Then movement stirred in the shadows beneath an ancient olive tree, and my breath caught.
Rion stepped into a patch of moonlight, and my heart performed some acrobatic feat that left me dizzy. He was dressed simply—whiteseretthat seemed to glow in the silver light—but there was something different about his bearing. Less rigid. More... intentional.
"I hoped you'd come back," he said, and there was confidence in his voice I hadn't heard before. Not the practiced authority of military command, but something quieter, more personal. The confidence of someone who had made a choice and was willing to own its consequences.
Relief and something warmer flooded through me. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
"I thought you might reconsider. Decide that scholarly discretion was more important than..." He gestured vaguely between us, apparently unwilling to name what was building in the space where our formal obligations met genuine attraction.
"More important than what?" I asked, stepping closer. "Than getting to know the person I'll be bonded with? Than discovering whether we might actually be compatible rather than simply hoping ceremony will create connection where none exists?"
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, at my directness. Or maybe relief that I was willing to acknowledge what we were both feeling.
"I know a place," he said, and there was invitation in his tone that made my pulse quicken. "Somewhere more private than the palace gardens. If you're willing to walk a bit farther."
The offer held layers of meaning, and we both knew it. Accepting meant acknowledging that whatever was developing between us mattered enough to seek true privacy. It meant taking risks that went beyond simple conversation in moonlit groves.
"Lead the way," I said.
Rion led me through passages I'd never explored—not the formal garden paths designed for casual strolling, but narrower tracks that wound between ancient trees and overgrown shrines. We moved in comfortable silence, both of us aware that we were leaving the palace complex behind for something wilder, more secluded.
The path descended gradually, following what might once have been a deer trail through increasingly dense forest. Moonlight filtered through leaves overhead in shifting patterns that painted everything in silver and shadow. The air grew cooler as we walked,carrying the sound of running water and the green scent of moss and growing things.
When the trees finally parted to reveal our destination, I nearly gasped at the beauty of it.
A stream curved through a natural clearing, its water dark as obsidian where shadows fell and bright as molten silver where moonlight touched the surface. Smooth stones lined the banks, worn smooth by centuries of patient water. Ancient willows trailed their branches in the current, creating curtains of green that transformed the space into something private and magical.
"How did you find this place?" I asked, settling beside Rion on a large flat stone that formed a natural seat overlooking the water.
"Training exercises," he said. "Sometimes we'd be sent out for wilderness survival, learning to live off the land for days at a time. I found this stream during one of those expeditions and... kept coming back. It felt like a place that belonged to itself rather than to any particular Order."
"It's perfect."
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the gentle music of water over stone and the soft night sounds of the forest around us. Here, truly alone for the first time, the formal barriers that had shaped our previous interactions seemed to dissolve. This wasn't Scholar Kaelen and Lieutenant Rion meeting according to diplomatic necessity. This was just... us.
But as the silence stretched, I became aware of an undercurrent of tension that hadn't been present inlast night's easier conversation. Something heavier was building between us, some acknowledgment that couldn't be avoided forever.
"Four days," Rion said finally, his voice quiet but carrying clearly over the water's murmur.
Four days until the bonding ceremony. Until our casual exploration of mutual attraction became something official, binding, consequential.
"Are you having second thoughts?" I asked.
"About the bonding? No." He was quiet for a moment, choosing words with the care of someone navigating dangerous territory. "About whether I can be what you'll need... that's more complicated."
The admission hung between us, heavy with implication. I turned to study his profile in the moonlight, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his hands clenched and unclenched on his knees.
"What do you think I'll need?"
"What tradition says I should provide." His voice was tight with something that might have been frustration or fear. "Dominance. Leadership. The ability to guide our physical joining according to militant protocols."
Understanding bloomed in my chest, along with something that felt like recognition. "And that feels..."
"Wrong," he said simply. "It's felt wrong in every bond I've attempted. Like trying to fight with someone else's sword." He turned to meet my gaze directly. "There will be intimacy between us, Kaelen. Physical joining. And I'm supposed to lead you through it, command your responses, demonstrate the naturalauthority that makes militants suitable as dominant partners."
The words were clearly difficult for him to speak, but they hit me with unexpected force. Not because they were shocking—I'd researched the traditional expectations thoroughly—but because hearing him voice them aloud made their wrongness crystalline clear.
Everything in me rebelled against the image he'd painted. Not the intimacy itself—that thought sent heat racing through my veins—but the idea of passively submitting to his guidance, of allowing him to dictate the terms of our connection when every instinct I possessed screamed that the dynamic should flow in the opposite direction.
