Chapter 49

Chapter 49
Alina’s eyebrows rise the instant she sees Tiberius bow. Her eyes narrow, not with fear, but curiosity, and slowly she turns to look at Valen. The way he commands the room, the way Tiberius defers to him without question… there’s authority in his voice, something natural and heavy.

They claim to be from House Aetherholt, but something tells Alina there is much more to the story.

But she doesn’t ask. Not now. There are more pressing things clawing at her mind.

Tiberius lifts his hands in mock surrender as he backs away, but his expression has shifted. He no longer smirks or toys with her. His stare is steady now, and quiet.

“My apologies, my Lady,” he says. This time, the words sound genuine.

Alina sighs, not from exhaustion but from restraint. She steps away from him and returns her attention to Valen. He hasn’t moved. His eyes remain fixed on her, unreadable, watchful.

The weight of everything she’s been holding back starts to press against her ribs.

The castle.

Her family.

Her world.

She straightens her spine, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I need to go back,” she says. Her voice is strong again, laced with urgency. “Now.”

Valen doesn’t react immediately. His jaw tightens. His silence is more telling than any refusal.

“You don’t understand,” Alina pushes, stepping toward him. “I have to—”

“Alina.”

He says her name—not loud, not forceful. But it stops her cold. The way he says it pulls all the air from the room.

There’s a pause.

Then, finally, he speaks.

“Castle Xalveria has fallen,” Valen says, softer now. “The Vorathiels have taken full control.”

The words are blunt. Measured.

Alina’s breath catches in her chest.

The floor feels like it’s moving beneath her, and her legs no longer trust themselves to hold her up. She turns away from him, walking stiffly back to the bed and sinking down as though her bones are too heavy to carry.

Her hands clutch the blanket in her lap. Hard.

He has to be wrong. He has to be. There’s no way the castle—her home—has fallen. She would feel it. Wouldn’t she?

But Valen doesn’t speak again. He doesn’t try to comfort her. He just stands there, watching.

And she knows.

She closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Valen says at last, quieter than before. “For what happened to you.”

It’s a small phrase. Meaningless on its own. But right now, it’s all anyone can say.

Alina’s jaw clenches. She opens her mouth. Her voice shakes.

“Magnus Vorathiel killed my parents.”

The words land in the room like thunder. Saying them aloud makes it worse—more real. Each syllable feels like tearing off skin.

“He took everything from me,” she adds, quieter now.

Valen doesn’t interrupt.

She grips the blanket tighter until her knuckles turn white. Her entire body is shaking, but she doesn’t care.

“He’ll pay for what he’s done,” she breathes, voice raw with rage. “I swear it.”

A silence settles between them.

And then the wave crashes.

She doesn’t see it coming, but it hits all at once. The rage, the grief, the weight of her failure. A sob bursts from her throat—sharp, ugly, uninvited. Her shoulders heave. Her body folds in on itself. She clamps a hand over her mouth, trying to silence it, but it’s no use.

She cries.

The girl who walked into battle. The girl who survived the fire.

She cries like the child she no longer has time to be.

Valen doesn’t come closer. He doesn’t reach for her. He simply stays where he is, a quiet presence in the room. He gives her space, but not absence. And somehow, that’s what she needs most.

Eventually, the sobs subside. She wipes at her face with trembling hands, ashamed of her vulnerability.

When she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse. “I don’t even know how many survived…”

Valen steps forward a little, but keeps a respectful distance. “You’ll get justice,” he says firmly. “For your family. For your people.”

The way he says it—it carries weight. Not sympathy. Understanding. There’s something in his voice. Something she doesn’t recognize. Experience, maybe.

Pain.

She looks up at him. There’s a sharpness behind his eyes now. A subtle agitation, like he’s fighting something inside himself.

Alina clears her throat and forces herself to sit straighter. “I need to stop Magnus before he does this to anyone else. I don’t think he’s going to stop at my family.”

Valen nods slowly. “What do you think he’s planning?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admits. “But I doubt this ends with Castle Xalveria.”

Valen folds his arms and leans against the wooden beam near the hearth. “Do you have any allies left?”

She hesitates. “Some,” she says at last. “Or… I hope so. The people who served my house—they’d have fled, or gone into hiding. If they’re alive.”

She lifts her chin, resolve tightening her voice. “I need to reach them. Rally whoever’s left. If we have any hope of stopping Magnus, we’ll need support.”

Valen nods, though his expression darkens. “That’s a dangerous path.”

She scoffs under her breath. “My entire life is dangerous now.”

His lips twitch slightly, but his eyes remain serious. “Fair enough.”

Alina leans forward, her hands still curled in the fabric on her knees. “I also need to reach the royal family. They need to know what Magnus is doing before he makes a move against them.”

Valen exhales through his nose. “Sending word to the palace won’t be easy. Vorathiel soldiers are likely everywhere by now.”

“I don’t care,” she snaps. “I’ll go myself if I have to.”

Valen watches her carefully. She wonders what he sees.

A broken girl?

A desperate heir to a fallen name?

Or something else entirely?

Eventually, he straightens and gives her a small nod. “Then we should move soon. Before anyone else finds this place.”

Relief pulses through her, but it does nothing to soothe the fear nesting beneath her ribs.

She has no map. No army. No certainty.

But she has purpose.

Magnus took everything from her.

And she will take everything from him.

She doesn’t care how long it takes.

Or how much it costs.

Magnus Vorathiel will fall.

And she’ll be the one to tear him down.