"If I let him touch me, I'd forget I hated him. And I did. I hated him—right?"
The court demanded a consummation.
Of course they did.
Blood didn't bind a bargain, not fully. Not without flesh. Not without willingness—or something close enough to fool the gods.
Kyra stared at the ceremonial summons, her fingers curling around its edges until the vellum crackled. Asher stood across the room, unreadable. Always unreadable.
"You're not going to force me," she said.
It wasn't a question.
He shook his head. "I could. But I won't."
Their eyes locked. A war of wills, soundless and searing.
"Why?" she asked, voice low.
He stepped closer, slow as dusk. "Because I want you to come to me when you want to. Not before."
Kyra hated the way her pulse answered him. Hated the way the ring warmed on her finger, like it agreed.
She didn't sleep that night.
Not truly.
The bed was too big, too velvet-soft. The sheets still held his scent—clove and ash and something darker. She curled to one side, facing the fire.
And then the bond tugged.
Not gently.
She stumbled from bed, barefoot, pulled by invisible threads down the corridor until she reached his chambers.
The door was open.
Inside, Asher was sprawled in half-shadow, shirtless, a gash on his shoulder dripping black-red.
"You're bleeding," she said before she could stop herself.
He barely looked up. "Old habits. The shadows bite when I fight them."
Kyra crossed the room slowly. "Let me help."
His brows lifted, wary. "You'd touch me now?"
"I'm not doing it for you."
She took a cloth from the basin, dipped it in warm water, and pressed it to the wound. His skin twitched under her fingers—but he didn't move.
"You have scars," she murmured, tracing one with care. "Not many fae do."
He watched her with that same unbearable stillness. "I earned them."
"How?"
Asher didn't answer. Not with words.
Instead, he lifted a hand—hesitant, almost human—and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. The touch wasn't possessive. It was reverent. Like she was something holy and he didn't know how to pray.
Kyra's breath caught.
The bond between them thrummed. Electric. Unforgiving.
"If I let him touch me, I'd forget I hated him. And I did. I hated him—right?"
The dream came fast and brutal.
Fire. Screaming. Her magic lashing out like wildfire, untrained and wild. In it, she burned the palace down. In it, she couldn't stop.
And then—
A body wrapped around hers.
Asher.
Shielding her with his own.
Not fighting the fire. Taking it.
Kyra woke with a gasp.
She was tangled in him. Arms locked around her waist. His breath against her neck.
But it was his shadows that undid her.
They curled around her skin like a lullaby. Whispering.
Not threats.
Not chains.
Her name.
Like a vow.
She wakes in his arms. And his shadows whisper her name like a vow.