The beginning
1487 Words
FARAH
I wake to the sound of voices—low, tense, urgent.
My neck aches from sleeping slumped in the chair. Gray dawn light filters through the windows, painting everything in shades of ash and bone.
Caspian is awake, sitting upright despite the fresh bandage wrapped around his ribs. Three warriors stand at attention near the door, their faces grim.
“—can’t be coincidence,” one of them is saying. “First the head, now this. Someone’s testing our defenses.”
“Or drawing us out,” another mutters.
Caspian’s jaw tightens. “Double the perimeter patrols. I want eyes on every entry point, every—”
He stops mid-sentence, his gaze cutting to me.
The warriors follow his line of sight, straightening when they notice I’m awake. The air shifts, suddenly charged with an awkwardness that makes my skin prickle.
“Out,” Caspian says quietly.
They don’t argue. The door closes behind them with a soft click.
Silence settles like dust.
I unfold myself from the chair, wincing as my spine protests. “You should still be resting.”
“I’ve rested enough.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, moving carefully. The bandage is clean, but I can still feel the echo of pain through the bond—duller now, but present. “How long were you sitting there?”
“I don’t know.” I glance toward the window. “All night, I think.”
Something flickers in his eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
He studies me for a moment, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Then he stands, slower than usual but steady enough. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere we can talk without interruption.”
My pulse kicks up. “About Serapha?”
“Among other things.” He moves toward a section of the wall I’ve never paid attention to before, pressing his palm against the stone. A hidden door swings open, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling downward into darkness.
I hesitate. “That looks ominous.”
“It’s private,” he says. “And right now, privacy is the rarest luxury I have.”
Fair enough.
I follow him down.
The stairs are steep, carved directly into the mountain. Torches flicker in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows that make the walls seem alive. The air grows cooler as we descend, tinged with the scent of earth and something older—magic, maybe, or just time.
Finally, we emerge into a circular chamber.
It’s beautiful in a stark, haunting way. The walls are lined with shelves holding ancient books and scrolls. A large map dominates one wall, marked with symbols I don’t recognize. In the center sits a simple wooden table and two chairs.
“My mother’s study,” Caspian says quietly. “No one comes here anymore except me.”
I turn slowly, taking it in. “Why bring me here?”
He moves to the table, bracing his hands against it. For a long moment, he just stares down at the scarred wood.
“Because you asked for the truth,” he says finally. “And you deserve it.”
My heart hammers against my ribs.
He lifts his head, meeting my eyes. “Serapha was my mate. The bond snapped into place when we were barely adults—unexpected, overwhelming. At first, I thought it was a gift.”
“At first,” I echo softly.
“She was brilliant. Fierce. She challenged me in ways no one else dared.” His expression darkens. “But she was also… unstable. The bond magnified everything she felt—every fear, every anger, every moment of despair. It consumed her.”
I sink into one of the chairs, unable to look away from him.
“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rough. “Healers, mages, rituals. Nothing helped. The bond was supposed to strengthen us, but instead it was killing her slowly. She started having visions—terrible, violent visions of the future. Of what she would become.”
“Like my dream,” I whisper.
His eyes snap to mine. “What dream?”
I tell him about the field of ash, the wrong-colored sky. About Serapha’s words: You’re standing where I stood.
When I finish, his face has gone pale.
“She saw it too,” he says hoarsely. “Toward the end. She kept saying she could see herself becoming a monster. That the bond would turn her into something that would destroy everything she loved.”
“What happened?”
He closes his eyes. “She asked me to break the bond.”
The room tilts.
“I refused,” he continues, voice breaking. “I thought I could save her. I thought if I just held on long enough, fought hard enough, loved her enough—” He cuts himself off, jaw working. “I was wrong.”
“Caspian—”
“She took matters into her own hands.” He opens his eyes, and they’re haunted. “She used forbidden magic to sever the bond herself. It should have killed us both, but somehow I survived. She didn’t.”
The grief in his voice is so raw it steals my breath.
“I felt her die,” he whispers. “Felt the exact moment the bond snapped. It was like being torn in half.”
I don’t know what to say. What could possibly be adequate?
“Afterward,” he continues, “I swore I would never let it happen again. That I would never let another mate suffer because of me. So when I heard rumors of the prophecy—of a second chance—I hunted for you.”
“Not to save me,” I realize. “To save yourself.”
“No.” He looks at me sharply. “To prevent it. To protect you from the same fate.”
“By controlling the bond? By deciding for me what I can handle?”
“By trying to spare you from what destroyed her!”
His shout echoes in the chamber.
We stare at each other, both breathing hard.
“I’m not her,” I say quietly.
“I know that.”
“Do you?” I stand, moving closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’re so afraid of history repeating that you can’t see I’m a different person making different choices.”
He flinches. “Farah—”
“I won’t lie and say the bond doesn’t terrify me,” I interrupt. “It does. But treating me like I’m made of glass, like I need to be managed and protected from my own feelings—that’s not protection, Caspian. That’s a prison.”
Silence falls.
Slowly, he straightens, something shifting in his expression. “You’re right.”
I blink. “I am?”
“You’re right,” he repeats, voice steadier now. “I have been trying to control this. To manage it into something safe. But that’s not what you need.”
“What do I need?”
He steps closer, and the bond hums between us. “The truth. Choices. A partner, not a keeper.”
My breath catches.
“I can’t promise this won’t be difficult,” he says. “I can’t promise the bond won’t bring pain along with everything else. But I can promise to stop making decisions for you.”
“Even if I choose wrong?”
“Even then.” His mouth quirks slightly. “Though I reserve the right to argue.”
Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch. “Noted.”
He reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away. When I don’t, his fingers brush my jaw, gentle as a question.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “For all of it.”
The apology settles something in my chest.
“I’m sorry too,” I say. “For assuming the worst. For not asking sooner.”
“You had every reason to.”
We stand there, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him, see the silver flecks in his dark eyes.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“Now,” he says, “we figure it out together.”
It’s not a grand declaration. Not a promise of happily ever after.
But somehow, it feels more honest than anything else he could have said.
A sharp knock echoes from above—urgent, insistent.
Caspian’s expression shutters. “They wouldn’t interrupt unless—”
“Go,” I say.
He hesitates, then nods, already moving toward the stairs. I follow, my heart picking up speed.
Whatever’s happening, it’s not good.
And somehow, I know—the real trouble is just beginning.
- Writer
