The thought kept returning, uninvited, as I moved through the forms that had once felt like second nature. Now each strike, each defensive pattern, felt like an approximation of something I was supposed to understand but never quite had.
On the third day, Captain Thane found me in the armory, methodically sharpening weapons that were already perfectly maintained.
"Nervous energy," he observed, settling beside me on the wooden bench. "I remember the feeling."
"Did you ever question it?" The words escaped before I could stop them. "The bond. What we're supposed to become during it."
Thane's hands stilled on the sword he'd been examining. "Question what, specifically?"
"Whether we're training for the right roles. Whether dominance is something that should be performed or..." I trailed off, unsure how to voice thoughts that felt half-formed, dangerous.
"Or something that should come naturally," Thane finished quietly. "Yes. I questioned that."
The admission surprised me. Thane had always seemed so certain, so perfectly suited to the militant ideal of controlled strength and natural authority.
"What did you discover?"
"That questioning doesn't make you weak, Rion. It makes you honest." He set down his sword, turning to face me fully. "The bonds that fail—the ones that leave both partners hollow and bitter—they're usually built on performance rather than truth."
"And the ones that succeed?"
"They happen when people stop trying to be what they think they should be and start discovering what they actually are." His smile was gentle, understanding. "Even if that's something they never expected."
On the fourth day, the formal introduction was arranged.
The ceremonial pavilion stood at the precise boundary between the militant and scholarly districts,its marble columns supporting a roof of carved stone that bore symbols from both Orders. Afternoon light filtered through silk hangings that softened the formal space without diminishing its sacred purpose. Representatives from each temple had arranged themselves with diplomatic precision—militants on one side, scholars on the other, leaving the center clear for the participants.
I stood with Captain Thane and two other militant officers, wearing my finest ceremonial garb. The silk felt foreign against my skin after so many months in campaign leathers, but the weight of my dress sword at my hip provided familiar comfort. My palms were damp despite the cool air.
"Remember," Thane murmured as footsteps approached from the scholarly wing. "This is diplomacy as much as introduction. First impressions matter, but they don't define everything that follows."
I nodded, straightening my shoulders in the practiced posture of military bearing. Then the scholars entered, and every careful preparation scattered like leaves in a storm.
Kaelen was nothing like I'd imagined.
I'd expected someone pale and soft, marked by years hunched over manuscripts. Instead, the man who walked with quiet confidence toward the center of the pavilion was tall and lean, with the kind of subtle muscle that came from discipline rather than combat. Dark hair caught the filtered light, and when he lifted his head to survey the assembled witnesses, Iglimpsed eyes the color of storm clouds—intelligent, curious, and utterly without fear.
He was beautiful in a way that made my breath catch. Not the brutal beauty the militant Orders prized, but something more refined, more dangerous. The kind of beauty that suggested a mind sharp enough to cut and hands gentle enough to heal.
When those grey eyes found mine across the ceremonial space, something electric passed between us. Recognition, though we'd never met. Possibility, though nothing had been spoken. Heat that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun and everything to do with the way he looked at me like he could see past every wall I'd built.
"Lieutenant Rion of Korrath," Elder Myris announced, his voice carrying the formal cadence required for such occasions. "May I present Kaelen of Aerius, scholar of sacred texts and student of divine partnership."
The formal words washed over me as Kaelen stepped forward. He moved with unconscious grace, the silk of his ceremonial robes flowing around his body like water. When he stopped before me, close enough that I caught the subtle scent of cedar and ink that clung to his skin, I felt my carefully rehearsed greeting dissolve into nothing.
"Lieutenant." His voice was warm, cultured, with an undertone that made me think of bedchambers and whispered confessions. "I've heard remarkable things about your service to the temple."
"Scholar Kaelen." The words came out rougherthan intended. "I... that is, the honor is mine. Your reputation for..." I faltered, suddenly aware that everyone was watching, waiting for me to demonstrate the diplomatic grace expected of a militant officer.
Heat flooded my face as silence stretched too long.
"For scholarly excellence precedes you," Kaelen finished smoothly, as if my stumble had been planned rather than mortifying. "I look forward to learning from your practical experience, just as I hope my theoretical knowledge might prove useful to you."
The easy way he'd rescued me from embarrassment should have been humiliating. Instead, it sent warmth spreading through my chest. Here was someone who could lead without making it feel like domination, who could guide without diminishing.
"The preparation period begins now," Priest Myris continued, consulting his formal scroll. "Seven days for contemplation, purification, and readiness. The bonding ceremony will take place at moonrise on the seventh day. Both participants will observe the traditional preparation rituals of their respective Orders."
Seven days. A week to prepare for something that felt more like transformation than partnership.
