The End Won’t Take Him : Ashes of the Last Light

Chapter 21

That night, we hosted a formal dinner—because nothing says "this fake engagement is real" like stuffing nobles into a long stone hall and feeding them too much duck.

Kael sat at the head of the table, as always, a living monolith in high-collared black. His posture hadn't relaxed since the 1200s. He was flanked by three generals who looked like they chewed gravel for breakfast and a very confused priest who had clearly not been told he was sitting next to a political experiment in progress.

I was seated on Kael's right, nodding politely through conversation I couldn't keep up with. The noble to my left was explaining the economic implications of enchanted grain tariffs. I just smiled and murmured things like "fascinating" and "ah, the fourth yield cycle" while wondering if I could stab my own foot under the table and be excused.

Elias sat two seats down, looking like a junior war god in training. He ate mechanically, eyes scanning the room as if calculating how many exits there were and how quickly each guest could be eliminated. He'd already organized his peas into a tactical formation.

Kael leaned toward me mid-course, his voice a low rumble only I could hear.

"Your son's behavior is... aggressive."

I didn't look up from my wine. "He doesn't like you."

"I noticed."

"He's also a child."

"Is he?"

That was when Elias, as if on cue, made direct eye contact with Kael and calmly unsheathed a butterknife.

Kael didn't react. At all. Not a blink. Not a twitch.

I took a slow sip of wine and muttered, "I'm going to need a new strategy."

After dinner, I retreated to the library for peace.

Unfortunately, Kael followed me.

He didn't knock. Just appeared in the doorway like a highly judgmental ghost and shut the door behind him.

"This isn't working," he said.

I didn't even look up from the book I wasn't reading. "Which part?"

"The illusion. It's thin."

"That's because it's fake," I replied. "If you wanted chemistry, you should've proposed to someone less tired and more into brooding warlords."

He stepped closer. "The nobles don't believe it."

"Then give them a reason to."

He tilted his head. "You want drama."

"I want plausibility."

Kael was quiet. Then he crossed the room with that slow, deliberate walk that always made my instincts light up like fireworks. He stopped in front of me—close. Close enough that I could smell frost and steel and maybe the faintest hint of cedar.

"You really want them to believe us," he said.

"I want them to stop circling like vultures."

He reached for my hand.

And kissed it.

Not gently. Not romantically.

Just—precisely. As if this, too, was a maneuver in his political playbook. As if touching me was just one more calculated move in a war he refused to lose.

His lips brushed my skin and were gone in an instant.

It wasn't affection.

It wasn't heat.

It was strategy.

And yet my pulse didn't get the message.

"You're terrifying," I whispered.

He released my hand, expression unreadable. "You started it."

As he left the room, cloak trailing behind him like a shadow with legal rights, I stared at my hand.

There was no warmth left.

But something had changed.

And I wasn't sure who was bluffing anymore.

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End of Chapter 21