Chapter 245 TEIGEN LXXV
Ryker turned, scanning the crowd. Merchants shouted, children ran past. Nothing seemed out of place.
Then he saw him. A figure stood apart from the rest, cloaked in black despite the heat. The hood hid his face, but his eyes showed. Dark, deep, and fixed on Ryker.
Ryker went still. The man moved, slipping through the crowd with ease. People stepped aside without noticing why. In moments, he stood beside Ryker.
“You waste your time with bread,” the man said quietly.
Ryker stiffened. “What do you want?”
The man studied him. “Work. Something better than this.”
“Why me?”
The man’s eyes gleamed faintly. “Because you were not made for this life.”
The baker’s wife huffed. “If you’re not buying, move along. I’ve no patience for whispering strangers.”
The man ignored her. He held out a gloved hand slightly. “Come. Let us talk.”
Ryker hesitated. Every instinct warned him away. But something inside him stirred. Something restless and angry. He set the bread down and followed. They walked through narrow streets until they reached a worn-down tavern near the edge of town. The sign above it creaked in the wind, its writing faded.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and ale. Men spoke in low voices, trying to forget their troubles.
The stranger led him to a dark corner and sat.
A serving girl brought ale without being asked. She did not look at the man.
“Sit,” he said.
Ryker sat across from him, tense. “Speak.”
The man poured two cups. Ryker did not touch his. “Tell me about her,” the man said.
Ryker frowned. “About who?”
“Elara Cortez.”
The name hit like a blow. Ryker’s hands tightened. “Why would I tell you anything?”
The man leaned forward slightly. “I heard about the fire. The manor. The power that shook the earth. A girl with light in her eyes.”
Ryker’s chest tightened. “That is none of your concern.”
The man did not look away. “Power like that does not stand alone. It leaves echoes. I can feel yours.”
Ryker went rigid. The man’s lips curved slightly. “Yes. You feel it too. The heat in your blood. The fire when your anger rises.”
“Stay out of my head,” Ryker snapped.
“I do not need to look inside,” the man said calmly. “It is written all over you.” His gaze dropped to Ryker’s wrists. “Chains. Wolfsbane. They tried to bind you.”
Ryker stood abruptly. “I’m done here.” He turned to leave.
“Your grief blinds you,” the man said. “But you are not finished, Ignis.”
Ryker stopped. Slowly, he turned back. “…What did you call me?”
The man rose to his feet. His cloak fell back, revealing dark armor beneath. Shadows seemed to cling to him.
“I am Darius,” he said. “King of this realm.” The tavern fell silent.
Men froze. The serving girl dropped what she was holding and rushed away. Ryker stared. “…The king.”
“Yes.”
Darius stepped closer. “And you, Ryker, are more than what you pretend to be. You are fire. You survived what should have killed you.”
Ryker swallowed. “Why me?”
Darius’s expression did not soften.
“Because Elara was only the beginning. The power she held was not hers alone. It is part of something far older.”
He stepped closer still, his shadow falling over Ryker. “And you are part of it.”
Ryker’s hands trembled. “Don’t call me that.”
Darius’s voice lowered. “It is your name. Whether you accept it or not. The fire answers you. You feel it. You cannot hide from it forever.”
Ryker’s jaw tightened. Memories rose without warning. Flames crawling over iron. Chains breaking under heat. Elara’s scream cutting through the night. The manor burning as if the world itself had turned against it.
And his own fire, wild in his hands, useless in the end.
His chest rose and fell heavily. He wanted to run. He wanted to strike. He wanted to tear the world apart.
But Darius did not move. His gaze held him in place, steady and unshaken.
At last, the king spoke. “Will you come with me, Ignis?”
~
THE PRESENT
Warm sunlight poured through the tall arched windows of Lady Audrey’s chambers. It spread across the silk curtains and glowed softly on the marble floor. The air carried the scent of rosewater and lavender, light and soothing.
Audrey sat by the window with a basket of thread and linen in her lap. Her posture was straight, as always, though her hands were wrapped in thin bandages. She held her embroidery carefully, but her fingers trembled with the effort.
Greer laughed first, bright and carefree. “My lady, if you keep stabbing that cloth so fiercely, you will bleed before the wedding even comes.”
The others laughed with her.
Orchid tilted her head, smiling. “Truly, my lady. You look as though you are fighting that poor fabric.”
Audrey let out a quiet sigh, though a faint smile touched her lips. “I would rather face a blade,” she said. “At least a sword might listen.”
Astrid gave a short laugh, which earned her a look from Faye.
Faye was gentle, but firm when needed.
“My lady, perhaps you should rest,” Faye said kindly. “The physicians did warn you—”
“I know what they said,” Audrey cut in, sharper than she meant to be. She paused, then softened her voice. “But I cannot sit still. My thoughts wander too easily.”
Ruby, the other governess, exchanged a quiet look with Faye. They both understood what Audrey meant.
Greer leaned forward with a dreamy sigh. “If I were promised to the King, I would let my thoughts wander all day. Especially if he sent gifts every morning.”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “You would not last a day under that much attention.”
“Nor a single kiss,” Orchid added with a grin.
They laughed again. Even Audrey joined them, though her laughter was softer.
Her gaze drifted toward the gardens outside. Somewhere out there, the King might be walking, unaware that she still remembered the fire. How quickly warmth had turned to pain.
“He has not sent for me in two weeks,” Audrey said quietly. She tried to guide the needle again, though her hands faltered. “Perhaps he has grown tired of trying.”
“Never,” Orchid said at once. “A man in love does not tire. He only finds new ways to win you back.”
Greer nodded eagerly. “And what better way than with a crown?”
Ruby gave a small laugh. “Or with jewels, as he has done before.”
Faye sighed. “Or perhaps a simple apology would do.”