“Because I’m your…?”
He steps close behind me, his chest brushing my back. “Because this realm bends to power. And you have more than you realize.”
Heat blooms low in my belly. Not lust—well, okay, also lust—but something deeper. Something that feels like belonging.
We continue on, and the garden gives way to a series of stone steps leading to a cliffside balcony.
Below us, the Ninth Realm sprawls in a breathtaking tapestry of glowing rivers, jagged obsidian spires, shimmering plains, and distant cities lit from within by magic. The sky above is a deep, rich violet—almost black—with drifting constellations that shift and reform like living stories.
“What… are those?” I whisper, pointing to the slowly changing star patterns.
“Fragments of lost souls,” he says softly. “Ancestors. Old gods. The realm keeps their memories as light.”
I press a hand to my heart. “They’re beautiful.”
“So are you,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to my temple.
We linger there, the wind warm and strange against my face, carrying the scent of smoldering stone and rare flowers.
Then he leads me down a winding path to a glimmering pool carved into the earth. The water glows from within—liquid flame, dancing gold and soft white. “The Living Flame Springs,” he says quietly.
The air vibrates with ancient magic.
Slade stops at the edge. “The springs amplify whatever burns in your heart. Passion. Power. Grief. Hope.”
I dip my fingers in, and warmth spreads through me, curling along every vein like it wants to unlock something inside me. Slade takes my hand again, steadying me. Protective. Present. “It likes you,” he says quietly.
“Everything in your world seemsweirdlyfriendly to me.”
Slade chuckles softly, shaking his head at me.
We leave the springs behind and continue toward the oldest part of the estate—a towering structure carved directly into the rock face.
The doors open with a moaning groan, ancient magic stirring. The hall is magnificent—vaulted ceilings painted with old wars, old kings, old sacrifices. Massive braziers line the walls, flames shifting colors that don’t exist in the mortal world.
At the center sits a throne of blackstone and gold veins, carved so intricately it almost appears woven. Behind it is a smaller chair—elegant, curved, with a cushioned seat of deep green velvet.
My heart stutters, flip-flopping in my chest like a fish on land. I don’t bother hiding the grin as it spills across my face. “You have a throne,” I tease.
He gestures toward the smaller one. “You have a throne, too.”
I freeze. “Slade…”
“YouareLady Athalar.” His voice holds no hesitation. “The realm knows it. I know it. Thatthrone will accept no one else.” Emotion rises unexpectedly in my throat. He notices instantly, pulling me gently into his arms. “You don’t have to rule anything,” he says, low and warm. “You don’t have to claim anything. This just means… you have a place here. A home. With me.”
I breathe him in, and the ancient hall seems to breathe with me.
“I love it,” I whisper.
He exhales slowly, as if I’ve told him something important. Then he pulls back and lifts my chin with two fingers. “One more stop.”
He leads me back outside, up a long spiral ramp that winds along a natural spire of stone until we reach a private balcony overlooking the entire realm. The sky above shifts—constellations flickering, swirling, reshaping. Stars pulse brighter as if greeting us. “It’s… stunning,” I breathe.
Slade steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, his chest pressed warm and solid against my back.
“Every night is like this,” he murmurs. “Every night since the old war ended.”
“And you sometimes… watch this alone?”
