Chapter 85 Not now

Chapter 85 Not now
  Amara POV
  The world reshapes itself in a breath of silver and violet, the portal folding shut behind us with a soft crackle that feels like the snap of ice sealing over deep water. One moment there is light and humming magic, and the next there is stone beneath my boots and the familiar weight of the castle pressing in from every direction. The air smells different here, heavier somehow, thick with scents that do not belong to quiet halls or disciplined order.
  Home should feel steady, like a heartbeat you know by memory alone, but something in the rhythm feels wrong.
  The first thing I notice is the noise.
  Laughter spills down the corridor ahead in careless waves, too loud, too sharp, carrying the wild edge of indulgence rather than the controlled murmur expected within these walls. Music drifts somewhere in the distance, not the soft instrumental tones used during formal evenings, but something faster and unruly that makes the stone itself seem restless beneath my feet.
  My shoulders tighten before I even realize I am reacting.
  Sebastian pauses beside me, his hand tightening around mine as his gaze sweeps down the hall with narrowed focus. The bond between us flickers like a warning spark, small but insistent, and I feel the echo of his unease settle into my chest as if it belongs there. The castle has always carried danger in quiet ways, hidden behind silk and strategy, yet this feels louder than danger usually dares to be.
  This feels reckless.
  A servant rushes past us without bowing, arms full of bottles that clink together with careless noise as she hurries toward the direction of the music. Another follows behind her, balancing trays piled high with glasses that shimmer with deep red liquid. Neither slows. Neither acknowledges us.
  Neither behaves as if discipline still rules these halls.
  “What in the hell…” Sebastian mutters under his breath, the words rough with disbelief that edges dangerously close to anger.
  I do not answer him because I do not yet trust my voice to remain calm.
  We walk forward slowly, the corridor unfolding into a larger hall where lanterns blaze brighter than usual, their flames dancing with reckless enthusiasm as if encouraged to burn beyond restraint. The scent of wine hangs thick in the air, layered over perfume and sweat and something else that reminds me faintly of celebration without purpose.
  It feels like stumbling into the aftermath of a storm someone else chose to summon.
  Alpha Braden stands near the far end of the hall, his broad frame impossible to miss even among the movement of servants weaving back and forth around him. He gestures sharply as he speaks to a group of attendants, his voice loud enough to carry across the distance though the exact words blur into noise beneath the clash of laughter and clinking glass.
  His posture radiates command, but not the steady kind that builds strength.
  This command burns fast, like dry wood thrown into a roaring fire with no thought given to how long the flames will last.
  Sebastian’s hand slips from mine without warning.
  “I will handle this,” he says, voice low but carrying the unmistakable promise of confrontation waiting just beneath the surface.
  I nod once, though the motion feels automatic rather than deliberate.
  Something inside me does not want to stand close when sparks begin to fly.
  He moves forward with long, purposeful strides, shoulders squared in a way that speaks of restrained fury rather than casual curiosity. The moment Braden notices him approaching, his expression shifts into something resembling polite acknowledgment, but the tension already gathering in Sebastian’s posture makes the air between them feel sharp enough to cut.
  Their voices rise quickly.
  At first the words blur together, fragments carried on currents of movement and noise, but as I drift farther down the corridor, I catch pieces of the exchange snapping through the air like thrown knives.
  “You were given responsibility, not permission to turn this place into a circus,” Sebastian growls, his voice edged with a fury that feels colder than fire.
  “Relax, Your Majesty,” Braden replies, laughter laced into his tone in a way that feels far too casual for the moment. “Morale matters. People work better when they are allowed to breathe.”
  “This is not breathing,” Sebastian snaps back, louder now. “This is chaos.”
  I do not wait to hear more.
  The words scrape against something raw inside me, and the sharp tension twisting through the bond makes my chest feel too tight, too crowded with emotions that do not belong to me alone. The urge to stay and listen presses against curiosity, yet exhaustion settles heavier than either.
  Ignoring the argument feels safer than standing inside its storm.
  So I turn away.
  The corridor leading toward my art room stretches ahead in familiar lines, quieter with each step I take, the noise fading into distant echoes that lose their sharp edges as stone swallows the sound. My breathing slows gradually, matching the steady rhythm of my footsteps until the tightness in my chest begins to loosen.
  This hall feels like refuge.
  The door to my art room stands exactly where I left it, closed but not locked, its surface marked faintly with smudges of charcoal from countless afternoons spent chasing thoughts that words could never hold. I push it open slowly, letting the familiar scent of paint and canvas wrap around me like a shield drawn carefully into place.
  Inside, everything waits untouched.
  Brushes rest where I left them. Pigments sit in neat rows along the table. And at the center of the room, resting on its stand like a silent witness, stands the last painting I created before everything unraveled.
  The dark forest.
  I step closer without thinking, drawn toward the canvas with quiet certainty that feels deeper than simple memory. The twisted trees stretch upward in shadowed lines, their branches tangled like reaching fingers frozen mid-motion. The path carved through the undergrowth glows faintly beneath pale moonlight, leading toward a depth that feels endless.
  Alive.
  That is the only word that fits.
  Alive in a way that should not belong to paint and pigment.
  My fingers lift slowly, hovering just inches from the surface without touching it. The pull settles into my chest again, stronger now, like invisible threads stretching between me and the forest captured within the frame. A strange warmth spreads beneath my skin, curling outward from the center of my chest until my pulse begins to echo with quiet intensity.
  Connected.
  Connected to it.
  Connected to something larger than the room, larger than the castle, larger than anything I can name.
  I do not understand it.
  Not yet.
  The door behind me opens softly, breaking the fragile stillness before I can sink deeper into the strange pull whispering through my blood. I turn slightly, the warmth beneath my skin shifting into something sharper, more alert.
  Lady Lola steps inside.
  Her posture is cautious, hesitant in a way that makes her seem smaller than usual despite the careful grace she tries to maintain. Her eyes sweep the room before settling on me, and the faint tremor in her breath betrays nerves she attempts to hide beneath polite composure.
  “Amara,” she says softly, her voice carrying a fragile edge that makes the space between us feel uncertain. “I thought I might find you here.”
  I nod once, forcing calm into my expression even as something restless stirs beneath my ribs.
  “What do you need?” I ask.
  She hesitates, wringing her hands together in a nervous motion that draws my attention to the faint pulse visible at her wrist. The steady rhythm flickers like a beacon against the growing tension crawling through my veins, and before I can stop myself, my gaze lingers there a fraction too long.
  Hunger rises without warning.
  Sharp.
  Sudden.
  Terrifying.
  “I wanted to talk,” she continues, stepping closer despite the warning crawling beneath my skin. “Things feel strange since you returned, and I… I thought maybe you would understand.”
  Her scent reaches me fully then.
  Warm.
  Sweet.
  Alive.
  My breath catches in my throat as my vision sharpens with unsettling clarity, the world narrowing until every sound, every movement, every pulse of blood inside her veins becomes impossible to ignore. My fingers curl slowly at my sides, nails pressing into my palms as instinct claws its way toward the surface.
  Oh goddess. 
  Not now.. and not.. LOLA..