, “Hold her!”
Kaedan was beside Ariaxa instantly, gripping her shoulders, murmuring something in a voice that trembled. “Stay with me. Stay.”
Her fever soared—skin burning, breath ragged, pupils shrinking and expanding in frantic waves.
“Kaedan…” she whispered, barely coherent. “It hurts.”
He gathered her against his chest, not caring about the blood staining his clothes.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know, little Sun. I’m here.”
Her body jerked in agony.
Mirel’s hands blurred as she crushed more Sunroot, adding powdered amber, shards of phoenix ash. The air filled with light again, bright as miniature dawn, casting long shadows across Kaedan’s face.
The vines of corruption crawled higher across Ariaxa’s ribs.
Her breathing faltered.
Her eyes rolled.
Kaedan’s voice broke. “Ariaxa… look at me.”
She forced her hazy gaze open.
He cupped her cheek with both hands. “Do not leave me.”
“Kaedan,” she whispered, delirious, “don’t… sound like that.”
“Like what?” he rasped.
“Like you care.”
His grip tightened, pain flickering across his features as if she’d slapped him. “I do.”
Her eyes drifted. “That… is the problem…”
Her words dissolved into incoherent murmuring as the fever swallowed her.
Her body went limp.
Kaedan’s heart stopped.
“Ariaxa?!”
No response.
Her head fell against his shoulder, breath faint as a dying ember.
Mirel hurried to her side, checking her pulse. She exhaled shakily. “She’s alive… but slipping.”
Kaedan looked like something inside him shattered.
He brushed Ariaxa’s hair from her face, his hands shaking uncontrollably. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered. “Why did you carry this alone?”
Mirel said softly, “Because she was afraid of what you’d do.”
Kaedan’s jaw flexed with grief, guilt, rage.
“I would have protected her.”
“You would have caged her,” Mirel said quietly. “You still might.”
Kaedan bowed his head over Ariaxa’s unconscious form, breath trembling. “Never again.”
He gathered her closer, as if afraid she would slip through his arms.
The fever raged on, her skin burning against his.
Kaedan didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe properly.
He sat on the edge of the bed, Ariaxa’s limp body cradled against his chest, golden magic casting faint halos around them.
Outside, the palace whispered. Nobles schemed. Rebels plotted. Seren waited in her cell with venom and half-dead laughter.
None of it mattered.
Kaedan’s world narrowed to the woman in his arms.
He pressed his forehead to hers, the gesture intimate, desperate, sacred. His breath shook as he whispered into her skin:
“Ariaxa… stay with me. Please.”
Silence.
“Don’t leave me.”
Her chest barely rose.
“Don’t.”
He didn’t sleep.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t stop whispering.
Over and over—until morning bled into the curtains.