Crescent (Book 1)

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The sleepless nights continue. I lie awake, listening for any movement in the dark: The quiet scuffle of guards or servants waking early to prepare for chores. There are a few hours where little stirs in the castle, and tonight, I wait. Ceth breathes peacefully, and I shuffle out of bed, careful not to wake him. I venture into the hallway on silent feet. No guards- just like most nights now that the ambassadors are here.

My hand trails along the stone wall, feeling my way to the servants' stairs. I take them, following the steps to the private library. The fire is rumbling into simmering red embers, the hot coals the only source of light in the room. The balcony doors are unlocked when I haul them open, but I'm surprised when snow blasts inside.

The bubble of warmth that normally protects the terrace is gone, and the lone willow tree shakes in the wind. Darkness feels palpable tonight, wind colder. I walk to the balcony's edge, the snow too thick to see through, but I know the drop to the cavern lies below.

I don't know what possesses me to sit on the railing and dangle my legs over the side. I sit, I watch, I wait. This isn't like my escape attempt. I have no intention of getting away, no intention of using the stone mantles as a ladder down. I just sit, savoring one of the only moments I have to myself. I tap into that ancient sense buried within my chest. I focus, feeling the world crash into me like a tidal wave, my senses blaring. I feel deeper than the wind and the trees and the dirt beneath the snow. I taste movement, I breathe ice.

I don't know what I'm hoping the world will divulge. There are no answers to my questions in the snow. And I know it. But hope still turns bitter on my tongue, too hard to swallow. The sound of the wilderness fills my ears, eerie, loud.

I stand, unable to take it any longer as I fumble backwards. I look out over the drop again. What am I hoping will happen? I huff a sigh, shaking my head.

The balcony doors click closed behind me, and magic stokes the fire back to life. Servants are stirring in the halls now. I need to get back. Candles are already alight along the walls as I sneak toward the stairwell. I slow when I feel a presence looming around the corner of the stairs.

I stop, knowing someone stands just ahead. Not Ceth, I loose a breath in relief, but my comfort is short-lived: "I'm beginning to think you're fond of hiding in the shadows just to frighten me."

In the candlelight, Gabriel seems to smile as he steps forward, leaning against the wall across from me. I don't make the mistake of bowing again. His black tunic goes taut over his muscular arms as he crosses them over his chest, and from his disheveled hair, I know he's probably just woken up. "I know few others who are awake as early as the people who serve them."

"I needed a drink to help me sleep," I say easily. Those gray eyes glimmer as if he recognizes the lie.

He shoves off the wall, taking a step forward. "A hundred servants at your beck and call, and yet you hardly use them." Shit. Shit. At my panic, he smiles. "Do you have trouble sleeping often?"

"Do you? That must be why you're wandering the halls alone so early in the morning." I raise a brow in question. Talking to him is– unnerving. But that doesn't mean he has the upperhand.

He shrugs. "I guess I needed a drink too." In an instant, he uncrosses his arms, and I realize he's holding a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. He takes a swig of the russet liquid, and I'm too caught up in watching him to notice he's leaned forward until his empty hand brushes a lock of hair down the side of my jaw. My skin ignites in heat, and I'm frozen as he whispers, a smile heavy in his voice. "You still have snow in your hair."

My muscles go taut as he disappears down the stairs. He knows he knows he knows. Part of me wants to chase after him, to explain myself, to cover my tracks, but I stop short. I'm not the only one wandering when they're not supposed to be.

I swallow my fear. Part of me knows he won't tell Ceth or the guards. There's a price for keeping secrets in this world, but somehow, I know he'll keep mine. And as I consider the past few days, the training, and the files, I come to one final conclusion: I didn't make a mistake. Flemming Smith was supposed to be at White Stag. But the price for keeping my secrets will be to keep his too.