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Aetherbound Hearts
The Autumnal Equinox

The Autumnal Equinox

The silver cast morning light sliced through the oversized windows of the Beaufort estate, cold and uninviting. Theo lay sprawled in his childhood bed, his arm draped over his eyes, trying to block out the inevitability of waking up. The damn clock on the mantel had been chiming every half hour since dawn, a relentless reminder of the discipline his mother worshiped. It was as if the entire house had been built to annoy him, perfectly polished, eerily quiet, and so utterly joyless it practically reeked of superiority.

He groaned, tossing aside the forest green duvet embroidered with the family crest. “Home sweet hell,” he muttered, dragging himself upright. The marble floors were as frigid as ever under his feet, a chilling motivator to get moving. With all the enthusiasm of a condemned man, Theo threw on a loose white shirt and dark trousers, leaving his tie hanging undone because, frankly, Elaria’s wrath over his “sloppiness” would at least make breakfast interesting.

The corridor leading to the dining hall stretched like an endless maze, the silver filigree tracing the walls catching the light in an almost taunting manner. Everything here screamed wealth and power, but not a trace of warmth. Even the drapes, that deep emerald hue his mother adored, seemed to loom like sentinels. Theo passed a massive mirror and caught his reflection: hair still rebelliously tousled, green eyes sharp but weary. “You look like a hungover prince,” he thought bitterly, resisting the urge to smirk.

By the time he reached the dining room, the heavy double doors were already open, as if inviting him into the lion’s den. His mother sat at the head of the long mahogany table, a portrait of poised perfection. Elaria Beaufort didn’t just exude authority, she was authority. Draped in a sleek, dark green gown, her raven hair was pulled back so tightly it could’ve doubled as a weapon. Her icy gaze locked on him the moment he entered.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice a scalpel cutting through the quiet. No greeting, no smile, just those two words dripping with judgment.

Theo slid into a chair near the middle of the table, pointedly avoiding the head opposite her. “Morning, Mother. Always a pleasure.” He reached for the carafe of coffee, pouring himself a generous amount. If he was going to endure this conversation, he needed caffeine, and possibly divine intervention.

Elaria’s lips thinned. “Your sarcasm isn’t as charming as you think.”

“Well, it’s all I’ve got,” Theo quipped, taking a long sip of coffee. He swore he caught a flicker of annoyance in her eyes, and it gave him a small, petty thrill. He glanced at the pristine plate set before him, the eggs arranged with military precision. Leave it to his mother to turn breakfast into a still life.

They ate in near silence, the clinking of silverware almost deafening in the cavernous room. Theo tried not to squirm under her calculating gaze, but it was like being dissected by a particularly judgmental hawk. He knew she was waiting for the right moment, savoring the power she held over him.

Finally, she set down her fork with an elegance that made him want to roll his eyes. “As I said in the letter I sent to you at Aethermoor, there is something you need to know.”

And there it was. That ominous, loaded sentence. Theo leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his tone dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Oh, let me guess, did Grandfather bury another skeleton in the wine cellar? Or has the Syndicate voted me ‘Most Likely to Disappoint’ this year?”

Her expression didn’t waver, but the tension in the air thickened. She rested her hands on the table, fingers interlaced like she was about to deliver a verdict. “This is not a joke, Theo.”

He swallowed, the sharpness in her tone cutting through his bravado. Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be good. But as much as he wanted to press her, he also wasn’t sure he was ready to hear what she had to say. So he picked up his coffee cup again, hiding his unease behind another sip. “Whatever it is,” he thought, “I’m sure it’ll ruin my day Mother, so please do continue” he said while rolling his eyes.

Elaria took a measured sip of her tea before setting the delicate porcelain cup back on its saucer. The calm precision of her movements grated on Theo, especially when the next words came out of her mouth.

“Theo, it’s time you stepped into your responsibility as a Beaufort. You’re 18 now, and that means fulfilling your familial duty, beginning with securing a proper marriage.”

Theo choked on his juice, for a moment, he thought he’d misheard her. He stared, frozen, glass in hand. Slowly, he set it back onto the table. “I’m sorry, what?”

Elaria folded her hands neatly on the table, her expression unflinching. “A wife, Theo. You are to take one. I have already selected Charlotte Somerset. She is a perfect match, both in temperament and pedigree. Her family’s connections are invaluable to-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Theo leaned forward, his tone incredulous. “You’ve chosen? As in, you’ve made this decision without consulting me? Without even a goddamn warning?”

“There’s no need for dramatics,” Elaria replied coolly, her voice cutting like ice. “This arrangement is for the benefit of the family. Charlotte is an exceptional choice. Her aunt, Calliope Somerset, sits on the Water Council—”

“Oh, of course, this is about Calliope Somerset,” Theo interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “God forbid there be a council seat you don’t have someone in your back pocket for.” He pushed back his chair and stood, pacing as the anger boiled under his skin. “This isn’t about me. It’s never about me. It’s about your insatiable need for control.”

Elaria’s tone sharpened, her icy demeanor cracking ever so slightly. “This is about the future, Theo. About ensuring the Beaufort legacy remains unmatched. Your personal feelings are irrelevant when weighed against the needs of this family.”

Theo stopped pacing and turned to her, his jaw tight. “My personal feelings? Irrelevant?” His voice rose, incredulous. “You’re telling me to marry someone I don’t love, someone I don’t even like, because it suits your power grab, and my feelings don’t matter?”

“She is everything a Beaufort wife should be, refined, intelligent, and politically advantageous. You will learn to appreciate her,” Elaria replied, her tone firm and final.

Theo’s fist clenched at his side, and before he could think better of it, he grabbed the glass of orange juice on the table and hurled it against the far wall. The glass shattered, juice dripping down the pristine wallpaper. “I’m not a pawn, Mother!” he roared. “You don’t get to decide my life!”

Elaria didn’t flinch, though her lips pressed into a thin line. “Enough,” she said, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “This is not up for debate.”

Theo’s chest heaved as he glared at her, his hands trembling with fury. “You may think you control everything, but you don’t control me,” he growled. “I’ll never marry Charlotte. Not for you, not for this family, not for anything.”

Elaria’s gaze was cold and calculating, but behind it, Theo swore he saw something else, an icy resolve that warned him this wasn’t over. “You will,” she said softly, her voice low and dangerous. “You will do as I say, Theo. Whether you like it or not.”

Theo stormed out of the dining room, his anger like a roaring inferno that could not be contained. The marble floors echoed with the sound of his boots as he marched down the pristine corridors, his mother’s icy words still ringing in his ears. “Take a wife.” He let out a sharp, bitter laugh as he reached out to one of the side tables lining the hall and shoved a vase off it. The porcelain shattered against the floor, the crash reverberating in the suffocating silence of the estate.

“Fuck this house, fuck her plans, fuck everything!” he bellowed, his voice raw with rage. He grabbed a silver candelabra from another table and hurled it across the hall. It clanged against the opposite wall, leaving a dent in the flawless paint. Servants peeked nervously from behind doors, their wide eyes tracking his rampage, but none dared intervene.

Theo kicked over a chair, the wood splintering beneath the force. “A wife,” he spat, the word dripping with venom. “Charlotte fucking Somerset. Perfect, obedient, Charlotte. Of course she’d pick someone just like her.” He shoved another piece of decor off a table, glass shards scattering across the floor. “She doesn’t care what I want. She’s never cared.”

He reached his room and slammed the door shut behind him with enough force to rattle the hinges. His chest heaved as he leaned against it, fists clenched at his sides. The cold, oppressive energy of the Beaufort estate felt like it was closing in on him, suffocating him under the weight of expectation. If his mother wanted him to be a good little pawn, she was going to regret ever moving him into position.

With a flick of his hand, Theo conjured a bottle of Edenroot Gin. The green tinted glass appeared in his grasp, and he didn’t waste a second uncorking it. The sharp, herbal aroma hit him as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a long, burning swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the alcohol already spreading its warmth through his veins.

“If she thinks I'm such an embarrassment to the Beaufort name, I'll show her what that actually looks like,” he muttered, pacing his room with the bottle in hand. His reflection caught his eye in the mirror above his dresser wild hair, flushed cheeks, and blazing green eyes. “The Somersets can choke on their goddamn perfect daughter. Let’s see how eager they are to tie themselves to this.”

He took another deep gulp, nearly finishing the bottle. His thoughts blurred, rage mixing with drunken defiance. Theo collapsed onto the edge of his bed, his head spinning as he stared at the ornate chandelier overhead. Everything about this house, this life, felt like a gilded cage, and tonight, he was going to tear it apart.

By the time the clock struck nine, Theo was well past tipsy. He stood in front of his wardrobe, swaying slightly as he pulled out a dark green suit his mother had undoubtedly picked for him. It was crisp and tailored to perfection, a symbol of the family’s wealth and status. He hated it.

He shrugged it on anyway, leaving the top buttons of his shirt undone and the tie hanging loosely around his neck. His hair was a mess, but he didn’t bother fixing it. The smug smirk on his face as he looked in the mirror was enough to make him laugh. “Perfect,” he slurred, tipping the empty gin bottle in mock salute to his reflection.

Theo staggered out of his room, the walls seeming to shift as he made his way toward the festival. His head buzzed with the alcohol and the thrill of rebellion. Tonight, he wasn’t just going to embarrass the Beaufort name, he was going to set it on fire.

Amara stepped out of the Ashford family carriage, her white ceremonial dress billowing softly in the cool evening breeze. The fabric shimmered faintly under the glow of the festival lanterns, the intricate silver embroidery catching the light as if woven from moonbeams. Her raven hair cascaded down her back, the gentle waves brushing against her hips, an almost ethereal contrast to the dark energy buzzing under her skin. She adjusted the strap of her bag, trying not to dwell on what she had tucked inside. The thought of what she had uncovered earlier sent a shiver through her, one she quickly masked with a practiced smile as her parents and sister emerged behind her.

The festival grounds were breathtaking, as they always were. The lake stretched out before her, calm and glistening like liquid glass, while the jagged cliffs loomed in the distance, casting long shadows over the greenery. Tents in every imaginable color spread across the level ground, the air thick with the mingling scents of food, potions, and magic. Amara’s sharp eyes scanned the bustling crowd of Mages, some familiar, some unknown, as children darted through the legs of adults, their laughter and small bursts of elemental magic creating pockets of chaos among the order.

Her family exchanged pleasantries with another noble Mage family, but Amara barely listened. Her thoughts were tethered to the spell book hidden in her bag, its old leather cover humming faintly with forbidden promise. She couldn’t decide if the sensation was real or imagined, but it was enough to make her palms sweat. The diary, too, was a heavy presence, filled with secrets she had only begun to uncover. She needed to get away. To think. To breathe.

“I’m going to grab some food,” Amara said quickly, cutting into the flow of her mother’s conversation. She flashed her family a small smile, already taking a step back. “I’ll meet you all near the pillars in a bit.”

Her mother raised a brow but didn’t argue, likely assuming Amara was simply avoiding the social politics she so detested. Her father gave a distracted nod, already engrossed in a discussion about council appointments. Grateful for their indifference, Amara slipped away, weaving through the crowd with purpose until she was certain no one was watching her.

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Her true destination lay beyond the festival grounds. She made her way toward the rocky shoreline of the lake, the noise and magic of the celebration fading behind her with every step. The jagged cliffs were sparsely populated, most attendees reluctant to stray too far from the festivities. Amara found a secluded spot nestled between two large boulders, the stones offering just enough shelter to shield her from prying eyes.

Settling onto the cool ground, she placed her bag beside her and pulled out the spell book. Its aged leather cover was rough under her fingertips, the faintly glowing sigils etched into it pulsing as though alive. Next, she retrieved the diary, its brittle pages whispering secrets she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to know. She glanced back toward the festival, her heart pounding in her chest. If anyone finds me here…

Pushing the thought away, she opened the spell book, the pages almost flipping themselves as if eager to reveal their contents. The ancient runes stared back at her, some familiar, others foreign. She traced a finger along one of the diagrams, a spell for summoning fire that looked far more volatile than anything she’d been taught. The edges of the pages seemed to vibrate with latent energy, and Amara’s breath hitched. This was power… raw, untamed, and dangerous.

The diary came next, her hands trembling slightly as she flipped through the latest entry she’d been deciphering. Her ancestor’s handwriting was hurried, urgent, the words spilling across the page in a desperate scrawl. Mentions of betrayal, of forbidden pacts, of elemental bonds being broken and reforged. Each revelation felt like a blow, unraveling everything she thought she knew about her family’s history.

The sound of distant laughter reached her ears, a sharp contrast to the ominous weight of the words before her. She glanced toward the festival again, torn between returning to the safety of the crowd and staying hidden in this place of secrets. But as her eyes fell back on the spell book and diary, she knew there was no going back, not yet. The answers she sought were here, and if the unease in her chest was any indication, they were answers that might change everything.

With a deep breath, Amara turned the page, the world around her fading into the background.

The jagged edges of the lake were quiet except for the soft rustle of the breeze over the water. Amara exhaled slowly, letting the chill of the night calm her nerves as she focused on the ancient spell book. Her fingers traced the faded runes, her thoughts caught between fascination and unease. She was only a few feet from the water, tucked away between rocky outcrops, the world of the festival distant now. She was sure no one would find her here, or so she thought.

The clinking of a bottle against rock made her pause. She stiffened, her sharp gaze snapping up from the pages. From the corner of her eye, she caught a swaying figure in the distance. At first, she couldn’t make out who it was, but as the moonlight illuminated the scene, her stomach sank. Theo Beaufort. He was staggering along the rocks, clutching a half empty bottle of Edenroot Gin, his usually poised appearance now a disheveled mess.

Amara’s lips curled in annoyance. Of all the people in the world to interrupt me right now, it had to be him? She snapped the book shut and leaned back against the stone, crossing her arms. “Really, Beaufort?” she called out, her voice dripping with disdain. “Did you decide that ruining your liver was the best way to celebrate the equinox?”

Theo’s head jerked toward her voice, and he squinted as though trying to bring her into focus. “Ashford?” he slurred, stumbling forward. “Why am I not surprised you’d be skulking around here? Probably hiding from all the real people at the festival.”

Amara arched a brow, refusing to rise from her spot. “I prefer solitude to babysitting drunk idiots, but thank you for your concern.” She looked him over critically. His normally crisp appearance was completely undone, his shirt was untucked, his vest was wrinkled, and his tie hung loosely around his neck. “You look awful, by the way. Not that you ever set the standard for refined elegance, but this? This is a new low even for you.”

Theo scoffed, attempting to smooth his vest and failing miserably as he stumbled again. “That’s rich coming from you, Ashford. You’d probably set the rocks on fire just to feel superior for a second.” He took another swig of the gin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he continued his unsteady trek toward her.

Amara rolled her eyes, unwilling to let him see her concern despite how unsteady he looked. “If you fall and break something, don’t expect me to carry you back to your mother. I’m not in the business of rescuing reckless drunks.”

Theo stopped in his tracks, swaying slightly as he pointed the bottle at her. “You always have something to say, don’t you? Always so perfect, so above it all.” He smirked, though it lacked its usual sharpness. “What’s the matter, Ashford? Scared someone might see you with me and think you’ve stooped to my level?”

Amara uncrossed her arms and stood, brushing off her dress. “The only thing I’m scared of is you ruining the peace I came out here to find.” She gestured to the uneven terrain. “And if you don’t want to ruin that pretty little face of yours, I’d get off the rocks before you hurt yourself.”

Theo laughed, a harsh, drunken sound that echoed over the lake. “My pretty little face? Is that your way of saying you’ve been admiring me all these years?” He took another unsteady step forward, his grin widening as he added, “Come on, admit it, Ashford. You—”

His foot slipped. The world seemed to slow as Theo’s balance gave out completely, and he tumbled forward. The bottle of gin shattered against the rocks, and his body followed, colliding with a sickening crunch.

Amara’s breath caught in her throat as Theo hit the ground. “Theo!” she shouted, panic cutting through her irritation as she rushed to his side. The moment she reached him, her stomach turned.

Dark blood pooled beneath his head, staining the jagged stones and spreading rapidly. His left arm was bent at an unnatural angle, bone jutting out through the sleeve of his shirt. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, and his usually sharp green eyes were closed, his face slack and pale.

“Shit,” Amara muttered, dropping to her knees beside him. Her hands hovered over his wounds, trembling as she tried to process the scene. “Theo, Fuck! Come on, wake up. You can’t die here. Not like this. Not with me.”

Her mind raced through every healing spell she’d been taught, but the words wouldn’t come. It was as if the panic had wiped her memory clean. “Think, Amara. Think,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She pressed her hands against his head, trying to stem the bleeding, but it was too much. The blood seeped through her fingers, flowing down her arms warm and unrelenting.

Tears blurred her vision as she looked around desperately, her gaze falling on the spell book she’d dropped moments earlier. Her heart pounded as she remembered the Breath of Renewal spell. It was the only thing she could think of, ancient and dangerous, but powerful enough to heal anything, even though she hadn't read in full detail about this spell she had no other option.

Grabbing the book with blood streaked hands, she flipped through the pages, her fingers trembling as she searched for the spell. “Come on, COME THE FUCK ON!,” she muttered, the sigils and translations swimming before her eyes. Finally, she found it. The marked page glowed faintly, as if calling out to her.

Amara placed the book beside Theo and pressed her bloodied hands to his chest. The spell’s words spilled from her lips “ VITAE LUX, CURATIO VERA, SANERE VULNERA, VINCULUM CORDIS, SALUS REDDE. FIAT!” her voice shaky but growing stronger with each syllable. The air around them shifted, heavy with magic as the spell took hold.

The blood on her hands, book, and the rocks began to move, reversing its flow. It spiraled through the air and back into Theo’s body, the gash on his head shrinking and disappearing. His broken arm snapped back into place with a sickening crack, the bone knitting together as if it had never been broken.

Amara watched, her breath hitching as the wounds vanished one by one. Her hands glowed faintly, the magic surging through her until the spell was complete. She sat back, trembling, as Theo’s chest rose and fell steadily again, color returning to his skin.

With a sudden gasp, Theo’s eyes flew open. He bolted upright, clutching his chest as he sucked in a ragged breath. His wide eyes locked onto Amara, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“You…what the hell just happened?” Theo rasped, his voice hoarse. He looked down at himself, his hand brushing over his now-healed arm and head. “I was…”

“You fell,” Amara interrupted, her voice trembling as she hugged the book to her chest. Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to catch her breath. “You hit your head and your arm… it was so bad, Theo. You were bleeding everywhere, and I—”

Theo cut her off, his voice sharp. “What did you do Amara?” He pointed to the tome in her arms, his expression a mix of anger and disbelief.

Amara flinched. “I found this ancient spellbook, it has a healing spell, and… and I was able to mostly make out the spell,” she said, her voice cracking. “You were dying, Theo. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Theo’s jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair. “You used a spell on me you didn't even completely understand! You didn’t even know if it would work! You could’ve made it worse, or… I don’t know, killed us both!” He took a breath, his tone softening, calming as he added, “But it worked, didn’t it? I’m… I’m alive.”

Amara nodded again, her tears falling faster. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but tremble as the weight of the moment crashed down on her.

Theo noticed the way her shoulders shook, the way her wide eyes stared at nothing as if she were still caught in the moment of his near death. He crouched in front of her, gently cupping her face in his hands. “Amara,” he said firmly, trying to pull her back. “Look at me. I’m fine. You saved me, everything is fine.”

But she was still muttering, her words frantic and jumbled. “You were bleeding everywhere, and I couldn’t— I thought— I didn’t know what to do— I-”

“Amara,” Theo said again, more urgently this time, but she didn’t stop. Her panic was spiraling, her tears falling unchecked.

With a frustrated growl, Theo did the only thing he could think of to calm her down. He leaned in and kissed her.

The world seemed to stop as his lips met hers. It was meant to silence her, to ground her, but the moment their mouths connected, something shifted. A warmth spread through Theo, pulling him closer to her in a way he couldn’t explain. Her trembling stilled, her frantic breathing evening out as the kiss deepened.

Amara’s hands gripped his vest, pulling him closer as though he were the only thing tethering her to reality. Theo’s mind raced, torn between confusion and the intoxicating pull of her lips. The softness of her mouth, the taste of salt from her tears, it was overwhelming.

For a fleeting moment, Theo allowed himself to sink into the kiss, to lose himself in the sensation. The warmth he felt wasn’t just physical; it was something deeper, something he didn’t want to examine too closely. Not now. Not with her.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their faces inches from each other. Amara’s tear streaked cheeks were flushed, her wide eyes searching his. Theo swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure, but his voice was low and hoarse as he murmured, “You’re okay now. We’re okay.”

Theo’s hands gently wrapped around Amara’s trembling ones, pulling her focus away from the ground and back to him. “Come on,” he said softly, his voice steadier now. “Let’s get you up.” Slowly, he helped her to her feet, his grip firm but not forceful, guiding her until she stood before him. Her dress was dusted with dirt, her hair a tangled cascade of black waves, and her face still streaked with dried tears.

Without letting go of her hands, Theo muttered a spell under his breath. A soft golden glow surrounded Amara’s face, wiping away the remnants of her tears and smoothing her disheveled hair into silky waves. The dirt on her dress vanished, leaving her as composed as she had been when she arrived. “There,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Good as new.”

Amara stared at him, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, she nodded, her gaze flickering to the lake, then back to him. “We should probably go,” Theo said calmly, breaking the silence. “Our families will notice if we’re not there for the pillar ceremony.”

Amara hesitated, clutching the spell book to her chest before finally agreeing. “You’re right.” She took a step forward, her thoughts still tangled with what had just happened. As they walked back together, Theo stayed close, keeping an eye on her even as he tried to make sense of his own emotions.

When they reached the festival grounds, the noise of the celebration swallowed them. Amara gave Theo a small nod before veering off toward her family, leaving him standing at the edge of the crowd. He watched her disappear into the throng, his mind replaying the kiss, the spell, and the overwhelming warmth he’d felt on the rocks. What the hell just happened?

With a flick of his hand, Theo refreshed his appearance with another spell, ensuring he looked presentable before making his way to his mother. Elaria Beaufort’s expression was as cold and sharp as ever when she saw him approach. “You’re late,” she said curtly, her eyes narrowing. “Do try to remember you’re representing this family.”

Theo didn’t bother replying, biting back a sarcastic remark as he took his place beside her. The crowd began to settle as the pillar ceremony was announced, and mages of all ages started moving toward their elemental sections. The towering stone pillars, one for each elemental power, glowed faintly, casting soft light across the festival grounds.

Amara stood near her family by the fire pillar, her heart racing as she watched Theo make his way toward the earth pillar. He moved with a practiced elegance, his earlier disheveled state completely hidden. She kept her gaze steady, even when he turned his head slightly and caught her staring.

The ceremony began, each mage taking their turn to approach their respective pillar. Small knives were passed around, and each participant pricked their finger, allowing a drop of blood to touch the stone as they whispered a personal thanks for their powers to the elemental founders. Amara watched as Theo stepped forward.

He pressed his hand against the cool surface of the earth pillar, his expression unreadable as he murmured his thanks. The green glow of the pillar intensified briefly, and Amara found herself holding her breath. He stepped back, his gaze sweeping over the crowd until it landed on her again. This time, he didn’t look away.

Amara’s turn came next. She moved toward the fire pillar, the knife cool against her fingertip as she made her offering. Her whispered thanks were quiet but heartfelt, the flames within the stone flaring as she pulled her hand away. When she glanced back at Theo, she caught him watching her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

As the ceremony ended, the mood of the festival shifted back to celebration. Music filled the air, and people began dancing, the tension of the ritual giving way to joy. Amara found herself standing to the side, watching the crowd with a faint smile, until she noticed Theo with his mother. They appeared to be having some kind of argument.

Elaria’s expression was sharp as she gestured toward Charlotte Somerset, who stood nearby with a perfect, practiced smile. Theo’s lips twisted into a smirk, and before his mother could say more, he turned and strode away, straight toward Amara.

The crowd parted slightly as Theo approached, his hand extended toward her. “Ashford,” he said, his voice carrying just enough charm to make it clear he was up to something. “Care to dance?”

Amara blinked, stunned by the sudden attention. Around them, whispers broke out, people craning their necks to watch. She glanced at Elaria, whose icy glare could have frozen the entire festival, before reluctantly taking Theo’s hand. “What are you doing?” she hissed under her breath as he led her to the center of the makeshift dance floor.

“Just proving a point,” Theo murmured, pulling her closer as the music swelled. His hand settled at her waist, the other still holding hers. Despite the stares, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them as they moved in time with the music.

Amara found herself relaxing despite her initial resistance, the warmth of Theo’s hand grounding her. She risked a glance up at him, only to find him already watching her. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice softer now. “For what you did back there. For saving my life.”

She hesitated, her cheeks flushing as she nodded. “You’re welcome.”

The song ended, but neither of them moved to step away. Around them, the crowd murmured, their disbelief palpable. Amara’s thoughts raced, her heart pounding as she wondered if she should tell Theo about the diary and the spell book. But the words caught in her throat, and all she could do was stare into his eyes, torn between caution and trust.

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