Chapter Thirty Four.

Chapter Thirty Four.
Taliya sat submerged in the warm bathwater, steam curling around her shoulders as her thoughts spiraled back to her conversation with Kaidon.

The more she tried to quiet her mind, the louder it pulsed with everything he had revealed.

"Ugh, my head hurts," she muttered, running her fingers through her damp hair.

With a sigh, she rose from the water, droplets cascading down her skin. She reached for a robe and wrapped it tightly around herself, the soft fabric clinging to her damp frame.

She padded quietly down the dim corridor, heading toward Kaidon's chamber, half-expecting it to be empty.

After their intense conversation, he had walked her back to her room and disappeared without a word. But the moment she pushed the door open, her breath caught.

Kaidon was there.

He stood by the open balcony doors, bathed in moonlight.

The pale silver glow highlighted every chiseled line of his muscular frame.

His black pants hung low on his hips, and the red glow of his lava-like veins pulsed faintly along his chest and arms. He looked otherworldly—fierce, powerful, and impossibly beautiful.

Taliya froze.

How.. how did I not notice how breathtaking he is? Her heart pounded erratically as she swallowed and quickly shut the door behind her.

"K-Kaidon? You’re here?" she asked, trying to sound casual, though her voice gave her away.

He turned his head, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “This is my chamber.” he said, voice teasing, his arms crossing lazily over his broad chest as he leaned against the balcony doorframe.

“Oh—right! Haha… yeah,” she laughed nervously, wishing the floor would just swallow her.

“You’re cute,” Kaidon said, his tone lowering as he stepped toward her. “Especially when you’re nervous.”

Taliya’s breath hitched. He was so close now. His intense gaze flicked over her flushed face, then slowly dipped lower.

She followed his eyes and cursed internally—her robe had loosened slightly, revealing a glimpse of her cleavage. Her skin prickled under his stare.

Kaidon’s jaw tightened. “Go change into your nightwear.” he said, his voice husky. His fingers lifted gently, grazing her skin where the robe parted. “You need rest after a long day…”

Then, barely a whisper, close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath, “Go… before I can’t hold back… and claim what’s already mine.”

Taliya’s eyes widened, a shiver shooting down her spine. She didn’t respond. She bolted, brushing past him with her heart pounding, and escaped through the dressing room door.

Kaidon watched her flee, a low chuckle escaping his lips.

“Adorable.” he muttered, though a frustrated groan quickly followed. His hand dropped to the tightening bulge in his pants.

“She’s torturing me,” he growled, dragging his hand down his face. His eyes glowed a smoldering red. “So damn badly.”

Inside the dressing room, Taliya slammed the door behind her, pressing her back to the wood. She covered her burning face with both hands.

“What the hell just happened?” she whispered, breathless.

♠︎♠︎♠︎

Alaric strode down the dim corridor, his boots echoing against the stone floor. He reached a tall, ornate door and pushed it open, stepping into the King’s private study.

Scrolls, ancient tomes, and scattered parchments covered the large obsidian desk. The King sat behind it, his sharp gaze fixed on a document while his assistant stood silently at his side, quill in hand.

“You summoned me, Father,” Alaric said, bowing respectfully.

The King lifted his gaze, his face hardening.

“Alaric,” he said sternly, “have you spoken to any of the council members recently?”

Alaric blinked. “No, Father,” he replied calmly, a practiced ease in his voice.

The King stood abruptly, as he walked toward the wide arched window. Moonlight spilled in, casting a silvery glow across his regal frame.

“The Temple of Brimhaven has fallen,” he said quietly, eyes locked on the moon outside.

Alaric stiffened. A flicker of pleasing passed through his eyes, but he masked it quickly.

“Did you have anything to do with it?” the King asked, turning slowly to face him.

Alaric’s jaw clenched, a wave of fury flashing through his chest—but his expression remained unreadable. “No, Father.” he lied smoothly.

The King’s eyes narrowed. “You know I despise lies, Alaric. News travels faster than shadows. The temple wasn’t just attacked—it was annihilated by a surge of powerful magic. The sorcerers who survived claimed they sensed your magic.”

Alaric’s nostrils flared. “Kaidon broke the rules first,” he spat, hatred curling in his voice.

The King studied him for a long moment, then let out a deep sigh. “I’ve warned you—Kaidon is not someone we can crush with rage alone.”

He approached Alaric slowly, like a predator sizing up its own blood.

“Your impulsiveness has forced my hand. Now I must answer to the High Circle. The other regions are demanding answers.”

Alaric’s hands curled into tight fists at his sides, knuckles whitening, but he said nothing.

The King turned away. “Be grateful Kaidon doesn’t yet know you’re responsible. Another has taken the fall—for now.”

Silence. Then—

“I know how to destroy him,” Alaric said quietly, his voice razor-sharp.

The King turned his head just enough to meet his son’s eyes, and in them was a flicker of warning. “Leave, Alaric. I’m already working to clean your mess. Don’t give me a reason to clean your blood.”

Alaric’s gaze darkened, but he obeyed. As he turned toward the door, the glass vases and crystal goblets in the room shattered with a deafening crack, bursting under the pressure of his contained rage.

He walked out without a word.

Behind him, the King sighed heavily, rubbing his temples as he stared at the destroyed room.

“He still hasn’t learned,” he muttered.