Song vibe: Blue & Grey – BTS

  __________

  SAPHIRA

  The Apothecary, Firestone Castle

  Saphira awoke to the sharp rap of knuckles against wood. The urgency threaded through her sleep-heavy thoughts before she could open her eyes. For a fleeting moment, half-lost in sleep, she imagined it was Nocturne—but the knock was too timid, too desperate.

  With a startle, she sat up in her bed and moved Dusty from her lap. The hell leopard found her pillow and curled up with an irate hiss.

  Saphira reached for her fur coat, pulling it over her thin cotton slip as she muttered, “Rell, I swear, if that’s you—”

  She yanked the door open, irritation still on her tongue, only to find Drusilla, one of the maidservants, staring at the floor.

  “M-master Quintus needs to s-see you,” Drusilla stammered. “Right n-now.”

  “Now?” Saphira yawned.

  She nodded quickly, avoiding eye contact.

  A cold prickle ran down Saphira’s spine. She dressed swiftly—her borrowed green gown, scuffed leather boots. She dragged her fingers through her hair, twisting it into a rough bun and binding it with a strip of cloth to hide the distinctive colour.

  Torchlight flickered over damp stone corridors; the air smelled faintly of mildew and old parchment. Somewhere far away, she heard the creak of a winch and the muted clang of metal on metal. Drusilla led in silence, her quick, nervous steps echoing between the cracked walls.

  At the threshold of Quintus’ study, Drusilla dipped into a quick curtsy before slipping away. The heavy oak door groaned shut behind Saphira, sealing her into the warm, smoke-thick air of the chamber.

  Quintus sat behind his desk, the firelight catching in the deep lines at the corners of his mouth. “A letter came for you at midnight,” he murmured, his voice smooth and measured. “I saw the seal and suspected the worst. So, I took the liberty of reading it.”

  Between wrinkled fingers, he held out the paper. The golden wax seal showed a dragon clutching a crystalith stone. The faint tang of resin clung to it, the same smell her father’s study carried in winter.

  “Go on,” Quintus urged.

  Saphira's shaking hands took the letter.

  ____

  My dearest daughter,

  What you believe about your situation does not change the truth—you are not free. You live at the mercy of a man whose loyalty is to his sword and his pleasures.

  I know the women who came before you—ask about Lady Beaumont of Lux or Duchess Aaliyah of Arteaga. Men like him do not change. Do not fool yourself—you will not be the exception.

  When your beauty fades or your usefulness wanes, he will cast you aside.

  Return home before your reputation is ruined.

  Regardless, I will protect you—whether near or from afar—as I always have.

  Your loving father,

  Duke Crassus of Renatus

  ____

  Above: Saphira reads the letter under Quintus' watchful eye.

  As Saphira reread the letter, each sentence struck deeper, the words lodging like splinters beneath her skin. She let her hands fall to her side, the note held loosely in her grip.

  “You should not have read this,” she breathed.

  “I could've resealed it—let you believe it had been untouched. But I prefer honesty… even when it’s unpleasant.” He let the words hang, then added, “I admit, my first thought was—why is she communicating with the enemy? My second—what will Lord Nocturne think?”

  “He doesn’t need to know,” Saphira whispered, crumpling the paper in her fist.

  Quintus tilted his head. “Perhaps. But gossip has a way of slipping through keyholes. Every whisper, every choice you make… they don’t just reflect on you.” He let the silence stretch before adding, “If war comes, it'll be Firestone’s men who bleed for it.”

  Her breath caught. “I... don’t want anyone to die.”

  “Of course not.” His voice softened, but the glint in his eyes sharpened. “Nor do I. Yet history is littered with women who believed their husbands could shield them from the consequences of… entanglements.” He let the word hang. “Sometimes, the cost comes sooner than they expect.”

  Saphira stepped backwards, her heel hitting the door.

  Quintus rose slowly, the tremor in his frame visible only at the edges. He pulled the door open for her. “I only hope you’ll think carefully,” he counselled, the tone and cadence sliding smoothly into place. “Nothing would be more tragic than Firestone’s men dying… only for you to decide, in the end, you never wanted this marriage at all.”

  “That won’t happen.” She paused, measuring her words. “Lord Nocturne is not to be troubled with this. My father… likes to meddle.”

  Quintus’ mouth curved—not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. “Meddle,” he repeated softly, as though tasting the word. “Yes… and he’s very good at it.”

  She stepped past him, his voice following her into the cold corridor. The torchlight had dimmed as dawn approached, the air heavy with the scent of smoke clinging to her gown. Each footstep echoed against the stone, too loud in the silence. She quickened her pace—desperate to get back before anyone saw her.

  The letter bit into her palm, the hardened wax seal pressing a mark into her skin.

  By the time she reached the apothecary, she had already torn it in half. Inside, the shutters were drawn, the air dim but warm with the scent of crushed mint and beeswax candles. She crossed to the hearth, dropped the pieces onto the embers, and watched as the flames curled around the paper.

  “You burn things often?”

  The voice made her jump. August stood by the window, pale hair catching the muted light, his gaze fixed on her. “Come sit,” he said without looking away. “You’re strong enough now—I can finish what I started.” He rose, closed the door, and turned the key. “I’m going to cut your magical ties—anything your father’s syndicate of mages could use to manipulate you.”

  She turned—not before checking that her father’s words were nothing but ash. She exhaled, already exhausted from the day. "Does it have to be now?"

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Every moment gives Crassus an opening."

  "I see." She seated herself before August, trying to keep her voice strong. “Will it hurt?”

  He nodded.

  She lifted her chin, refusing to let him see her flinch. "Then don't delay. I want my father gone—every last trace of him."

  His hands—still tinged black—came up to her head, cool fingertips brushing her skin. She flinched, trying to brace herself, but he was already there—sliding into her mind like water through cracked stone.

  She felt him sift through her—memories, half-formed thoughts, private places she had not opened even to herself. Her breath quickened. She tried to hide, but he was everywhere; no edges to brace against; no door to slam shut.

  I’m at his mercy. She tried to scream, to shove him away, but he could not be moved.

  Above: August performs the spell.

  She felt something inside her snap. Then—lightness, sudden and jarring, like her world had been hollowed out. What should have brought relief felt wrong—a raw, echoing intrusion, as though she had been cleared more than her father’s control.

  The weight is gone...but was it worth the cost?

  The presence tore away so abruptly that she fell forward. August’s hands closed around her shoulders, holding her upright. For a breath, they stayed like that—too close, breathing in the same uneven rhythm—before he straightened and guided her back into the chair.

  He turned to the window, gripping the sill. His shoulders were rigid, but she could not tell if it was from the effort of catching his breath or from something he had seen.

  The hearth crackled, loud in the silence.

  Her pulse pounded in her ears, her body caught halfway between the intrusion and the weight lifted off her chest. “You—” she stopped to steady her voice “—should’ve warned me.”

  “Maybe," he said flatly. “Then you would’ve put up your walls. I tried not to see anything I shouldn’t.” He pulled a silver amulet from his cloak, the chain spilling over his blackened fingers. “Wear this.”

  Too tired to protest, she slid the chain over her head. The metal felt warm, heavy against her skin. “What does it do?”

  “Keeps others out of your mind. Mostly.”

  She stilled. “Mostly?”

  His grey eyes, unreadable and cold, glared at her. “Magical ties cut both ways. If someone has them, they can pull you back and take more than just your thoughts.”

  Her stomach knotted. “What more?”

  “Memories. Your voice. Your body.” His gaze held hers for a beat too long. “Complete possession.” August turned back to the window. “Edwin’s sending more mages to Firestone.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You know the Beaumonts, don’t you?”

  Her throat tightened. “Should I?”

  “You will. Lady Beaumont is sending her cousin to protect Firestone.” He added with a casual shrug. “Nox will be staying under their roof while he’s in Lux.”

  Her pulse jumped, though she could not tell if it was from recognition—or from the way he said her name. The words hung between them, weighted, as though he was testing how deeply they would land.

  She kept her eyes on the floor.

  Staying under the same roof… with a former lover. Her fingers curled against her skirts to keep from tearing the amulet from her neck. Do I even have the right to be angry? We don’t share a bed...and it’s not as if he loves me.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said—half promise, half warning. He brushed past her to unlock the door. Then he was gone, leaving the room too quiet, the weight of his touch lingering at her collarbone.

  Was that an innocent remark? Perhaps August knows something—is it a threat or a caution? The thought coiled in her mind. She lingered long after he left, the amulet heavy against her skin, its faint metallic prickle as though it still held his touch.

  Her gaze flicked to the hearth. Only a thin smear of grey remained. It’s gone, she told herself, yet her father’s words still pressed at the edges of her mind, seeping in where August’s magic had left her raw.

  Without Verity’s bustle, the shelves loomed in shadow, jars dulled with dust, the air heavy with old herbs. The healer had left at midnight to attend the birth of Felix and Marigold’s child, leaving Saphira alone.

  She tried to busy herself, but her thoughts circled back to the same place—her father’s warning, August’s cold eyes, the echo of someone’s fingers in her mind.

  Catching her reflection in the glass—hair pinned in haste, eyes darting—she rolled up her sleeves and reached for the rosemary. One by one, she stripped the leaves, letting the motion blunt the edge of her thoughts as Dusty twirled around her ankles demanding pats.

  By the time the pile was half-cleared, her shoulders ached. Resin clung to her fingers when a quiet shift of weight in the doorway made her gasp.

  “Good morning, my Lady.” Nocturne leaned against the doorframe, dark hair tied loosely back, the shadows beneath his eyes betraying a sleepless night in his study. A black linen shirt, sleeves rolled, the faint scent of wax and gin clinging to him.

  For a heartbeat, she considered telling him—about the letter, about August—but the words swelled too close to the surface. Better to watch. Better to listen.

  Above: “You look like you’ve seen a wraith."

  “You look like you’ve seen a wraith,” Nocturne murmured.

  “No,” she said with a faint smile, “just a very tall Count with terrible sleeping habits.”

  One brow lifted in quiet amusement. “I’d be more tempted to go to bed if I had your company.”

  Her father’s voice answered before she could—Men like him do not change. She kept her expression light, holding his gaze as if to see whether the line was charm or truth. She could not help but think, Would you say the same to Lady Beaumont?

  When she looked up again, Nocturne’s gaze had not moved from her—taking in the drawn shoulders, the amulet at her throat.

  “Or sleep wherever you want,” he said quietly. “Only pick someplace I can find you."

  She shut her eyes for a moment. Don’t let Father poison the one good thing in your life. Still, his words pricked like nettles under her skin. She reached for the parcel he had set on the table, opening the linen wrapping.

  Inside were four warm honey-cakes, the glaze catching the morning light.

  “Breakfast,” he explained. “Valentino was in the kitchens. He cooks when he needs to clear his head. Today, apparently, he was feeling generous.”

  “I can’t tell if you’re joking,” she muttered, but the humour came out thin.

  Nocturne replied with a mysterious shrug.

  She studied him, searching for any flicker that matched her father’s words. She found none, only the same unreadable steadiness.

  “I thought you didn’t have time—” she gestured vaguely at the food “—for all this.”

  “I don’t,” he admitted. “But the Merchants Guild can wait. I thought your success with August deserved celebration.”

  “Celebration? Nocturne...” She paused. "You should've explained it to me first. He... saw things."

  Nocturne’s chewing slowed, his gaze fixing on her. “If you think he crossed a line, I’ll deal with it. But the amulet works, and you’re safer for it. For me, I’m happy that your wound has healed without permanent damage.”

  “Verity says it will scar,” Saphira muttered, looking away.

  “Good.” He leaned forward slightly, voice low. “I like that sort of thing.”

  Nocturne’s teeth sank into the pastry with the determination of a man on the battlefield. He chewed once, paused, then forced himself through another bite, his jaw tight.

  “I caught you!” The laughter spilling out before she could stop it. “You don’t like sweets!”

  He paused mid-chew, swallowed, and set his cake down with deliberate care. “Guilty.”

  She laughed again, a soft, genuine sound that lit her face. Her purple eyes lingered on him, steadying as she searched his expression.

  He’s gone to all this trouble, and now he’s here… eating with me when a dozen other matters could have claimed him. She chewed the last of her honey-cake and reached for another. Her father’s warning stirred faintly, but for now, it found no place to settle.

  Nocturne’s expression softened. He reached out, slow and deliberate, and brushed his thumb along the corner of her mouth, catching a trace of honey.

  Her gaze flicked to his mouth before she could stop herself, a faint heat spreading across her cheeks.

  “But for you?” He let his gaze linger on her lips. “Anything.”

  “You’ve already done so much,” Saphira murmured, guilt striking her for the earlier doubt. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, stoic as ever—but the faintest warmth flickered in his eyes. He moved his thumb away from her lips, wiping the honey on his wrist.

  “If I had my way…” The lazy cadence of his voice belied the way his gaze pinned her in place, his words spoken only for her to hear. “I’d take you on a real honeymoon. Just you and me. All the sweets you wanted—no interruptions.” He let the words linger. "No towers to climb out of...only a locked door."

  She caught her breath, remembering—his lips on hers, the sure caress of his hands, the way the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

  “The ocean, Nocturne." She hesitated, then said softly, "That’s where I’d like you to take me. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Then the ocean it will be,” he said, and lifted her chin with his finger, his touch lingering. “But for now? One more dinner. Then tonight, we’ll have a proper goodbye.”

  She nodded, watching Nocturne leave the room. Her hand reached up to graze over the spot where he had touched her.

  A proper goodbye… The thought curled through her, warm and dangerous, until it tangled with the cold thread of her father’s warning. Words are powerful, but behaviour is its own language, she reminded herself. And Nocturne is showing me how much he cares. I must tell him the truth about the letter. Tonight.