Chapter 31 | A New Home | Leah
I step through the doorway of my new home and take a deep breath.
Kael said this place isn't in any records. Caos's spies won't find it. But standing here now, I can really feel what it's like—dust, old books, and some kind of dried herb smell. Not the cold scent of blackwood and blood-orange that clings to Kael. This is warmer, like cotton blankets dried in the sun, like the smell of home I haven't known in forever. Dust particles float in the light coming through the door, like tiny creatures doing some ancient dance.
Kael walks a half step in front of me. His shoulders are tight, his fingers gripping the edge of his coat—through the Bloodbond, I can feel how nervous he is, that "Will she like it?" worry. So obvious it almost makes me laugh.
"This is it," he says, his voice a little stiff.
I look around. The room isn't big, but it feels cozy. A small living room with an old couch covered in a patchwork blanket, the colors faded but clean. A fireplace, cold and empty now, with books of all sizes lined up on the mantel. In the corner, a tiny kitchen with copper pots hanging on the wall, catching the light.
"It's..." I try to find the right words.
"Simple. I know." His mouth twitches. "Not like the Owlspire."
"No," I say, running my fingers along the worn edge of the blanket. "It's better than the Owlspire."
He looks at me, surprised.
"It feels like a home," I say. "The Owlspire was your place. This... this can be ours."
The word "ours" makes his eyes light up. Like a kid getting a gift he didn't expect.
He takes me to the bedroom. A small room with a window looking out at the forest. The bed is narrow, covered with white sheets that smell like sunshine. On the pillow sits a single dried bloodrose—its silver glow long gone, but the petals still holding a faint scent.
"This is..." I pick it up.
"From the Forgotten Walk." His voice goes soft. "I dried it. To remember that night."
I look at the dried flower. Fragile, faded, but still beautiful. Like our bond—not burning bright anymore, but lasting.
"Thank you," I whisper.
He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Leah, I know this isn't perfect. Hiding. Running. Living in a place with no name. But—"
"It's enough," I cut him off, turning in his arms to look at him. "Kael, I don't need fancy things. I don't need the Owlspire or a Prince's life. I just need you. And this—" I wave at the small room, the faded blanket, the dried rose, "—this is enough."
He kisses me. Soft, slow, tasting like gratitude and a promise. When we pull apart, his eyes are bright, the ice-blue warmed to something almost like a summer sky.
"Then let's make it ours," he says.
We spend the day cleaning, organizing, turning the small house into a home. Kael moves furniture with a Prince's strength but handles everything like he's taking care of something precious. I arrange books on the mantel, their spines making a colorful pattern. We work quietly, the Bloodbond humming softly between us—a happy purr instead of a desperate pulse.
By evening, the house looks different. The fireplace is burning, throwing warm shadows on the walls. The couch is set up with cushions. The kitchen smells like tea brewing and bread baking—simple things, but things that feel like living instead of just surviving.
We sit on the couch together, sharing a blanket, watching the fire. Kael's arm is around my shoulder, my head on his chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady, like a rhythm that means safety.
"What happens tomorrow?" I ask.
"Tomorrow," he says, "we start your real training."
"Training?"
"The Progenitor's power in you—it's more than the Bloodbond. More than the pregnancy. It's yours by right, Leah. And you need to learn how to use it."
I look at my hand. The silver lines have faded since the Suppressor broke, but they're still there—pale traces under my skin, like rivers on a map.
"I'm scared," I admit.
"I know." He squeezes my shoulder. "But you're not alone. Not anymore."
The fire crackles, sending sparks up the chimney. Outside, the forest is dark and deep, but inside, we're warm. We're safe. We're home.