In a divided kingdom where magic is feared and those who wield it are hunted, Ariana, the daughter of a powerful councilman, lives a life of privilege and duty. But her world unravels when she encounters Kiran, a fugitive with the power to command...
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My head spun as I paced the small room, the flickering lamplight throwing erratic shadows on the stone walls. Kiran sat at the edge of the bed, her hands loosely clasped, her expression unreadable. I had so much to say and no idea where to start.
“I never—” I began, pausing mid-step. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. You know that, don’t you?” My voice sounded too loud, too desperate.
Kiran didn’t answer immediately. She looked at me with those piercing eyes that always seemed to see straight through my carefully constructed composure. The silence stretched, and I filled it with words, because I couldn’t stand the weight of it.
“I didn’t know about the attack on your parents,” I said quickly, my hands gesturing wildly as if the motion could somehow make her believe me. “I swear I didn’t. If I’d known—”
“If you’d known, what?” Kiran’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a sharpness that cut through my rambling. "You do realize you were like 3 months old?"
I hesitated, my throat tightening. “I would’ve done something. Anything.”
Her gaze didn’t waver, and I felt like I was being scrutinized in a way no councilor or courtier had ever managed.
“You have to believe me,” I said, stepping closer. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to fix what’s broken, to prove I’m not like my father. But every time I try, I just make things worse.” My voice cracked on the last word, and I hated myself for it.
Kiran’s eyes softened, but she still didn’t say anything. The silence gnawed at me, so I kept talking, spilling every thought as it came.
“I don’t know how to fix this,” I admitted, my hands clenching into fists. “I don’t even know if it can be fixed. The Umbra, Solan, the magic, the war—it’s all falling apart, and it’s my fault. You trusted me, and I betrayed you. I—”
Kiran stood abruptly, and I froze. Her presence was magnetic, her movements deliberate as she closed the space between us.
“You didn’t betray me,” she said, her voice low and firm.
I opened my mouth to protest, to insist that I had, but she silenced me with a look.
“You made choices,” she continued. “And maybe they weren’t perfect, but you’re not your father, Ariana. You’re trying to make things right.”
Her words were a balm, but they didn’t erase the guilt that churned in my chest. “But I hurt you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “And I—”
Kiran’s hands were suddenly on my shoulders, grounding me, her touch both gentle and steadying. “Stop,” she said firmly. “Just... stop.”
I couldn’t. The words kept spilling out, a tangled mess of apologies and explanations. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” I said, my breath hitching. “I don’t even know why you’re still here, why you haven’t—”
She kissed me.
The words died in my throat as her lips met mine, silencing my chaotic thoughts with a tenderness that made my knees weak. For a moment, the world disappeared. There was no war, no betrayal, no guilt—only the warmth of her kiss and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
When she pulled back, her forehead rested against mine, and I realized I was trembling.
“Stop apologizing,” she said softly, her voice tinged with exasperation and something else—something warmer, more vulnerable.
I blinked at her, still reeling. “But—”
“No,” she interrupted, her hands slipping down to clasp mine. “You don’t get to ‘but’ right now. Just... be here. With me.”
Her words hit me like a tidal wave, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. For so long, I had been trying to hold everything together, to shoulder the weight of Solan and the war and my father’s tyranny. But here, in this moment, Kiran’s presence made me feel like I didn’t have to carry it all alone.
I squeezed her hands, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Neither do I,” she admitted, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “But we’ll figure it out.”
Her certainty was enough to steady me, and for the first time in what felt like years, I allowed myself to hope.
