Dangerous Desires

Kai:

The morning tastes of rain before it falls. Morning breaks in bruised streaks of lavender and pewter, the kind of light that promises rain but never follows through. Perfect. A day that feels half-enchanted, half-forgotten—just what she needs.

Mist drifts across the stone courtyard as I slip through the kitchen door, boots soundless on the worn flagstones.

I raid the pantry like a thief: still-warm oat bread, a crock of honey, figs dark as bruises.

A handful of blackberries stain my fingers; I lick the juice and imagine it on her lips.

The Academy feels half-asleep, corridors lit by the cold gleam of wards.

No one stops me.

Maybe the shadows know what I’m doing and approve.

Isadora’s door is unlatched when I return.

Inside, Lucian had closed the curtains tight before him and Rhett went for a hunt. The only light comes from a single candle guttering against the draft.

She lies curled beneath the quilt, hauntingly still, hair spilled like ink across the pillow, skin pale enough to catch the faintest sun if it dared to peek in.

For a moment I simply watch.

The rise and fall of her breath steadies the jagged edge of my own.

She looks untouched by nightmares now, though I know better.

The darkness follows her everywhere.

It follows me, too.

I clear my throat.

“Up, little one. The day owes you something, and I’m here to collect it.”

Her eyes blink open— dark storm-gray, wary.

“Kai?” Her voice is as slick as silk.

“What time is it?”

“Early enough to steal it.”

I set the basket on her desk. “Ten minutes. Dress for walking. No questions.”

She pushes herself up, hair tumbling over her shoulders.

A shadow of a smile fights its way to her mouth.

“You bribed me with food?”

“I bribed the universe with nothing more than charm and honey.”

A soft laugh escapes her, barely there but real.

That sound could ransom a kingdom.

We leave the dormitory just as the wards fade from silver to pale dawn.

I guide her down narrow paths no one bothers with, glamour twisting around us—light bending, air shimmering, our footsteps swallowed.

The meadow waits on the far side of the forest, hidden like a secret the world forgot.

Mist shreds as we step through, and the earth exhales.

Tall grasses bow beneath the weight of dew.

Bluebells ring the edges like a choir.

A brook glides past, its voice a quiet promise.

Isadora stops, eyes widening despite the careful mask she wears everywhere else.

“It’s—” she exhales—“beautifully dreadful.”

“Better than collapsing wards and prowling demons, yes?”

A real smile ghosts across her lips.

“You have a talent for understatement.”

“And you have a talent for skepticism. Come.”

I spread a cloth on a fallen log, uncork the tea, and pass her a slice of bread slick with honey.

For a while we eat in companionable silence.

The world feels fragile and new, a place that could belong only to us.

I catch myself memorizing the curve of her mouth as she chews, the way sunlight sifts through her black hair like dusted silver.

“You brought me here just to feed me?” she asks finally, licking a trace of honey from her thumb.

“And to teach.”

Her brow arches. “More magic?”

“Glamour. The art of being seen—or not—exactly how you wish.”

I open my palm; light pools there, a soft gold flicker.

She leans closer, fascinated despite herself.

I guide her hand to mine.

Our fingers brush and a spark leaps, hotter than magic.

“Focus on what you want the world to believe,” I whisper.

“Not what you think you are.”

Her lashes lower.

A shimmer gathers along her skin, like moonlight trapped beneath water.

The air bends.

Even the brook stills, as if listening.

“You’re a natural,” I say, voice rougher than I intend.

Her lips part in surprise, or challenge.

The glamour fades but the charge remains.

We sit closer now, shoulders almost touching.

The meadow hums with bees and unseen music.

I catch the faint scent of wild honey and rain—hers, not mine.

“You always hide behind jokes,” she says quietly.

“Defense mechanism.”

“Against what?”

“Against wanting things I shouldn’t.”

Her breath catches.

“Like what?”

I turn to face her.

“Like this.”

For a heartbeat the world holds still.

Then I lean in, slow enough for her to stop me.

She doesn’t.

Her lips meet mine, soft and hesitant, tasting of tea and berries.

The kiss is brief, delicate, yet it thrums through me like a spell.

When we part, the silence is charged, alive.

A bird calls from the treeline; the sound feels impossibly loud.

“I—” she begins.

“No need to explain,” I murmur. “Just… stay... a little longer.”

She does.

We talk in murmurs—of books, of old fears, of the first time she felt the shadows stir inside her.

She tells me she dreamed of fire again last night, of halls crumbling to ash.

I brush a blade of grass from her sleeve, wishing I could burn the nightmare out of her mind.

The sky bruises deeper as the morning wanes.

Wind lifts the meadow into a slow dance.

She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, letting the breeze play through her hair.

I watch her and think, wildly, that this could be enough—this stolen piece of quiet, this fragile hope.

The Academy, the prophecy, the endless dark might still be waiting, but for now she is only Isadora and I am only Kai, and the world is as soft as a held breath.

The thought terrifies me.

It also saves me.

When we finally rise, the sun has climbed higher than I meant to allow.

Duty will call us back soon; it always does.

But as we walk toward the hidden path, her fingers brush mine—a fleeting touch, nothing more.

I catch it, hold it for a heartbeat.

Because I know what she is, and what she will do, but I will lwt her steal the world, if only it meant a few more moments like this.

Hope, small and dangerous, blooms in the space between our hands.