Chapter 83: The Date
Her last kiss lingered on my lips, sweet and sharp, before she finally pulled back just enough to look at me. Her cheeks flushed, her hair a little out of place where my fingers had tangled it. For once, she didn’t try to fix it.
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself. "You realize this was a mistake."
She tilted her head, blue eyes gleaming in the lantern light. "Then let’s make another one."
My brow arched. "You don’t exactly strike me as the type to collect mistakes."
Her lips curved. "Maybe not. But tonight I feel like being reckless." She hesitated, then asked, almost too casually, "Will you... take me out?"
I blinked. "Out?"
Her voice was softer now, careful. "A date."
The word hit me like a slap and a laugh at the same time. A date. As if I were some normal boy in a normal academy where the worst trouble I’d face was sneaking into the gardens after curfew. As if the Council didn’t want me in chains. As if power and punishment weren’t breathing down my neck.
And yet... the way she said it.
"A date," I repeated slowly, tasting the word.
She nodded, her fingers still brushing mine like she was afraid to let go. "You pick the place."
I almost said no. Almost. But the defiance in her eyes, the way she dared me to refuse, was more intoxicating than the kiss had been.
"Fine," I murmured. "But don’t expect roses and candlelight."
Her smile widened, soft but triumphant. "I don’t care what it is. Just you. Just us."
That was more dangerous than any blade.
I tilted my head, smirk tugging at my mouth. "You realize agreeing to a date with me is practically a death wish."
Her fingers squeezed mine, firm this time. "Then it’s the only wish I want."
I swallowed against the knot in my throat. "Tomorrow night. After dusk. Meet me by the east gate."
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"You’ll see." I leaned closer, my lips brushing her ear, my voice low. "But I’ll warn you now—I don’t do ordinary."
She shivered, not from fear. "Good. Neither do I."
Our eyes met again, the promise hanging between us heavier than any vow.
For once, it wasn’t chains binding me. It was something far more dangerous.
I stepped back before I lost the will to. "Tomorrow," I said.
She nodded, still flushed, still smiling. "Tomorrow."
And just like that, the date was sealed.
***
The next night came faster than I expected.
By the time the sun bled out behind the towers, I was already at the east gate, hood up, shadows coiling like familiar companions at my heels. The lanterns hadn’t been lit yet, which suited me fine. Darkness always did me favors.
Footsteps crunched lightly on gravel. I didn’t need to look up—I knew it was her. Freya moved differently than anyone else. Careful, deliberate, but never timid.
"You came," I said, leaning against the stone pillar like I’d been waiting for hours when it had only been minutes.
She wore no academy cloak tonight—just a simple dress, pale fabric brushing her knees, a cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. It made her look softer than I was used to, like the sharp edges she usually carried had been tucked away. Dangerous in another way entirely.
"Of course," she echoed my words from last night, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "So. Where are you taking me?"
I pushed off the wall, letting my chains clink faintly as if they, too, were impatient. "Somewhere the Council would rather neither of us be."
Her brows arched, but she didn’t flinch. "That’s reassuring."
"It should be. Means it’ll be worth it."
I led her along the side path, past the garden wing, deeper into the academy grounds where lanterns didn’t reach. She followed without hesitation, though I caught the way her gaze darted once or twice into the shadows. Sensible. The academy hid more than roses and fountains in its corners.
At last, I stopped before a wrought-iron gate half-choked in ivy. Its lock was rusted, its hinges stiff with disuse. Students whispered about this place—the abandoned observatory. Too far gone for classes, too unstable for renovation. Off-limits. Perfect.
I rested my hand on the gate. The chains stirred, a faint shimmer of power running through them, and the lock clicked open like a bow. The gate groaned wide.
Her eyes widened slightly, curiosity breaking through her practiced calm. "You’re taking me to the observatory?"
I smirked. "I told you. I don’t do ordinary."
Inside, the air was cooler, tinged with dust and stone. We climbed narrow stairs, the kind that creaked with every step, until we reached the upper chamber. The roof had half-collapsed long ago, leaving the dome cracked wide open. Through it, the night sky spilled in—stars burning sharp, the moon casting silver light across the ruined floor.
Freya stopped, breath catching faintly. "It’s... beautiful."
I leaned against the wall, watching her more than the sky. "You expected candlelight and roses?"
"I expected..." She trailed off, shaking her head, smile tugging at her lips. "I don’t know what I expected. But not this."
"That’s the point."
She stepped toward the broken dome, moonlight painting her hair pale silver. For a moment, she looked like she belonged to the night itself—something untouchable, eternal.
Her voice softened. "You brought me here because it’s forbidden."
I tilted my head. "No. I brought you here because it’s ours."
Her eyes flicked back to me, bright, unreadable. Then she laughed softly—quiet, genuine, slipping past her guard. "You’re impossible."
"Dangerous," I corrected.
Her smile lingered as she crossed to stand beside me. "Both."
Silence fell, but it wasn’t empty. Her shoulder brushed mine, close enough I could feel her warmth even in the cool night.
She tipped her head back, gaze fixed on the stars. "When I was little, I used to sneak out just to look at them. My father said they were useless. Pretty lights with no power, too far away to matter."
"And yet here you are," I murmured.
"And yet here I am." She turned slightly, eyes catching mine. "With you."
Something in my chest twisted. I looked away, smirk tugging at my lips even as my pulse stumbled. "Careful. You make it sound like you enjoy my company."
Her fingers brushed mine where they rested on the stone ledge. This time, not tentative. Deliberate. "Maybe I do."
The chains at my wrist stirred again, faint, restless. But I ignored them. For now, the only weight I cared about was her hand slipping into mine, firm and certain beneath the broken dome of stars.
"Then you’re a fool," I whispered.
She smiled faintly. "So are you."
And just like last night, I didn’t pull away.