Ashes on Silk
1310 Words
Below her, the city burned with life.
Thalassas stretched endlessly beneath the palace balcony. Fires glowing in hearths and forges, lanterns swaying in narrow streets, watchtowers pulsing with signal flame.
It looked almost peaceful from above. Almost worthy of the blood it cost him.
What was the point of my travel? Is my fate such a bad joke?
The palace never felt more dangerous than after the Masquerade. I am now seen by everyone. The servants don't look back in my eyes anymore, and the bows became lower. I am protected, which is what Atum is imagining, but I don't feel protection, just the heavy target on my back.
It glittered too brightly, laughed too loudly, as if trying to drown the screams I knew echoed somewhere beyond its walls. Silk brushed my skin with every step, a reminder that I was dressed like a woman who belonged here—even as the empire hunted women like me.
I could still feel Atum’s hands on me.
Not the way they had held me later—careful, shaking, restrained—but earlier, in the archive, when jealousy had stripped him bare of restraint. The way his body had caged mine, how his breath had burned against my neck as if he needed to mark me just to remember I was real.
Possession masquerading as protection.
And I hated how deeply it had settled into my bones.
I hardly had any break from thinking.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the witch’s face from the alley. Young. Terrified. Alive—because I had acted.
Because I had crossed the line.
It reminded me of how I have lived my life until recently. I desperately need to wake up and stop expecting this to be a beautiful dream. I am losing myself before I can prevent the nightmare that the future will become for my people.
The door to my chambers opened without announcement.
I didn’t turn.
I already knew it was him.
“You vanished,” Atum said.
His voice was low. Controlled. Too controlled.
“I was busy,” I replied.
“Plotting to save more, I assume.”
I faced him then.
He stood in black, no crown, no mask—just a man who ruled through fear and now feared something himself. His gaze dragged over me, lingering too long, jaw tightening when he saw the tear in my cloak, the faint smear of blood at my expression. The hateful look I was giving him.
" You hate me?"
" I can't love you."
His face twisted like my words became arrows that pierced him through the heart and soul one at a time, prolonging his suffering.
For a few moments, we stood still, eyes locked. His eyes darkened in an almost lethal way. Silence snapped between us.
“She was going to burn.”
“And you decided that was your decision to make.”
“Yes.”
“You disobeyed me,” he said.
I stepped closer. “You don’t own me.”
His hand shot out, gripping my wrist—not hard, but firm enough to remind me he could. The air shifted instantly, magic responding t, heat coiling low and dangerous.
“I am trying to keep you alive,” he said through his teeth.
“And I am trying to keep my people alive,” I shot back. “ That is the reason for my presence here, in the past. Or does that only matter when it’s me?”
His grip tightened.
Then loosened.
That scared me more.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he said hoarsely. “Every time you put yourself between fire and flesh? Every time you choose them over me?”
“You want me to choose you over my people?”
“I want you to stop running toward death.”
I laughed softly, bitter. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
Something in him broke then—not loudly, but deeply.
In two strides he was in front of me again, one hand braced against the wall beside my head, the other sliding to my waist as if drawn there by instinct rather than permission.
“You belong to this palace now,” he murmured. “To me.”
The words should have repulsed me.
Instead, my breath caught.
“Say that again,” I whispered. “And see what happens.”
His gaze was not resting on my lips.
Dangerous mistake.
“You are mine,” he said, slower this time. “And I will tear this empire apart before I let anyone else touch you.”
Heat flared between us—raw, aching, impossible to ignore. His body was so close I could feel the tension in him, the restraint vibrating under his skin. His thumb brushed my hip, barely there, like he was testing how far he could go before I stopped him.
I didn’t.
“You’re jealous,” I said softly.
His jaw clenched. “Yes.”
The admission hit harder than any denial.
“Of a frightened girl?”
“Of anyone you would burn the world for.”
I lifted my hand, pressing it flat against his chest. His heart was racing—betraying him completely.
“This will cost you everything,” I said.
“I know.”
“And you still want me.”
His forehead dropped to mine, breath unsteady. “I want you so badly it feels like treason.”
The kiss that followed was slow, punishing, deliberate. Not hunger—but claim. His mouth moved against mine like he was trying to memorize me, like if he branded me deeply enough, fate itself might hesitate.
I tasted control slipping.
When we finally broke apart, the room felt smaller. Charged. Alive.
“You’re not invisible anymore,” he said. “They’ll notice.”
“Let them.”
His eyes sharpened. “Elyndor already has.”
I stiffened.
“She watches you,” he continued. “She smiles when you enter a room and measures how long it takes me to look at you.”
“And?” I asked.
“And I don’t hide it.”
Possession again. Open. Reckless.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” I said.
He smiled without humor. “So are you.”
The bells rang again in the distance.
Arrest.
I pulled away. “I have to go.”
His hand caught mine instantly. “No.”
“If I don’t—”
“I said no.”
Magic pulsed between us, sharp and volatile.
“You don’t get to cage me,” I said.
His grip tightened, then loosened with visible effort. “Come back alive.”
I paused at the door. Looked back at him.
“You’re already changing history,” I said. “Whether you admit it or not.”
His voice followed me, low and dangerous. “Then don’t make me choose how.”
By dawn, three more names were scratched out of the arrest ledger.
Not erased.
Delayed.
I returned just in time for the high council meeting. The same meeting with all the people who are important enough in this godless empire to decide the fate of my people for hundreds of years to come.
Atum stood at the council table, eyes unreadable, as nobles praised the Masquerade’s success and spoke of peace like it was clean.
His gaze flicked once—just once—to the shadowed doorway where I listened unseen.
Possessive.
Protective.
Terrified.
" The purge should be discussed once again," he said. Slow, controlled, regal. You could sense the authority he held, as with every syllable coming out of his mouth, the room got quieter, more on edge, and the silence became deafening
History was no longer snapping back into place.
It was resisting.
And so was he.
- Writer
