Chapter 14: Theron

She didn’t move.

Not when I touched her. Not when I whispered the words I’d spent days—centuries—trying to keep buried beneath stone and silence.

“You’re not hers. But gods help me, I think you might be mine.”

And in that moment, I wished I hadn’t said it.

Because the second the words left my mouth, I felt the castle stir.

The stone beneath us vibrated—faintly, like a held breath. Not hostile. Not curious.

Eager.

The magic here was ancient, hungry, and attuned to want. And right now, it wanted what I wanted. It felt what I felt. And that made it infinitely more dangerous.

Delphine leaned in, just slightly, her lips parting with the softest intake of breath. She didn’t speak. She didn’t pull away. Her eyes—storm grey and blazing—stayed locked on mine like she could see straight through to the moment I nearly kissed her.

Nearly.

I hovered there, breath-to-breath.

And then I pulled back.

Barely.

But enough to feel the break.

Her lashes fluttered. Her mouth closed. Her posture remained stubbornly still, but the energy between us twisted, tight and raw.

My fingers dropped from her cheek, the loss of contact leaving my skin cold.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, voice soft and steady.

I swallowed hard. “Because if I kiss you now, I won’t stop.”

She stared at me like she already knew.

“Safer not to?” she asked.

I met her gaze. And lied.

“Yes.”

She gave the smallest, saddest smile I’d ever seen on her face.

“You should get better at lying.”

Then she turned and walked out, her boots silent on the stone, her magic brushing the doorframe as she passed—leaving a faint, electric charge in her wake.

I didn’t stop her.

Even as every part of me screamed to follow.

Even as the castle pulled toward her retreating form like vines drawn to sunlight.

I stood in the silence, breath caught somewhere between ache and regret, the scent of her still clinging to my sleeves.

Fool.

Not because I hadn’t kissed her.

Because I wanted to.

Because the castle had felt me want her.

And because for the briefest second… it had welcomed that want.

---

I left the tower fifteen minutes later, my steps slower than they should’ve been. Deliberate. Controlled.

The castle didn’t fight me as I moved. The halls lit themselves ahead of me, one by one. A path formed.

It was leading me.

Of course it was.

I followed.

The path wound downward, into the oldest part of Castle Thorne—lower than the crypts, beneath even the roots of the garden.

To the sealed chamber.

The true vault.

The one no one had entered since the day we laid the last Ashwood to rest in blood and spellwork and silence.

I placed my palm against the carved stone.

The sigils flared—not in warning.

In recognition.

“Not tonight,” I said, forcing my voice into the calm, measured cadence I’d perfected over the years. “You don’t get her.”

The stone pulsed beneath my hand. I felt it ripple—not angry.

Amused.

Not yet, it seemed to say.

And worse—we already have.

I clenched my jaw, forcing down the swell of magic inside me. It answered too easily now. Responded too quickly. The castle had already begun to thread itself through Delphine’s power.

Because she wasn’t just waking it.

She was feeding it.

Giving it what it hadn’t had in a century: connection. Passion. Possibility.

I pressed my forehead against the vault door and closed my eyes.

“If you touch her,” I whispered, voice shaking, “if you harm her—I will tear you apart brick by cursed brick. I swear it.”

The vault pulsed once—like a heartbeat.

Then fell still.

The silence that followed wasn’t peace.

It was patience.

And patience was worse.

Because now I knew: it was only a matter of time.

Not if the seal broke.

When.