Chapter 8: The Howl Beneath the Ribs
1934 Words
Lyria’s POV
Lyria didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until the sudden echo of a low, distant howl drifted through her window and lodged itself under her skin. It wasn’t loud—just a hollow, mournful sound carried on the wind—but something inside her reacted instantly. Her eyes snapped open.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was.
The room was softly lit by the early afternoon sun filtering through the tall arching window. Shadows stretched lazily across the stone floor, shifting gently with the sway of the crimson curtains. The faint crackle of the hearth fire added a sense of warmth, but the air still felt unfamiliar—too clean, too quiet, too guarded.
Then memory snapped back into place.
The palace. Kael. The curse. The council.
Everything she’d been running from all her life, everything she’d tried to hide, now wrapped around her like a set of invisible chains—ones she didn’t even understand well enough to fight.
Lyria exhaled slowly and pushed herself up to sit. Her muscles were stiff from exhaustion, but the restlessness in her chest was worse. A strange, persistent ache throbbed under her ribs—soft at first, then tightening in slow, insistent pulses.
She pressed a hand to her sternum. “Not now…”
It was the same sensation she’d felt when she had moved too far from Kael earlier—an invisible thread tugging, tightening, demanding. And the longer she sat alone, the stronger it grew. Her breathing hitched as a wave of heat rippled through the center of her chest, not painful but disturbingly intimate.
As if something inside her wanted to reach for him.
“No,” she whispered harshly. “No, no, no—don’t start this.”
Her fingers dug into the fabric of her tunic. The pressure did nothing to lessen the pull.
She stood abruptly and paced the room, hoping movement would help. But each step made the ache sharpen, like an echo growing louder the more she tried to ignore it.
It felt like a howl coming from inside her, trapped beneath her ribs.
She didn’t understand it. She didn’t want to understand it. Whatever bond or magic tied her to Kael, whatever force pulled them toward each other, it wasn’t hers. She hadn’t asked for it.
And yet… her breath stuttered as the pull tightened again, dragging a whisper of warmth up her spine.
This is ridiculous, she thought. This is madness.
A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
She stiffened immediately; fear instinctively crawled up her throat. Only Kael had permission to enter—but the hallway outside had been quiet for hours. What if someone disobeyed?
Another soft knock. Then a voice—gentle, female, carefully measured.
“Lady Lyria? I—I bring food.”
Lyria blinked in surprise. Lady?
She approached the door cautiously. “Who are you?”
“My name is Aria, miss. I’m one of the palace attendants.”
Lyria hesitated, eyeing the door handle. “Kael said no one is allowed near this room.”
A pause. Then the girl’s voice lowered. “The king permitted me. Only me.”
Lyria swallowed, nerves easing but only slightly. She opened the door just wide enough to peek out. A young woman stood there, barely in her early twenties, with soft brown hair braided neatly down her back. Her eyes were gentle, but she kept her gaze respectfully lowered as she held a tray of warm food.
Lyria stepped back. “Um… come in.”
Aria entered silently and placed the tray on the table near the window. Steam rose from the plates—soup, bread, a few slices of fruit. Simple, but comforting. The smell made Lyria remember how long it had been since she’d last eaten.
“You can… sit if you want,” Lyria offered awkwardly.
Aria shook her head quickly. “I would not dare, miss. You’re a guest of the king.”
Lyria almost choked on air. “Guest is one word for it.”
Aria’s lips twitched with a hint of a smile, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she moved about the room with careful efficiency—straightening blankets, rekindling the fire, adjusting the tablecloth.
Lyria watched her, uncertain. “You’re not afraid of me.”
Aria paused. “Why should I be?”
“I’m a hybrid.”
Aria turned slowly, her expression gentler than Lyria expected. “I serve the king, miss. And if the king accepts you, then fear would be disrespect.”
Lyria didn’t have an answer for that.
Aria bowed her head again. “May I say something… without offense?”
“Go on.”
“I do not think the king brings anyone here—not without reason.”
Lyria froze. “What do you mean?”
Aria hesitated, then lowered her voice. “This wing… He only uses it for what he values.”
Her chest tightened. “I’m not… valued.”
“You survived something in the forest that most cannot,” Aria said softly. “And the king brought you here personally. That alone means something.”
Lyria didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want to consider what Kael valued or why he cared, not when her chest burned in that strange, maddening way whenever he wasn’t near.
Aria finished arranging the linens and stepped back. “If you need anything, pull the rope by the window. It rings the bell in my station.”
“Thank you,” Lyria murmured.
Aria bowed slightly. “Rest, miss. You look like you’ve fought the world.”
Lyria’s chest clenched. “You have no idea.”
Aria left quietly, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence returned, wrapping around Lyria like a cold blanket. She sank onto the edge of the bed, hands trembling slightly.
The ache beneath her ribs had sharpened further.
She closed her eyes.
Kael.
His name brushed through her mind uninvited, like a whisper drawn from the inside rather than spoken aloud. She pressed her palms to her forehead, breathing slowly.
Why him? Why her? Why now?
The pull intensified—a throb, a drag, then a hollow twist of something that almost felt like longing.
“No,” she muttered again. “Stop.”
But her body didn’t listen.
Something in her magic—buried for years, ignored, unclaimed—stretched toward the direction where she knew Kael was. She didn’t know how she sensed it. She just did. It was like her chest contained a compass that pointed to him and only him.
The pressure built until she found herself standing without realizing she’d moved.
She crossed the room in a few unsteady steps and reached the window. The kingdom sprawled below her like a living shadow, wolves moving through marketplaces, guards patrolling the walls. She looked toward the high tower rising above the rest of the palace.
Somewhere in there, Kael met with his council. Somewhere in there, he paced, brooded, strategized—always in control, always carrying the burden of his curse like it was carved into him.
And she was here. Feeling a pull she didn’t want. Drawing closer despite trying not to.
Her fingers drifted to her chest again. The ache had spread—a warm, insistent pressure that made her breath shallow.
“You’re ridiculous,” she whispered to herself. “He’s not even here.”
And yet her body acted like he was.
She sank to the floor, back pressed against the cold stone wall. The temperature grounded her. A little. Not enough.
Her eyes closed, the sensations flooding her.
She could almost feel his presence—not physically, but like the echo of heat after touching a flame. Strong. Steady. Dark around the edges. A warmth her mind didn’t want but her body recognized far too instinctively.
A king with scars lit by magic. A man with eyes that saw too deeply. A curse that quieted only when she was near.
Her pulse raced.
No. Not this. Not now. Not him.
She curled her knees to her chest, trying to breathe through the sensation, but the pull only tightened.
Then, suddenly—
A jolt shot through her chest, sharp enough to make her gasp and grip at her tunic.
Her eyes snapped open.
Someone approached.
Fast.
Heavy.
Purposeful.
She pushed herself up just as footsteps echoed in the hallway—a single set moving with the weight of authority and something else beneath it. The closer they came, the more the ache in her chest reacted, smoothing out, warming, spreading like the first deep breath after drowning.
Then—
The door opened.
Kael stepped inside.
His gaze went straight to her—no hesitation, no searching. As if he had known exactly where she would be standing. His presence filled the room instantly, shadows bending around him like they recognized their master.
And Lyria’s chest… stopped hurting.
Completely.
Her breath trembled out of her.
Kael shut the door behind him. He didn’t speak at first. He simply looked at her—eyes darker than before, the faintest red glow pulse beneath his skin as if responding to her presence.
The curse had quieted.
He could feel it too.
Finally, he exhaled. “You felt it.”
It wasn’t a question.
Lyria swallowed. “Yes.”
He stepped closer—slowly, as though approaching a wild creature that might bolt.
“What did it feel like?” he asked.
“Like…” Her voice cracked. “Like something inside me was screaming. Pulling. I couldn’t make it stop.”
Kael’s expression tightened. He took another step.
“And now?” he asked softly.
The warmth spreading through her chest grew stronger. Her breath caught when she met his gaze.
“Now it’s quiet.”
Kael’s jaw flexed. “Good.”
Good.
But nothing about this felt good.
It felt dangerous. Chemical. Magnetic. Alive.
He stopped a few feet from her, close enough that she felt the heat of him. His scent—wood, steel, wildfire—wrapped around her like a second skin.
She hated that her body eased.
He studied her for a long moment, eyes drifting to where her hand rested unconsciously over her heart. “The curse hates distance.”
“So it’s controlling us,” Lyria whispered.
“No,” he said, voice low. “Not controlling. Responding.”
“To what?” she shot back, her voice shaking. “To me? To you? To some godsdamned magic that shouldn’t even exist?”
Kael stepped closer, slow but decisive.
“To both of us,” he said.
Her breath hitched.
The tension in the room thickened, settling like heat along her spine. Kael held her gaze with a fierceness that made her feel stripped bare—not physically, but inwardly, as if he could see the magic she didn’t understand.
“You’re not alone in this,” he said quietly.
Her chin lifted. “Then what are we supposed to do?”
Kael stared at her for a long, quiet moment, and something in his expression shifted—softened but sharpened all at once.
“We stay close,” he said simply. “Until we figure out what this is.”
Her pulse kicked hard.
Close.
Her curse-silencing heartbeat echoed in her rib cage.
Close.
The warmth of him spread across the room, reaching her like an invisible hand.
Close.
Lyria exhaled shakily, feeling the weight of what that meant.
Because if staying close to him felt like this—
Then distance would be far worse.
- Writer
