Kael felt Althéa’s gaze like a blade. One instant too late, he already regretted his words.

  Shit… what did I just say? he thought, the bitter taste of his own stupidity rising in his throat.

  Althéa lifted her head. Her face, lit by the dying embers, had gone utterly impassive — polished ice. Her voice came out low and cutting.

  “What. What did you just say, Kael?”

  Each word was a slash. She rose without haste, precise, and began walking toward him. The calm in her movements made it a thousand times more threatening: no exaggeration, no outburst — just the cold determination of a blade finding its mark.

  A shiver ran down Kael’s spine. He hadn’t let go of his Needle-Blade for hours — not once — yet it suddenly felt ridiculously inadequate in his hand. He stepped back. Then another. His heart was hammering wildly.

  Althéa stopped a few meters away. One hand rested on her hip, and the shadow of a knife appeared — simple, black, tucked at her belt. She drew it with a sharp, practiced motion, like a tool she had mastered long ago.

  Fear cracked inside Kael’s chest. He let out a short, stupid laugh to smother the panic.

  “No. No, wait, it was nothing,” he tried. “I just… I said it wrong.”

  But his words never reached the wall of ice Althéa had become. Without another warning, he made his decision.

  He ran.

  He sprang to his feet and bolted out of the circle of warmth, darting between the rocks. His footsteps slapped against the stone — uneven, frantic. No grace. Just flight. Behind him, Althéa lifted her chin slightly and followed, without shouting, without wasting speed. Her stride was efficient, controlled; She seemed immune to fatigue.

  “Come back, Kael,” she said, strangely calm. “We don’t settle this by running.”

  Kael didn’t answer. The words collided in his mind: don’t think about the Axis, don’t think about Sylene, don’t think about what they said in the cemetery. But the thought kept coming back, relentless, feeding his panic.

  Halfway out of the outcrop, his breathing grew harsh. His confusion screamed inside his head.

  “What the fuck did I just say?!”

  Althéa accelerated. She closed the distance without hesitation. Her grip on the knife’s hilt was steady. It didn’t tremble.

  In a few strides, she caught him. With a sharp motion, she seized him by the collar, slammed him to the ground, and ended up straddling him. Stone bit into his knees. The wind — playful until now — seemed to hold its breath.

  The knife came to rest, silently, against Kael’s throat. The metal was cold against his bare skin. He felt the blade like a presence — a mute question.

  He looked up at Althéa’s face. Her amethyst eyes showed neither joy nor hatred. Only a glacial resolve.

  “You’re going to answer, Kael,” she said, her voice so low the wind barely seemed to hear it.

  “Why the Axis? Why did you speak that word? Who told you about it?”

  Blood pounded in Kael’s temples. The memories surged back, sharp and disjointed: the cemetery steps, two silhouettes, hushed voices, the name — Sylene — drifting like a stain of dust. He had been careless. Too curious. Too talkative. And now that curiosity pinned him to the ground, a knife at his throat.

  Kael felt Althéa’s gaze weighing on him like ice. He tried to recover, clumsily.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I— It was just words. Just like that. An expression. I didn’t think about it.”

  Not even a child would have believed that lie. And yet Kael had lost all his sarcasm. Fear was already creeping into his muscles.

  Althéa tightened her grip on the knife. Her voice came down like a cleaver.

  “Don’t play games with me,” she said. “How could an Ombrevu have access to information classified as state secrets?”

  Sweat prickled down Kael’s back. He tried to speak, but his throat constricted. His voice wavered.

  “I overheard a conversation… in the Crown. At the cemetery. Two men… They were talking about the Axis. I— I just heard it, that’s all.”

  Don’t mention Sylene. Don’t mention Sylene. DON’T MENTION SYLENE.

  The thought looped endlessly in his mind.

  But Althéa didn’t believe him.

  “You’re lying.”

  The pressure of the knife against his throat increased slightly. A dry burn bit into his skin.

  “Who told you?” she repeated. “Answer me.”

  Kael was shaking. He was frighteningly close to pissing himself. His gaze locked onto Althéa’s — pleading, but clear-eyed.

  “You have my life in your hands,” he said. “Why would I lie?”

  Althéa didn’t answer immediately. Her stare didn’t waver. But Kael sensed a faint hesitation. She was assessing. Weighing.

  Then she asked:

  “Who sent you?”

  Her voice was no longer icy.

  It was cutting.

  Kael shook his head.

  “I don’t even know what the Axis is.”

  She snapped.

  “Don’t take me for an idiot, Kael!”

  She had shouted. For the first time.

  Kael closed his eyes for a brief moment. He forced his mind to gather the pieces, despite the fear.

  I cannot obtain any information regarding the Axis, my lord. Getting such information from the king will be impossible.

  As for the queen… attempting to extract anything from her would cost me my life.

  That was what the small man in the cemetery had said. He remembered it now, word for word.

  Then other fragments surfaced.

  The Shards.

  The Relics.

  And above all, what Althéa had told him about the Primordial Shards:

  Those Shards have sparked wars. Because they can be passed on. They are not bound to a bearer. They are objects… that can be stolen. Or given away.

  Something clicked in his mind. A clear, sharp, merciless line of reasoning.

  Kael’s eyes flew open. His breath caught.

  And he whispered:

  “…The Axis is a Primordial Shard.”

  Althéa froze for a second, Kael’s words hanging between them.

  Then she bit her lip. Hard. Out of frustration—out of panic, perhaps. Her eyes lifted, burning now, the eyes of a predator rather than a woman. She leaned closer, bringing her face down to his until her breath brushed his skin.

  “You’re too intelligent for your own good, Kael,” she murmured.

  The knife trembled slightly.

  Her gaze did not.

  Kael felt the warm air of her breath slide along his cheek. The closeness made everything unreal—the distant embers, the cold stone at his back, the firelight shaping an expression on Althéa’s face he had never seen before. A mixture of fear and duty.

  Then her voice flattened.

  Stripped of humanity.

  “I can’t let you live.”

  Each word fell like a sentence.

  “If you live, you could bring ruin upon my family. You have no idea what you’ve just understood. What it’s worth. What it costs.”

  She tightened her grip on the knife.

  The metal pressed into Kael’s throat, leaving a thin line of blood.

  Kael understood then that she was going to do it.

  That she was ready to do it.

  So he laughed.

  A low, dry laugh.

  An ugly laugh.

  Joyless.

  His gaze locked onto hers, fearless now.

  He leaned even closer, so close that she felt his voice vibrate against her lips.

  “Don’t miss… Princess.”

  The word struck her like an invisible slap.

  That look, too.

  That look.

  The one she had seen only once before.

  The day Kael had slapped her.

  The look of a man who refused to bow.

  Who did not know his place.

  An old shame rose in her throat.

  A burn she had thought extinguished.

  A lesson she had never forgotten…

  and never forgiven.

  Her hand began to tremble.

  He dares to defy me.

  Even now.

  Even here.

  A tightness seized her chest.

  A mix of rage, fear,

  and something else she refused to name.

  Around them, the star-strewn sky watched in silence.

  Indifferent.

  Kael, a thin thread of blood at his neck, did not blink.

  He kept staring at her.

  That look.

  That damn look.

  She couldn’t bear it anymore.

  With a sharp motion, she released the dagger.

  The metal fell between them,

  bounced once against the stone.

  And in the same instant, her fist flew.

  The blow struck Kael square in the face,

  with a sharp crack.

  His head slammed into the ground.

  White pain exploded behind his eyes.

  Althéa remained above him, breathing hard,

  her hand still raised,

  her eyes wide.

  She looked both victorious…

  and hollow.

  Dazed, Kael let out a breath through clenched teeth.

  A crooked grin tugged at his lips.

  “You chose…

  the wrong option.”

  Their gazes stayed locked.

  One defiant.

  The other unsteady.

  The wind rose,

  lifting a cloud of dust between them,

  as if to erase the boundary.

  The dagger lay between their bodies,

  exactly on the line

  where their shadows met.