Book One: The Marigold's Larkspur ~ A tale of mystery, magic, and obsession.

Chapter Thirty-two

The figure stepped forward, the moonlight streaming in from the window illuminating his eyes, glinting like the crystal bauble in Cilla's hand. His presence cast a long, ominous shadow, draping over the dark stone like a burial shroud.

Cressida couldn't look away as Callidus trailed his gaze over her form, his eyes absorbing her presence in awe and fascination. It was as if he were entranced, utterly captivated by the sight of her seated on what she now realized with horror must be his own bed.

His gaze locked onto her, as if he were looking at all that ever mattered.

"My Cressida."

He breathed into the silence.

His voice a mere whisper that hung in the air.

In that moment, before a chill could even begin to creep through her, Cressida found herself lifting from the bed. A swirl of sweet summer wind caressed her skin, enfolding her in the grip of Callidus's magic, cradling her in its inescapable hold. A surge of fear and panic rushed through her as her heart threatened to escape her chest, like the frenzied fluttering of a caged bird's wings.

Callidus became an instrument of raw joy and relief, as his emotions spilled forth in a rush of sweet nothings. "Cressida...! My love, my marigold, my Cressida-" His viola-like voice echoed off the stone as he urgently swept her into his arms, the air carrying her to him in a forceful, desperate, dizzy embrace, "You were waiting for me- were you waiting for me?" His hands trembled against her back, his fingers digging into her.

As Callidus enveloped her in his grasp, Cressida's vision blurred, overwhelmed by the swift motion and the intensity of his presence, the weight of both his passion and body threatening to suffocate her. Cressida could feel the rapid pulse of Callidus's chest against hers, matching the erratic rhythm of her own heart.

The air around them grew thin, making it difficult for her to breathe as both of her arms were crushed at her side by the force of Callidus's grip.

He released her just long enough for a thin tendril of wind to carry Cressida's hand towards his face. She could feel the heat of his lips against her skin as he pressed warm kisses onto her palm.

She let out a pained hiss and suddenly Callidus pulled away from her, just enough to glimpse her face. His wide frantic eyes darted down towards her hands, "You're hurt." He whispered, before a flicker of realization sparked on his face, and his expression gentled, "Is that why you waited for me? Is that why you came to me? You knew I would help you? Oh Cressida...!"

Her body throbbed in pain, adding to her sense of disorientation. She struggled to find her voice, "No, I...didn't wait for you-" she gasped over his deluded assumptions, "I didn't even know this was your room." She felt lightheaded. "...why is this your room? This was your prison cell! This is where your...your mother died-"

Callidus's eyes flickered with brief surprise, before his expression tempered into mild disappointment. "You weren't waiting for me...?" he clarified, as his expression faltered and then hardened. "Regardless of your intentions, it seems fate has wisely forced your hand," he murmured, reaching out with both hands to cup her face as the swirl of his magic kept her pressed close, "Look at what happened to you without me."

Cressida's breathing grew shallower as he leaned close to press a kiss against her forehead, "You're hurt," he repeated, as he slowly pulled back, trailing his thumbs over her cheeks. "Let me help you."

Suddenly Cressida observed a subtle change in Callidus's demeanor. His pupils briefly narrowed in surprise, and his gaze shifted above her head. "Ah." He said softly, "Our reunion has an audience."