Page 105 of The Nymph King

The spell took hold.

Air in the chamber compressed, forcing a gasp from her throat. The light bent inward, drawn toward a single focal point, and the ash markings at her feet flared with a steady, pulsing glow. Imani stood perfectly motionless as the magic built. When the vision finally formed, it was flawless, drawing her awareness forward without stripping away her sense of self.

Her surroundings blurred, then turned into stone walls—colder and older than the ones she was in, worn down by centuries. A faint, distant light seeped through a high opening, casting elongated shadows on the ground.

A flash of movement caught the edge of her awareness. A figure stepped into the pale light, and Imani sucked in a breath.

Saevel.

Recognition hit her with perfect certainty. Kiran’s brother stood in the space as if he owned it, so grounded that the vision felt less like scrying and more like stepping into the room with him. He existed in the vision, untouched by being watched.

The instant Imani registered him, the connection shifted as the spell deepened.

Magic threads she had spun stretched farther, moving along an unseen but felt trail. It was no longer fully under her control. Her consciousness layered and overlapped, blurring the line between the spell’s receiver and its caster. In a sudden, breathless beat, she realized she wasn’t merely observing a simple Divination vision. She recognized Meira’s magic signature infiltrating the edges.

The bond was like an unseen current beneath the vision, changing its form. It expanded the scene, giving the vision deeper meaning. Saevel was anchored to the magic, unable to move or run away from it.

He was bound to Meira.

The answers fit together seamlessly. Meira attaching herself to the vision was integral to the spell, firmly embedded within it. The same ancient laws that regulated Imani’s heartmate bond held true here, intact and unaffected by the surrounding fractures that would normally break another divination spell.

Saevel was Meira’s heartmate.

Imani remained composed as the profound implications of that truth revealed themselves, her mind sharpening like a blade. If Meira was bound, the magic still persisted where it shouldn’t.

The connection shuddered, signaling she had reached the edge of what the spell could sustain. This time, she didn’t push past her limits. She let the vision run its course, holding her iron grip on her consciousness as the space receded. Saevel faded into darkness as the scene fell away.

Then she was back, panting with her hands braced on a chair. The markings at her feet faded, signaling the magic was fully reined in. Her breathing returned to normal, steady and even. Her body was stable, and the cut on her palm was now simply a dull ache. Unlike before, there was no collapse or painful aftermath, only understanding.

Imani examined the blood-darkened hair in the dish before dropping it into her stained hands. Blood had dried across her palm and between her fingers, darkening the shallow cut she had used to anchor the spell. She crossed to the basin, poured water over them, and watched red unravel from her skin in thin ribbons before disappearing into the bowl.

A laugh escaped her as she braced both hands against the basin and bowed her head. “Of course,” she muttered to herself.

Of everyone in both kingdoms, Meira had been given Kiran’s brother. And if the bond was real, if the same ancient law governing her own heartmate connection had identified Saevel with absolute certainty, then he was no longer merely Kiran’s imprisoned brother.

He could be the second Mesial Realm monarch.

She had used this same heartmate Divination before, and if the old theory was right—that the monarchs of the realms were bound to their corresponding heartmates—then Meira being magically tied to Saevel gave his existence a significance Kiran’s imprisonment of him had not. While it did not wholly prove Saevel had a claim to Niflheim’s Throne, it gave Imani a reason to test whether he did.

Still, the spell did not lie. Her sister had a heartmate, the one desire Meira had above all others. Growing up in the Riverlands, her sister had wanted belonging, and her heartmate had answered every lonely question.

Imani knew better than most how precarious that desire could be. Her grandmother’s warning the last night Imani saw her alive echoed in her head.

A heartmate can be a blessing, but also a nightmare.

She shook her head, trying to shake off Ara’s harsh, truthful words. A strangled laugh almost escaped her as the sheer absurdity and logic of two brothers being heartmated to two sisters dawned on her.

Did Meira already know? Had some part of the bond reached across the distance before either of them understood what it was? Had her sister been carrying some unexplained pull toward a man she had never even met?

Emotions welled in Imani’s throat before she could stop them. Despite Meira’s betrayal and the chasm it put between them, Imani had spent most of her life wanting to see Meira happy, but now that it was within reach, she wanted to rip it away, too.

She dried her hands as her thoughts widened beyond Stralas, beyond the petty fractures of Essenheim’s throne. Kiran was the biggest threat on the board, yes, but if the Fabric remained misaligned, instability would affect everything built upon it until someone corrected it.

Imani straightened fully, the last faint glow fading beneath her boots, balling her hand into a fist around her wand.

Thinking about Ara brought her darkest desires to the surface again.

Accepting everyone will soon hate and fear you will make things easier.