Chapter 190 Don't Touch, Don't Speak
(Apollo, Adelaide & Caelum)
"Show me the flame that required disobedience.” Apollo demanded.
Cael moved without thinking, half a step forward. “My lord—”
Apollo’s head snapped toward him. “You will stay where you are.”
The command slammed into the space like a physical force. Cael froze, shadows locking tight against his skin. The leash wasn’t active, but obedience still burned into him, an old reflex carved too deep to ignore. His throat worked once, like he swallowed a scream he didn’t dare let out.
Adelaide turned slowly and stepped into the ring. The pit felt different under her feet now. The sigils hummed unevenly, warped by Apollo’s earlier rage, responding sluggishly to her presence. She took a breath and felt her flame stir, tentative, wary. It rose like an animal lifting its head from sleep, ears pricked for danger.
“Again,” Apollo said, impatience creeping into his tone. “You hesitate.”
She lifted her hands. Heat gathered instantly, brighter than before, faster. Red-gold fire licked over her palms, coiling around her fingers like living silk. It didn’t burn. It never did. But it pulsed with a dangerous eagerness, making her chest tighten. The light painted her knuckles in molten colour, turning her hands into something that looked holy and unholy at once.
Apollo watched intently.
Cael felt it from where he stood—the subtle imbalance, the way her flame leaned not toward explosion but toward connection. Toward him. He clenched his fists at his sides.
“Control it,” Apollo said.
Adelaide focused, breathing the way Cael had taught her. Slow. Measured. She imagined the flame as something she could hold rather than something that held her. She pictured a lantern instead of a wildfire. A prayer instead of a scream.
The fire obeyed… partially. It drew inward, tightening around her palms—then crept up her wrists, curling higher with a will of its own. A faint shimmer of gold threaded through the red, subtle enough that Apollo might miss it. Might.
His eyes narrowed. “Stop,” he commanded.
Adelaide forced herself to comply, clenching her hands until the fire snapped back into her skin. Her breath came out in a shaky rush. The recoil left a ghost-itch along her veins, like the flame wanted to crawl back out and finish what it started.
Apollo approached her, gaze flicking from her hands to her face. “That,” he said quietly, “was not instability.”
Adelaide’s pulse hammered. “It felt like it.”
“No,” Apollo replied. “It felt like something pulling you.” He pressed his finger to her chest. “From here.” His touch was light, but it landed like a brand.
Apollo turned sharply toward Cael. “Ground her.”
Cael’s head lifted, eyes flashing. “Without contact?”
Apollo’s smile was thin. “Unless you wish to test my patience.”
Cael stepped closer—but not too close. He raised one hand, shadows peeling away in restrained tendrils, reaching toward Adelaide without touching. The darkness brushed the edges of her flame, cooling it, steadying it. Like night draped over coals to keep them from flaring, not to kill them.
Adelaide felt the difference immediately. Her shoulders sagged with relief she hadn’t expected. The fire retreated, obedient now, responsive to the quiet pressure of Cael’s presence. Her breath finally found her lungs again, as if his shadow gave her room to exist.
Apollo watched the exchange with unnerving intensity.
“So,” he said slowly, “she stabilises under your influence.”
Cael kept his voice neutral. “Yes.”
“And yet,” Apollo continued, “you thought it wise to remove her from my oversight.”
Cael didn’t answer.
Apollo’s gaze dropped again to Adelaide’s neck. The faint glow of the mark pulsed once, then dimmed.
His jaw tightened. “Again,” Apollo said. “This time, push.”
Adelaide hesitated. “Apollo—”
“Push,” he snapped.
She obeyed. The flame surged outward, stronger than before, racing up her arms, curling around her shoulders like a living mantle. The heat intensified, the pit’s sigils flaring weakly in response.
Cael felt it spike—too fast, too sharp. “Adelaide,” he said quietly. “Breathe.”
She tried. Gods, she tried. But Apollo’s presence pressed down on her flame, aggravating it, forcing it higher, brighter. The fire strained against her control, searching for something—someone—to answer. Her teeth clenched. Her throat burned. She could feel the flame listening for Cael even while Apollo stood in front of her like a wall.
A flicker of gold flashed through the red.
Apollo’s eyes went hard. “Enough,” he said, stepping forward.
He raised a hand, infernal power coiling tight, ready to crush the surge by force—And Adelaide’s flame recoiled. Not from him. From the pressure. The fire collapsed inward violently, snapping back into her chest with a jolt that knocked the breath from her lungs. She staggered, knees buckling. For a split second, she saw white-gold behind her eyes.
Cael moved instinctively. He caught her leather-covered arm before she hit the stone. The contact was brief. Necessary. Electric. His grip was steady, but his breath broke once, like the act cost him something he couldn’t afford.
Apollo’s power slammed down an instant later, the pit shuddering as his magic struck empty air where her flame had been a heartbeat before.
Silence crashed down. Cael realised what he’d done. His hand was on her arm. Apollo stared at it. The world narrowed to that single point of contact.
Cael released her immediately, stepping back, bowing his head. Adelaide swayed, barely steadying herself on her feet.
Apollo’s gaze burned. “Do you enjoy touching what is not yours?” he asked softly.
Adelaide’s stomach twisted. “He was helping me.”
“Yes,” Apollo said, voice low. “He was.”
He turned away abruptly, wings flaring once in irritation before settling again. He paced the pit, agitation bleeding through his controlled movements now. Each step left the faintest shimmer in the air, as though his temper scorched the world without ever fully igniting.
“You will not leave the training grounds again without my permission,” Apollo said. “Either of you.”
His gaze snapped back to Cael. “You will not touch her unless ordered.”
Then to Adelaide. “And you will not seek him when your flame stirs.” The words punched straight through her ribs, not because they were cruel, but because they were accurate.
Adelaide opened her mouth to argue—then stopped. She nodded instead, jaw tight. Defiance tasted like ash today, and she already had enough of it on her tongue.
Apollo exhaled slowly, restraining something vast and volatile.
“You will continue training,” he said. “Together. Under my rules.”
He stopped in front of them both, eyes sharp, dangerous. “And if you test them again…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. Apollo turned and strode from the pit, wings brushing the air, the mountain seeming to part for him as he left.
Only when his presence finally receded did Adelaide realise she was shaking.
Cael didn’t look at her. He couldn’t trust himself to.
The pit was quiet again—but it was the kind of quiet that came after a warning, not forgiveness.
And somewhere deep beneath Adelaide’s ribs, something ancient shifted, displeased at being restrained.
Apollo’s presence lingered long after he was gone. It clung to the training pits like heat trapped under glass, pressing down on Adelaide’s skin until every breath felt too loud. The sigils dimmed slowly, reluctantly, as though afraid to relax too much. Even the chains overhead seemed to hold themselves still, metal whispering faintly as it cooled.
Adelaide stood where Apollo had left her, hands clenched at her sides, pulse still racing hard enough to make her dizzy. Her flame had withdrawn, but it hadn’t gone quiet. It simmered under her ribs, tight and agitated, reacting not just to fear but to something sharper. Defiance. It scratched at her insides, impatient with the word permission, as if her blood refused to accept it as law.
Across from her, Cael remained motionless. His head was bowed, posture rigid, shadows locked flat against his skin in perfect obedience. Too perfect. Adelaide could see the strain in it now, the way his shoulders trembled ever so slightly, like a structure holding under too much weight. Like a statue forced to pretend it wasn’t cracking.
“Cael,” she whispered.
He flinched. The reaction startled her. He straightened abruptly, forcing his breathing into an even rhythm before lifting his head. His expression was carefully blank, but his eyes were dark and stormy, refusing to meet hers. As if looking at her might make him reach, and reaching might make Hell collapse.
“We shouldn’t speak here,” he said quietly.
The words landed like a rebuke, though his tone wasn’t harsh. Just… afraid.