Chapter 17

The Weight of Warmth

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The days after the battle bled together in slow, muted tones. The Salastian sky was pale, its usual golden hue dimmed by drifting ash. The empire was rebuilding, but the palace was heavy with silence.

Aurelia stirred from her bed for the first time in a week. The silken sheets tangled around her, damp from the sweat of fever. Her breathing came in shallow waves. She could feel the pull of the curse again — faint, yet relentless — as though it had found her heart and wound its invisible fingers around it.

The chamber door opened quietly.

“Your Majesty?” a voice asked — deep, familiar, and soft with restraint.

Kairos stepped inside, still wearing his battle uniform, though the dark stains of blood had long since dried. His left arm was bandaged tightly. A cut crossed his cheek, the mark of a blade that had missed his heart by inches.

He moved toward her bed, his expression unreadable — but his eyes, his eyes, carried a weight of worry he could not disguise.

“You shouldn’t be up yet,” he murmured, seeing her attempt to sit. “Your body hasn’t fully healed.”

Aurelia met his gaze with quiet defiance. “I’ve been lying here for days. The kingdom doesn’t pause for an Empress’s weakness.”

He knelt by her bedside. “The kingdom stands because you’re alive.”

Her lips parted — but she found no answer. There was something different about him now. The harshness that once clung to his words had melted into gentleness. For the first time, she saw not the commander who barked orders on the battlefield, but the man who carried guilt and devotion in equal measure.

“Where were you?” she asked, voice brittle. “For the past three nights, I felt the curse burning through me. The court physician said I might not last the next one.”

Kairos lowered his gaze. “I was… searching.”

“For what?”

He hesitated — then reached into his cloak and drew out a small vial, sealed with silver. Inside was a fragment of crystal, glowing faintly violet.

“The Starwell Shard,” he said. “Said to come from the well of the first gods. It’s the only relic that can delay a soul curse.”

Her fingers trembled as he placed it in her hand. It was warm, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“How… how did you find this?” she asked.

“I didn’t find it,” he said. “I took it — from the ruins of the northern shrine. The place was collapsing. I almost—” He cut himself short. “You don’t need to know the rest.”

Aurelia blinked rapidly. Her vision blurred — not from the curse this time, but from something unspoken.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why go that far for me?”

His silence lingered for a long time. Then, softly:
“Because I can’t lose you. Not again.”

The silence that followed was fragile — the kind that trembled with unspoken truths.

Aurelia turned her gaze to the window. Snow had begun to fall — thin, hesitant flakes that melted before touching the ground.

“You said… again,” she murmured. “What do you mean by that?”

Kairos looked away. His jaw tightened. “It’s nothing. I misspoke.”

She reached out, her hand brushing the edge of his sleeve. “You never misspeak, Kairos. Not you.”

He froze. Her fingers were cold — but the touch burned through the armor he had built around his heart.

“I’ll tell you one day,” he said finally. “When the time comes. But not tonight.”

“Then when?” she pressed.

“When you no longer need the truth to hurt.”

She smiled faintly — weary, but genuine. “You have a strange way of comforting people.”

He allowed himself a breath of laughter. “So I’ve been told.”

That night, the palace halls were dimly lit with amber torches. The scent of rain drifted through the open balcony.

Aurelia couldn’t sleep. The vial lay beside her pillow, its faint light painting her chamber in soft violet hues. The warmth of it spread through her veins, easing the ache of the curse.

And somewhere, through the haze of half-dream and memory, she heard a voice.

“Aurelia…”

Her heart tightened.

Kairos stood at the doorway again, the light behind him tracing the sharp lines of his face. He didn’t speak — simply stepped forward, his hand resting over his chest.

“I wanted to make sure the shard was working,” he said, though his tone betrayed something more.

“It is,” she replied. “It feels… like warmth. Like a heartbeat.”

“Then rest,” he said. “The empire needs its empress strong.”

Aurelia hesitated. “Stay. Just for tonight.”

He froze mid-step, his breath catching.

She looked away, embarrassed by her own words. “It’s not what you think. I just… the silence feels louder these days.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“I’ll stay.”

He sat beside her, the edge of the bed dipping slightly under his weight. The distance between them was narrow — only a breath apart.

They said nothing for a long while. Only the rhythm of their breathing filled the room — two broken hearts finding solace in the same air.

When Aurelia finally fell asleep, Kairos watched her — his eyes tracing the faint shimmer of light that danced across her hair.

He whispered, so quietly the night itself might not hear:
“I failed you once, Aurelia. But this time… even if it costs me my life, I won’t let the curse take you.”

He reached for her hand, barely touching it — like a promise made in silence.

Outside, the first true snow began to fall.