CHAPTER 72: FIRE QUEEN

A guard rounded the corner, his face draining of color as he took in the sight: Caelen’s face buried in the curve of my neck, mouth working a fresh mark into my flesh; his body caging mine against the wall, one hand pinning both my wrists above my head in a vise of callused fingers, the other braced under my thighs to keep my legs locked around his waist.

Our eyes met across the space, mine wide with shock, his bulging in stunned horror. He nearly squeaked, a strangled sound caught in his throat.

Caelen stilled, his lips lingering on my skin for a heartbeat longer before he lifted his head, though he didn’t turn. ’What do you want?’ he growled, voice thick with interrupted hunger.

The guard swallowed hard, his voice quivering with fear.

"It’s Lady Ophelia. She collapsed."

The words hit like ice water.

Caelen’s entire body went rigid against mine, every muscle locking in place. For a heartbeat, nothing moved, not his hands pinning me to the wall, not his breath against my neck, not even the frantic pulse I could feel hammering beneath his skin.

Then, like a spell breaking, his grip softened.

The iron bands around my wrists loosened. The hand bracing my thigh against his waist slackened. And just like that, I was being released, carefully, almost absently as though I were something he’d been holding without realizing it.

My feet touched the ground, unsteady, and I had to brace myself against the wall to keep from stumbling.

He turned toward the guard, his face draining of color so quickly it looked like someone had physically drained the blood from his veins.

"What happened to her?" His voice was sharp, urgent, stripped of everything except raw panic.

The guard swallowed hard, eyes darting between us like he wasn’t sure which of us was more dangerous.

"We’re not sure, Your Majesty. But she’s been carried to her chambers. By Emperor Soren."

Soren.

Of course.

Caelen’s expression twisted, fear, guilt, something desperate and aching that I couldn’t name even if I tried.

He looked back at me then, just for a moment, his gaze flickering over my face like he was trying to memorize it or maybe trying to convince himself I was real.

There was hesitation there. Guilt.

But not enough to make him stay.

"Contact the royal physician immediately," he barked at the guard, then his eyes found mine again.

He let go of me completely then, hands falling away, body pulling back, leaving me cold and exposed against the stone wall.

I watched him turn to leave.

"We’ll continue where we left off in our talk."

The words landed hollow, empty promises wrapped in false conviction.

And something inside me snapped.

A sound escaped me before I could stop it, a scoff, sharp and bitter, dripping with every ounce of disbelief and fury I’d been choking down.

"Talk?"

He froze mid-step.

Didn’t turn back. Just stood there, shoulders tense, caught between two women like he’d always been, like he always would be.

"I should have known."

The words slipped out quietly, more to myself than to him. But he heard them. Of course he did.

He glanced back over his shoulder, guilt etched into every line of his face. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something... justify, explain, lie,

but nothing came out.

He looked away instead, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

"I’ll be back," he said, voice rough and strained.

Then he was gone.

Rushing down the corridor without another word, his footsteps echoing off the walls until they faded into nothing, swallowed by distance and the weight of choices he’d already made.

Leaving me there.

Alone.

Again.

I stood there for a long moment, trying to process what had just happened.

My hands trembled as I pushed away from the wall, my legs unsteady beneath me like I’d forgotten how to walk. I stumbled slightly, catching myself against the stone, and forced my body to move, one step, then another, toward my chambers.

My mind was a riot of sensation and thought, spinning too fast to catch hold of anything solid.

I could still feel him everywhere.

The ghost of his mouth on my neck. The bruising pressure of his hands pinning me in place. The hard, insistent press of his body against mine, the heat of him soaking through fabric and skin.

It was too much. Too visceral. Too real.

And yet, amidst all the chaos swirling through my head, one truth crystallized with brutal, undeniable clarity:

Caelen would always choose Ophelia.

No matter how desperate he seemed. No matter how he kissed me like he was drowning and I was air. No matter how much he claimed to be tormented, how tightly he held me, how his body had responded to mine with a need that felt almost violent in its intensity.

When it mattered, when she called, he would always run to her.

Not me.

Never me.

The realization settled over me like a shroud, cold and suffocating, wrapping around my chest until I could barely breathe.

And beneath it, rising like a tide I couldn’t hold back, came the anger.

Something I hadn’t felt since I came back to this world.

Raw. Burning. Devastating.

The kind of anger that surged through me in the past.

It roared through me like wildfire, the kind that could not stop consuming everything in its path. The torches lining the corridor exploded.

The window glasses shattered. Flames burst outward in violent arcs, licking up the walls, casting wild, flickering shadows that danced like demons. The marble beneath my feet cracked, a sharp, splintering sound that echoed through the empty hall, spiderwebbing outward from where I stood.

I didn’t stop it.

Couldn’t stop it.

Because this anger? This fury that threatened to tear me apart from the inside out?

It was a reminder.

A reminder of exactly who I was.

The Fire Queen.

And I had just been reminded, painfully, humiliatingly, devastatingly, why I burned everything I touched.

Because love had never been mine to keep.

Only destruction.

Only ash.