The Crown Saga
Chapter 2
The break-room door slammed hard enough to rattle the vent, and I snuffed my wind like it was a candle.
The air sphere I'd been spinning between my palms collapsed into nothing, leaving only the ghost of cool pressure against my skin. My heart hammered as I tucked my hands under the table, praying whoever had entered hadn't seen anything. The break room was windowless, gray, neglected—the one place I'd thought I could breathe.
I'd been so careful for twelve years. But watching the Deveroux son command his flames with such casual mastery had awakened something hungry in me, something that refused to stay buried. My powers had been clawing at my control ever since, begging for release, and I'd been foolish enough to give them a taste.
"Willow?"
Milo's voice made me jump. He wasn't facing me—he was still talking to someone in the hallway, his broad back blocking the doorway. Then he turned, and I forgot how to form words.
His shirt hung open, unbuttoned to reveal a chest sculpted from hard work. The kitchen's heat had left his olive skin damp, and I could trace the path of moisture down his sternum to where it disappeared beneath—
I jerked my gaze to the table, my face burning hot enough that I had to fight to keep it from flushing blue.
"Haven't you gone home yet?" He pulled a chair close, sitting beside me without invitation.
"Mom told me to wait here until she finished working." I kept my eyes down, studying the grain of the table like it held secrets. "I've been studying the chores, but it got boring."
The air between us felt charged, dangerous. I could still feel the residual tingle of magic in my fingertips.
"Did you feel that before?" Milo leaned closer, his voice dropping.
My stomach clenched. "Feel what?"
"The breeze." His eyes narrowed—not suspicious, but curious. Observant. "I thought I felt a draft when I opened the door. Strange, since there's no source except that tiny vent."
My pulse thundered in my ears. I'd hoped the door's motion would mask what I'd done, but clearly I'd been careless. The wind had been too strong, too sudden.
"No," I lied, forcing my shaking hands to still against my thighs. "I didn't feel anything. Maybe you opened the door fast enough to create one."
He studied me, those gold-green eyes searching my face. I couldn't tell if he believed me or if he was simply deciding whether to press. My body felt rigid, every muscle locked in place.
He can't hear lies, I reminded myself. He's just a First-blood. He can't know.
But my nervous fidgeting might give me away where magic couldn't.
Then his expression shifted, skepticism melting into something warmer. "You're probably right." He grinned, boyish and disarming. "So. Elia's daughter."
The subject change should have relieved me. Instead, it left me unbalanced, scrambling to follow.
"Yes. I turned twenty last month, so I'm finally allowed to help her here." I managed a small smile, trying to project confidence I didn't feel.
"I know. Your mom hasn't stopped talking about you since your birthday." His smile widened. "That sounds like her."
"I should have said earlier – Milo Higgins," he said, extending his hand formally despite our earlier introduction. "Originally from the Tide Region. I've been working here five years, saving for a proper education."
Hesitantly, I slipped my hand into his. His palm was warm, calloused, and his grip was gentle this time—nothing like the firm handshake in the kitchen. The touch sent an unexpected flutter through my chest.
"I'm Willow Aldwyn. The Bronze Region has always been my home." I squeezed back, emboldened. "I'm working hard for my family too."
"A woman after my own heart." The words were light, teasing, but his thumb brushed across my knuckles in a way that felt deliberate.
Heat crept up my neck. I should pull away. This was dangerous—not just because Mom had warned me about distractions, but because the longer he touched me, the harder it was to maintain control. My emotions were threading through my magic, making the air around us shift in subtle ways only I could feel.
"I'm looking forward to working with you," Milo continued, his voice lower now. His gaze dropped to our joined hands, then back to my face.
"Me too." The words came out breathier than I intended.
He leaned closer, close enough that I could smell the kitchen spices clinging to his skin, the faint salt of sweat, something underneath that was just him. My breath caught. If he noticed the way my lips were losing color, going pale from the cold fear mixing with this unfamiliar want—
I turned my head slightly, just enough to hide, and tried to steady my breathing. In, out. Control. I couldn't let my body betray me now, couldn't let the telltale blue tint surface.
"Willow—" he started, his free hand lifting toward my face.
The door burst open.
Mom froze in the doorway, her gaze locked on our joined hands.
Continue to the next chapter of The Crown Saga