The words settle in my chest like a promise and a threat. I lean back, letting my head rest on his shoulder. “I don’t need saving. I need someone who won’t flinch when I fight back.”
He laughs, the sound low and dangerous. “I wouldn’t dream of flinching.”
For a while, we sit like that, firelight flickering over us, the rest of the world held at bay. I let myself relax, just a little. His hand traces lazy circles on my thigh, a reminder that I am his… and that he is mine, in ways neither of us will ever admit out loud.
The peace between us is uneasy, but it is real. I know the world outside these walls wants to devour us both, wants to turn this into a story of conquest and defeat. I refuse to give it that ending. I am not conquered. I am not the prize at the end of his war.
I tilt my face up, searching his eyes. “What now?” I whisper.
He leans in, pressing his lips to my forehead, a benediction and a claim. “Now, we see what happens when you stay. On your own terms.” He pulls me closer, the danger in him muted, the tenderness bared. “Just promise you’ll never stop fighting. I like it when you fight.”
I nod, heart racing. “I promise.”
For the first time, I feel the shape of our future, not as captor and captive, not as king and pawn, but as equals bound by something neither of us expected: choice.
I breathe in the scent of smoke and candlewax, the warmth of him all around me. For tonight, I am not afraid. For tonight, I am exactly where I want to be.
The fire crackles, shadows stretching and twining around us, and in the quiet, I realize what this is: not surrender. Not defeat. It is the beginning of something fierce and true. Something I can claim as my own.
I let the night carry us forward, certain only of this: whatever comes, I will meet it head-on—with him, and never in silence.
Miron’s fingers linger on my hand, thumb pressing against the new weight of the ring. The metal feels foreign and familiar at once: too cold for comfort, too right to deny. I watch him, searching for the sharp edges of threat, but he’s uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes linger on my knuckles, brow furrowed, as if he’s searching for something he’s lost.
I turn my palm, testing the ring with my thumb. Its tiny jewel catches the firelight: worn, ordinary, real. Not the glittering promise I once imagined, but something that means more. It’s a relic, a legacy, and now, a shackle. My throat tightens. I wonder if I should laugh or cry.
He straightens, masking the flicker of vulnerability behind a more familiar arrogance. “We’ll do it soon. Something the city won’t forget.” His tone is all iron and command, as if he’s already building walls around the moment, making it safe for himself by making it spectacle.
I can’t help it; I shake my head, voice low and rough. “Do you ever ask for anything? Or is everything you want just another demand?”
For a split second, uncertainty flickers across his face. He sits heavily on the edge of the table, pulling me closer between his knees. “If I asked, would you say yes?”
I study him. Study the brute and the boy, the king and the orphan. I think about the house echoing with fear and loyalty, the garden blooming over old scars, the world that he’s built from grit and rage. I think about my own longing, my own anger, the wild animal need that has bound us tighter than any vow.
“If you asked,” I say quietly, “I might say yes.” I let my palm rest over his heart. “You don’t ask, Miron. You never have.”
He covers my hand with his, big and sure, but there’s a tremor there. He doesn’t let go. “Maybe I don’t know how.”
The admission lands between us, soft as dust. For once, I don’t rush to fill the silence. I let it settle. The crackle of the fire fills the room, shadows twisting and reaching across the floor.
He tugs me to my feet, until I stand between his knees. “We’ll do it my way,” he says, voice quieter now. “If you want something, you tell me. I’ll give you what I can.” There’s an edge to it, but something honest too. “Even if it’s just the asking.”
I stare at him, feeling the ground shift beneath my feet. I want to ask for softness, for honesty, for mornings without fear and nights without nightmares. I want to ask for the impossible: safety, love, trust. I want to ask for the world.
Instead, I slide my arms around his neck, letting my weight rest against him. His grip finds my waist, fierce and grounding. Our foreheads touch, the ring digging into my skin where our hands meet.
“Don’t make it a circus,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be paraded like another conquest. I want… I want it to be ours. Just ours.”
He breathes out, a ragged exhale. “I can do that.”
For a long moment, we stay like that, tethered by the ring, by old grief and new promises, by everything we’ve become. I feel the truth settle inside me: there’s no freedom I want if it means losing this. Even the violence and the fear are bearable, so long as this strange, impossible tenderness remains.
He tilts his head, kisses me, not fiercely, but with aching care. His hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer, as if he could fuse us together and never let go. I feel the fire behind my eyelids, heat crawling down my spine.
When we part, he presses his lips to my temple, a silent vow. “You’re mine,” he says again, but it’s not a threat. It’s a confession.
“I know,” I answer. “I think I love you.” My voice is steady now, no room for fear.
“IknowI love you, raven.”
