Throne of Ash and Shadows

Chapter 9 Ometz Orbvale

I held her in my arms until her breathing softened, until the rhythm of her chest rising and falling told me she had drifted into sleep. In the stillness of the night, I watched her, the curve of her cheek illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains. To look at her, to simply exist in her presence, felt like a privilege I had never earned. And when we made love, all the worries of the world seemed to melt away. In those moments, the weight of kingship, the looming war, the tangled web of lies and half-truths—none of it mattered. Nothing but her.

I didn't believe in gods or destiny. Those were luxuries for people with time to ponder them. But I did believe in Katya. She was my salvation, my anchor in a world that constantly tried to pull me under. The thought of her doubting my love—that terrified me more than any war, more than any enemy I had ever faced. The thought of losing her... it was enough to break me.

I ran a hand gently through her hair, brushing the soft strands away from her face. She stirred for a moment but settled once again into the deep embrace of sleep. I smiled, feeling a swell of warmth in my chest. Leaning down, I kissed her forehead, lingering just a moment longer to breathe in the scent of her—lavender and something uniquely her.

But even the comfort of her presence couldn't quiet the storm in my mind. As much as I loved her, my rage simmered beneath the surface, boiling hot and unforgiving. Vlad. Damn him. He had planted doubt in her heart, made her question me. The one thing I could never forgive was the thought of her questioning my devotion, my love for her.

Slipping out of bed, I quietly dressed, pulling on a loose shirt and a pair of boots. I needed to burn this anger out of me, and there was only one way I knew how. With a final glance at Katya, I slipped into the dark corridors of the castle, my steps silent against the stone floors. The night air was cool as I made my way through the gardens, the soft rustle of leaves the only sound accompanying my footsteps. But nothing could cool the heat that burned in my chest.

That's why I found myself walking across the shadowed courtyards, heading toward the wing of the castle where Vlad slept. That's why I stormed through the doors, my blood boiling, my mind set on one thing: confrontation. That's why I barged into his room, my fists already clenched, ready to strike him the moment I laid eyes on him.

And there he was, lying in bed, the moonlight casting long shadows across his body.

Before I could make a move, Vlad's voice, low and unbothered, cut through the silence. "I wouldn't do that," he drawled, his storm-gray eyes meeting mine with a calm indifference. He didn't move, didn't even flinch at the sight of me standing there, ready to strike. "Beating up the commander of the Avernia Army Corps wouldn't exactly help your chances of getting my support, your highness."

A smug smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and I had never wanted to punch someone more. My hand hovered, the urge to hit him nearly overwhelming. The room seemed to crackle with energy, the heat from his pyromancer abilities sparking at his fingertips. Flames flickered at the edge of his hand, casting an eerie glow in the dim room.

"I know you won't agree to it," I hissed through gritted teeth, struggling to keep my voice low. "At least not yet."

Vlad chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. He slipped out of bed with a grace that was almost unsettling—silent, like a predator. If I hadn't been watching him, I might not have even realized he'd moved.

"You think you know me so well, Ometz?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stepped forward, his body coming fully into the pale light of the moon.

I couldn't help but notice the man before me—physically imposing, even more so than I remembered. Vlad stood at six-foot-three, his body honed and muscular, every muscle taut and defined beneath his tanned skin. His sharp jawline, almost severe in its perfection, looked as if it could cut through glass. His black hair was longer than usual, a sign of neglect, and a soft stubble lined his jaw, giving him an air of ruggedness.