Chapter 70 Elena Heart- POV
The heavy oak doors of the Merchant’s Guild groaned shut behind me, the magical hum of the communication scroll still vibrating in the air like a fading song.
I felt a momentary sense of peace, knowing my warning was racing toward the village, but the feeling was short-lived.
I had barely taken three steps into the narrow, sun-dappled alleyway when the world suddenly lurched.
A massive, solid weight slammed into me with the force of a falling mountain. My breath was punched out of my lungs in a sharp gasp. My boots skidded on the uneven cobblestones, and the gravity of the impact sent me reeling backward.
I felt myself falling, my hands reaching out instinctively to catch the dirt, but before I could hit the ground, a pair of iron-strong hands clamped onto my shoulders.
I looked up, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, ready to reach for the hidden dagger at my thigh.
But then I saw them.
Peering out from beneath the deep shadows of a travel-worn hood were those piercing, impossible blue eyes. Even with the dark leather mask obscuring the lower half of his face, I recognized the arrogant, knowing tilt of his head.
That same smirk—the one that had haunted my dreams and my nightmares alike—was visible in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.
The air around him smelled of cold wind and expensive sandalwood, a scent that acted like a key to a locked door in my mind. My knees went weak, not from the collision, but from the sheer, overwhelming reality of him.
"Watch your step, little bird," his voice rumbled, low and vibrating with a familiar, dangerous playfulness. "The cobblestones in this part of the city are notoriously unforgiving to those who walk with their heads in the clouds."
I stared at him, my lips parted, my soul screaming his name while my mind reminded me that to him, I was still just a girl from a banquet.
The man who had died in my arms was standing right here, solid and breathing, his pulse thumping beneath the leather of his gloves where they held my arms.
"Dark?" I managed to whisper, my voice sounding like it was coming from a great distance.
He didn't let go immediately. Instead, he pulled me upright, steadying me with a lingering firmness that sent a jolt of heat through my body.
He looked at me, truly looked at me, and for a split second, the playfulness in his eyes vanished, replaced by that same sharp, searching intensity I had seen on the balcony.
The King was hiding, but the man was right there, staring at the assassin who was failing miserably to hide how much she had missed him.
The impact of his body against mine felt less like a collision and more like the world snapping back into place. For a moment, I saw stars, my breath caught in the back of my throat as I steadied myself against the rough stone wall of the alley.
When I looked up again, those piercing blue eyes were staring back at me from beneath a deep hood.
"Dark? Is that you?" I breathed, my voice a mix of shock and a relief so sharp it hurt.
He stood there, his presence radiating a quiet authority even in the shadows.
"Elena? Why are you here in this alley?" He stepped closer, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. "Do you know how dangerous it is, even this early in the morning? A girl like you shouldn't be wandering near the Merchant’s Guild alone."
"I know," I said, straightening my cloak and meeting his gaze with a seriousness that seemed to catch him off guard.
"I was sending a message to my parents. I told them to stay in the village. I told them a storm is coming to the capital, and they shouldn't be here to see it."
The word 'storm' hung in the air between us, heavy and prophetic. Xavier’s smirk returned, though it was softer now, curious. "A storm? The sky looks clear to me, Elena. Are you a weather-witch now, as well as a storyteller?"
"Something like that," I murmured, my heart aching at the playfulness in his voice. I couldn't tell him that I had seen the clouds turn red with the blood of his people.
"And what about you?" I asked, shifting the focus. "What is a King’s Guard doing in a place like this?"
"Errands," he said simply, though the glint in his eyes suggested something far more clandestine. "A spy’s work is never done, even for the King."
He looked around the alleyway, then back at me. To my utter shock, he reached up and pulled back his hood. He began to peel away the dark leather mask, revealing the face I had mourned in the North.
But he wasn't finished. From a hidden pocket, he pulled out a pair of spectacles and a small, cleverly crafted adhesive mustache.
With a few deft movements, the King of Drakmor vanished, replaced by a scholarly, somewhat harried-looking gentleman. He looked like a man who spent his days buried in ledgers, not a warrior who carried the fate of a kingdom.
"Better?" he asked, offering me his hand. "I find the mustache distracts the eye from the crown. Now, I have a few hours before I’m missed at the palace. Would you care for a tea? A cafe, perhaps? Or a quiet corner of a library?"
I looked at his hand, then at his disguised face. My chest tightened. I wanted to tell him that no amount of fake hair could hide the man I loved, but I just nodded. "A cafe. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere... boring."
He led me three blocks away, weaving through backstreets I hadn't even known existed. We arrived at a small, unassuming shop with a faded sign and a door that creaked on its hinges. Inside, it was dimly lit and smelled of roasted beans and old wood. There wasn't a single noble in sight—just a few elderly locals reading broadsheets.
It was perfect.
A few minutes later, I was sitting across from him at a scarred wooden table. The steam from my tea rose between us, and a plate of simple butter cookies sat untouched. I watched him over the rim of my cup, memorizing the way the light caught the edge of his glasses.
"You look different without the mask," I said softly, my voice barely a whisper. "More... real."