Crowned in Crimson Cinders

Chapter 24: Amora's Confrontation

 A cold dread coiled in my stomach. The absence of a weapon, even a paltry kitchen knife, felt like a gaping vulnerability. Yet, as if in response to my rising fear, the flames within my veins stirred, a faint, crackling warmth. I reined them in, pulling the nascent power back to my core, locking it away. For now.

Amora advanced, her posture regal, shoulders back, chin held high. She was a master of facade, never breaking character. My mind screamed to run, but where? My room lay behind her, blocked. The hall ahead spiraled into the servants' quarters. There was no escape. I held my ground, a decision I instantly knew was one of the worst of my life.

As she drew closer, she brought her hands into view, palms open, seemingly unarmed. A gesture meant to disarm, to convey harmlessness. I saw through it. My gut tightened. This wasn't a sign of peace, it was a prelude. Amora didn't need a blade to kill. None of us did. Not with the raw, elemental power simmering, waiting to be unleashed, within our very beings.

Despite her empty hands, my guard remained resolute. My knees were subtly bent, my eyes locked on her, every fiber of my being poised. She must have noticed, for a low, mocking laugh escaped her.

"You think I'm here to hurt you?" she cooed, the word dripping with condescension.

Silence was my only answer. Of course, I thought she was going to hurt me. What else could she possibly want?

"What do you want?" I forced out, my voice a treacherous whisper that betrayed my attempt at steadiness.

"Just to talk," she replied, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"That's what you said last time," I retorted, the power in my veins flexing, ready to ignite at my command.

"Yes," she chuckled, a harsh, brittle sound. "I suppose that didn't end well. For you, of course." She paused, waiting for me to engage, but I offered nothing. She took my silence as an invitation. "What are you doing out here alone?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

Amora laughed again, and the very air around us seemed to shift, growing heavy and charged, as if anticipating a skirmish. In response, a deeper, more primal power stirred within me, a silent roar. The hall began to darken, not from an overhead cloud, but from the raw, uncontrolled surge of my own abilities. I recoiled, yanking the power back, but it clawed at my insides, desperate for release. Amora, startled, glanced around, her surprise morphing into a look of feigned understanding, as if she, too, believed a cloud had simply passed overhead.

"I'm not here to fight, Aleah," she stated, her tone surprisingly even.

"You also said that last time," I reminded her, my gaze unwavering.

She took more steps, closing the distance, but I didn't yield an inch. The air grew thicker, compressing my lungs with each step she took. She stopped three feet away. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat, blood surging through my veins.

"I'm surprised," she said, her voice a low purr, "that you're not dead yet."

"And why would I be?"

"Well, it seems this assassin is trying to pick us off one by one. One would think they'd target the weak ones first, to get them out of the way."

I locked down my emotions, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing any reaction. "I think," I said, my voice remarkably steady, "that if you were to spend a day with me, you would find that I am not as weak as I once was."

At that, she let out a loud, braying laugh that surely echoed throughout the silent floor. "So what?" she cackled. "Did you start training? Did you beg Brock to help you?"