Three weeks had passed since my blood decided to turn into liquid midnight.
I wasn't "hatching" anymore, but I felt… different. Heavier. Like there was a physical weight sitting right between my shoulder blades where the silver lightning scars used to be dead and numb. Now, they hummed. If I got angry or even just tripped over a rug, the shadows in the corner of the room would twitch.
I was sitting by the window in our bedroom, staring out at the jagged peaks of the Underworld. Athan was out in the courtyard and I could see him from here. He was training with Malphas.
He didn't have his armor on, just loose black trousers. His wings were fully extended, catching the dim orange light. They were massive…way bigger than any Angel wings I'd ever seen. They weren't just for flying. He used them like extra limbs. He'd flare them out to distract Malphas, then tuck them tight to spin.
I leaned my chin on my hand, watching the way the muscles in his back moved. I wondered if the feathers felt soft or sharp. Probably sharp. Everything about him was sharp.
"You're drooling."
I jumped, nearly falling out of my chair. Argenta was standing behind me, holding a stack of leather tunics. She had that look on her face…the one that meant she was about to make my life difficult.
"I am not drooling," I snapped, wiping my mouth just in case. "I was just… studying his technique. It's tactical."
"Right. Tactical," Argenta said, walking over to peer out the window. "Is it tactical the way you're staring at his lower back? Or is that just 'research' for your next dream?"
I turned away, my face heating up. "Shut up. I was thinking about physics. How does he stay balanced with those things?"
Argenta tossed a tunic at my head. "He stays balanced because they're prehensile, Celeste."
I caught the leather, blinking. "Prehensile? Like… a monkey's tail?"
"Better," she said, leaning against the stone wall. She smirked. "He has muscles in the joints. He can wrap them around things. He can grip. And yes, before you ask with that look on your face, he can use them to pin someone down. It's very effective for… interrogation."
Interrogation. Right. That's definitely what I was thinking about. Not him using those wings to trap me against a bed. Not at all.
"Anyway," Argenta continued, her voice turning sharp. "The King says your fever is gone and your magic isn't blowing up the furniture anymore. That means playtime is over. You're starting today."
"Starting what?"
"Control," she said. "You're a witch now. Or an Angel-witch. Whatever. You can't just walk around like a loaded crossbow with a broken safety. You're going to the training pits."
The training pits were loud, hot, and smelled like sweat and ozone.
When we walked in, the guards stopped sparring to look at me. I still felt like a fraud. I was wearing the black leather tunic and trousers Argenta had picked out. It was tight. It made me feel exposed, even though I was covered from neck to toe.In Atheria, trousers were a sin.
Athan was in the center of the ring. He was dripping with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. When he saw me, he stopped. He handed his practice sword to Malphas without looking away from me.
"You're late," he said. He sounded like a King again. Cold. Reserved.
"Argenta was talking," I said.
Athan looked at Argenta. She just shrugged and walked off to sit on a stone bench, looking bored.
"Come here," Athan commanded.
I walked into the circle. My boots felt heavy. I could feel everyone watching. The "Wingless Queen." I hated it. I felt small. I felt like I was back in the Aetherian court, waiting for someone to tell me I was a mistake.
Athan saw it. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over me. "Stop looking at the floor. They aren't looking at your back, Celeste. They're looking at your hands."
I looked down. My fingertips were twitching. A tiny wisp of black smoke was curling around my nails.
"I can't stop it," I whispered. "It just… happens."
"That's because you're trying to hold it in," Athan said. He reached out and grabbed my wrists. His grip was firm. "The magic is like breath. If you hold it, you suffocate. You have to let it circulate."
"How?"
"Through me," he said.
I blinked. "What?"
"Your magic is chaotic," Athan explained. He moved behind me, his chest pressing against my back. I could feel the heat radiating off him. It was overwhelming. "It's witch magic, but it's filtered through an Angel's soul. It needs a ground. A place to go. I'm a demon. I can take the pressure."
He didn't wait for me to agree. He slid his hands down to mine, interlacing our fingers.
"Close your eyes," he whispered in my ear.
I did. I could feel his heart beating against my spine. It was steady. Strong.
"Now," he murmured. "Stop fighting the black light. Push it into me."
I tried. I imagined the heat in my chest moving down my arms. It felt like trying to push water through a straw. It hurt. My bones started to ache again.
"It's stuck," I gasped. "It won't go."
"Yes, it will," Athan said. His voice was a low growl now. He squeezed my hands. "Don't be afraid to hurt me, Celeste. You can't break me. Give it to me."
I let go. I stopped trying to be "good." I stopped trying to be a princess. I just let the darkness scream.
The air in the room suddenly went cold. I felt a massive surge of power rush out of my chest, down my arms, and into Athan's hands. It wasn't smoke anymore; it was like a physical shock.
Athan didn't flinch. He didn't move. He just took it. I could hear his wings snap open behind us, the feathers rustling like dry leaves. He groaned, a sound of effort, and his grip on my hands tightened.
The light in the pits flickered. The shadows on the walls grew ten feet tall, dancing wildly.
"That's it," Athan hissed. "More."
I gave him everything. Every bit of anger I'd kept since the priests cut me. Every bit of fear I'd felt in the dungeon. I poured it into him like poison.
And then, it stopped.
The pressure in my chest vanished. I felt light. Almost hollow. My head fell back against his shoulder, and I was panting, my lungs burning.
Athan let go of my hands. I turned around, my legs shaking. He was standing there, his eyes glowing a violent, brilliant gold. His skin was pulsing with faint black lines..my magic, moving through him.
He looked… terrifying. But he also looked satisfied.
"Better?" he asked.
"I… I think so," I whispered. I looked at my hands. They were still. No smoke. No twitching. "Did I hurt you?"
Athan stepped closer. He reached out and cupped my face. His hands were hot…scorching hot. "I told you, Little Bird. You can't break me."
He leaned down, his face inches from mine. I thought he was going to kiss me in front of everyone. Part of me wanted him to. I wanted them all to see.
But then he paused. His eyes moved to my shoulder.
"Celeste," he said. His voice was weird. "Don't move."
"What? Is it happening again?" I started to panic.
"No," Athan said. He looked over at Argenta, who was suddenly standing up, her eyes wide. "Malphas, clear the room. Now!"
"What is it?" I yelled.
The guards scrambled out. Malphas shut the doors. It was just me, Athan, and Argenta.
"Look in the mirror," Argenta said. She sounded breathless.
She pointed to a polished piece of obsidian on the wall. I walked over, my heart hammering. I turned around, looking over my shoulder.
The scars on my back were gone. In their place were two long, jagged slits in my skin. And poking out of those slits were two wisps of shadow. They weren't solid. They looked like smoke, but they were shaped like wings. Tiny, flickering, skeletal wings made of pure darkness.
I reached back, and as my hand got close, the shadow wing moved. It flinched away, then curled around my wrist.
"They're… they're real," I whispered.
"They're witch-shroud wings," Argenta said. She walked up and touched one. Her hand went right through the smoke, but she shivered. "They aren't for flying, Celeste. They're for killing. They move with your thoughts."
I looked at Athan. He was watching the shadow wings with a look of pure, unadulterated hunger.
"A weapon," he said. He walked toward me, his own massive wings casting a shadow over mine. "I told you."
He reached out, and his solid, physical wing brushed against my shadow one. I felt a jolt of electricity go through my entire body. It wasn't just a touch; it was like our souls had just bumped into each other.
I gasped, my knees buckling. Athan caught me, his arm wrapping around my waist.
"We have a lot more work to do," he whispered.
I looked up at him, my mind messy and confused. I was a monster. I had smoke for wings. I was tied to a demon king who ate my darkness for breakfast.
And for some reason, all I could think about was whether those shadow wings of mine were prehensile, too.