Chapter 24 | Promise | Leah
The Owlspire's study is on the third floor, with windows facing the academy's spires. I stand at the window, looking out into the night, my fingers resting unconsciously on my lower belly. It's still flat, but I know there's a tiny life growing inside. A life born from silver moonlight and blackwood-blood-orange.
"Sit," Kael says, pointing to a chair. His voice is soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.
I sit down. The chair is leather, soft, with a faint smell of blackwood. The study isn't big, but everything is neat and organized. The shelves are packed with old books and records, their gold labels catching the candlelight. There's a portrait on the wall—a woman with silver hair and ice-blue eyes, wearing a formal dress with the Noct family crest on her chest.
"Your mother?" I ask.
"My great-grandmother," Kael stands beside me, looking at the portrait. "The last head of House Noct. She used to say, Noct blood is both a gift and a curse."
"What did she mean?"
"Power and responsibility." He turns to me, his eyes serious. "Leah, before you decide anything, I need you to understand. Being with me—having my child—means you'll be pulled into the political mess. The Council, the houses, all the scheming and plotting—you won't be able to avoid it."
"I know."
"You might lose your freedom."
"I know."
"You might—" he pauses, his voice dropping, "—you might get hurt."
I look at him. At his worried eyes, at his clenched fingers, at the honesty on his face.
"I'm not afraid of getting hurt," I say. "I'm afraid of being left behind."
His expression shifts. Not softer, but stronger. More certain.
"I won't leave you," he says, each word clear and steady, like a promise carved in stone. "The Bloodbond is gone, the mark has faded, but my choice hasn't changed. I'll be by your side. Not because I have to. Because I want to."
"What about the Council's bill?"
"I'll deal with it."
"What about the academy's rules?"
"I'll change them."
"What about—" I pause, "—what about us?"
He looks at me. His ice-blue eyes reflect the candlelight, like two burning gems.
"We'll figure it out together," he says. "One step at a time."
I go quiet. The candle flickers, shadows dancing on the walls. Outside the window, the academy's hemalume lamps are going out one by one, leaving only a few scattered lights in the darkness.
"I need time," I say.
"I know."
"To think. To get ready."
"I know." He doesn't push, doesn't rush me, just stands there, waiting. Like he said—he'll keep waiting. For me to come to him. For me to decide.
I look at him. At this man who waited three thousand years, who watched empires rise and fall, who never waited for anyone—but now waits for me.
Something inside me softens.
"I promise," I say.
"Promise what?"
"Everything," I say. "The baby, the learning, the future—everything."
He looks at me for a long time. Then he reaches out and covers my hand with his. His palm is warm and dry, completely wrapping around mine.
"Thank you," he says, his voice soft, but each word hits my heart.
Outside the window, bats are calling. I sit in the Owlspire's study, my hand held in his, feeling a strange sense of calm inside. Whatever comes next, at least right now, I'm not alone.