Chapter 55: Cold Burn of Embarrassment

Esmarie Seraphine Vale

My fingers bunched the hem of my dress, digging into my skin as I stared at the floor, the cold slap of embarrassment burning my cheeks.

I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and just die there. Let me fade out of existence and be one with the moon and the trees. Anything but sitting here.

Hemne let out an almost inaudible sound, caught between amusement and surprise, while Ciro, on the other hand, sat as silent as a tree beside me, face pulled into a taut line like he was annoyed with them for interrupting—whatever that was. His eyes kept flickering to my face, burning into the side of my temple.

“Oh,” Thorne finally spoke up, after minutes of suffocating silence, waving his arms around his head like he was trying to swat away a swarm of imaginary bees. “So, uh… this is… happening.”

Hemne elbowed him hard enough to make him cough. “Shut up.” Her voice was low, but there was a tremor in it—half amusement, half surprise. She cleared her throat, eyes darting between Ciro and me like she was calculating how fast she could bolt from the room. “We, uh… we didn’t mean to—”

“Interrupt?” Ciro supplied, his tone flat, dangerous. He still hadn't moved, but the air around him crackled with that same regal authority that once made me flinch. Now it just made my stomach flip for entirely different reasons. His shirt was rumpled, collar askew, lips still swollen and glistening from—God, don’t think about it. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at anyone. The bite on my leg throbbed in time with my pulse, but it was nothing compared to the mortification searing through me. They saw us. They saw everything. The way I’d melted into him, the way I’d whimpered—I was going to die. Right here. In this bed. From pure, unadulterated shame.

“Esmarie,” Ciro said quietly, his voice softer now, meant only for me. His hand brushed my thigh—barely a touch, but it sent a jolt straight through me. “Look at me.”

I shook my head, a tiny, frantic motion. “Nope. Never again. I’m becoming a nun. Or a hermit. Or a tree.”

A low, startled laugh rumbled out of him—the first real sound of amusement I’d heard from him in days. It was warm, rough, and entirely unfair. “A tree?”

“Yes,” I hissed, still staring at the floor. “A very still, very quiet tree. With no witnesses.”

Hemne made a choking sound that might’ve been a laugh. Thorne just grinned like a fool, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “I mean, if you’re taking applications for forest companions, I volunteer. I’ve always wanted to be a squirrel.”

“Thorne,” Hemne snapped, but there was no heat in it. She rubbed her temples, muttering something about timing and prophecies and why now.

Ciro ignored them both. His fingers curled gently around my chin, tilting my face up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes. They were dark, stormy, but softened in a way that made my breath catch. “You’re not a tree,” he said, thumb brushing my lower lip—still swollen, still tingling. “And you’re not hiding from me.”

I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t hiding. I was… strategically retreating.”

Hemne cleared her throat—loudly. “As fascinating as this is, we have a situation.”

Ciro’s smile vanished instantly. He straightened as he lowered his hand back to his side. “Talk.”

Hemne’s gaze flicked to me, then back to him. “The Guardians. They’re not leaving. They’ve formed a perimeter around the palace. They are just there, silent, unmoving. Waiting.”

Thorne pushed off the doorframe, expression grim. “And Fenrick’s been taken to the dungeons, he's now conscious and well—screaming bloody murder.”

My stomach dropped. Was that really how bad he wanted me dead?

Ciro's hand settled on my thigh, in an effort to ground me, fingers warm despite the fabric of my dress between our bare skin.

"What exactly do the Guardians want?" I asked, fingers wringing together.

“We don’t know,” Hemne said. “But they aren’t attacking. They’re… watching. Like they’re waiting for you.” She nodded at me.

I stared at her, the warmth of Ciro’s touch suddenly not enough to chase away the chill creeping up my spine. “For me to what?”

Hemne’s eyes softened. “To lead them, Esmarie. You’re their heir. Their prince or queen, whatever they call it there. They want to train her.”

Ciro’s jaw clenched. “She’s not ready.”

“I don’t think they care,” Thorne muttered.

I looked between them—Hemne’s quiet certainty, Thorne’s unease, Ciro’s fierce protectiveness—and felt the weight of it all crash down. My voice came out small. “What if I say no?”

Hemne’s smile was sad. “Then they’ll wait. Or they’ll take you anyway.”

Ciro stood abruptly, pulling me up with him—careful of my leg, but firm. “They’ll have to go through me first.”

Thorne raised an eyebrow. “And me. And Hemne. And probably the entire palace guard. But still—”

“Still,” Hemne cut in, “we need a plan. And we need it now.”

Ciro looked down at me, his hand sliding to the small of my back. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

I nodded, my heart racing for an entirely new reason. The Guardians. Fenrick. My bloodline. And Ciro—still here, still holding me, even after everything.

I just couldn’t shake the feeling that the real storm hadn’t even started.

As if on cue with my thoughts, Hemne spoke up again, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I didn't tell you this, Ciro, because I knew we needed to prioritize finding Esmarie before anything but you really need to know this," she started, moving closer towards us.

Ciro's brow furrowed, shoulders tensing like they always did whenever he was bracing himself to hear something unexpected.

Hell, even my pulse picked up the pace because I knew nothing entirely positive could be expected when shae started to sound like this and her tone was already leaning towards something grave.

"The prophecy has a second part," she stated, eyes darting between him and I as if trying to gauge our reactions.

"There's a great evil approaching."