She turns back to me, her moonstone gaze steady, almost unreadable. “Yes, thank you.”
Her calmness cuts sharper than any anger could. She does not glance at me with curiosity, desire, or even a hint of acknowledgment for the heat I feel. Her composure, so effortless, so absolute, stings more than the steady ache of my thickening members, a testament of how easily I surrendered to my baser instincts. My body pulses with need, yet she is unmoved, her calm untouched by the desire I struggle to restrain.
Anger sparks, sharp and sudden; not at her, but at myself. A warrior of my station should not be so easily unsettled by any female, no matter her nature, not when duty demands control above all else. I draw a slow, measured breath, forcing my twin shafts to still, clinging to the discipline I should never have loosened.
The Crown did not ask me to take her to my nest, only to bind myself to her for the sake of peace. She is a symbol, nothing more. And yet… she is not at all what I expected.
I snap my tail against the stone floor in frustration, the crack echoing through the chamber.
Her eyes widen for just a breath, fear flaring through our bond like a spark to dry tinder.
That only stokes my temper further. I had not meant to scare her. Born my enemy, she is as much a casualty of this alliance as I am.
"You’re right, Prithas Varok” Leira states matter-of-factly, squaring her shoulders. "The meal Severa left us is cooling.”
Once again, her strength catches me off guard, though it should not. From the moment she strode into the temple surrounded by naga, she has shown the courage of a warrior, shrugging aside fear in the face of her enemy. This is the firsttime I have heard her speak my name, and something inside me shifts.
I incline my head, pushing the words past the sudden constriction of my throat. “Just Varok,” I say quietly. “We are, after all, bloodmates.”
“Alright then. Varok.” Leira gifts me with a small smile. Unexpected. Fragile. Disarming.
“Shall we take our meal?” My words come out rougher than intended. I had not anticipated much more than thinly veiled tolerance, and certainly not this quiet, treacherous pull toward someone I would have once killed without hesitation. My gaze flickers to Emberyn resting against her delicate skin, and I swallow hard. These feelings are nothing. A trick of the bond. Nothing more.
I glide back, giving her space, and make my way toward the dining chamber.
She approaches the table then pauses, eyeing its height and the curved channels designed for naga to coil within while eating. She is not tall enough to reach the surface comfortably while standing, and there is nowhere for her to sit as my species does not require chairs.
I watch her assess the situation, can see the calculations running behind her eyes. This small moment suddenly feels weighted with significance like a physical manifestation of all the ways our worlds do not fit together. Of how fragile the foundation for lasting peace if we are to bridge such a divide. We do not even share the same culture.
“The Flame has spoken, and the Threadborn stands among us,”Eira stated.“Whether or not you wish to believe, the serpent stone has been cast and Emberyn has chosen her. Your blood bond will transcend politics. It has been foretold in the prophecy.”
The weight of Eira’s words settles over me like a leaden cloak. How is it I was commanded by the Crown to bond with a human for political necessity only to find our union bound in prophecy? I refuse to yield to the ancient text. If I were truly the fire elemental, should I not feel something? Any stirring of power, any spark, even the faintest flicker, should have risen when the blood bond was cast. The full awakening of elemental power is said to require love for one’s bloodmate, yet still… should not a fragment of it have stirred within me, even absent such affection? Why is there nothing?
"I could find something for you to stand on," I offer, though I am not sure what that would be. We have no need for such things.
She shakes her head. "I'll manage."
But as she reaches for the table, the awkwardness of her position is immediately apparent. It is undignified. Uncomfortable. Unacceptable.
I make a decision before I can think better of it. With a smooth motion, I coil my lower half beside the table, forming a wide loop of muscle and scale. "Here," I say, patting the coil. "Sit."
Her eyes widen slightly. "On your...tail?"
"It is strong enough," I assure her. "And it will place you at the proper height."
She hesitates, and I feel her uncertainty through our bond though not fear, simply awareness of the intimacy this represents. In naga culture, only bloodmates would offer such proximity. The same must be true with her species.
Finally, she nods and carefully settles onto the offered coil. I adjust subtly beneath her, providing stable support. Her weight is barely noticeable. She is so small compared to a naga female, but the sensation of her perched there sends an unexpected ripple of awareness through me.
"Thank you," she says, her voice slightly strained.
I incline my head and begin serving the food, placing portions on the platters Severa provided. Cave fruits with their luminescent flesh. Roasted spice tuber roots. Steamed fungi from the deepest caverns. There are also sliced surface fruits smuggled from Clavenmoor’s orchards of apples and pears.
"I am not familiar with human dietary needs," I admit. "If anything is unsuitable, please say so."
“This all looks fine. Thank you,” she says, selecting an apple slice. “But how did you get apples and pears past the signal towers? The Crownward Guard is known for its vigilance.”
I allow a faint curl of amusement into my voice. “Stealthy serpents have their ways. Probably better if I leave it at that.”
