They stayed there, both breathing hard, sweat cooling on their skin. Thane didn’t pull out, didn’t loosen his grip, just pressed his face into Riven’s shoulder like he meant to keep him there forever.
Riven huffed a laugh. “We’re going to be late.”
Thane grunted. “They’ll wait.”
Riven rolled his eyes. “We should at least pretend to be professional.”
Thane finally withdrew, slow and deliberate. “You walk into that meeting smelling like me,” he said, voice rough and satisfied, “and no one’s going to question who you belong to.”
Riven turned his head to smirk at him. “You’re such an asshole.”
Thane leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth with infuriating gentleness. “And you’re mine.”
Riven didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.
Riven shifted in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of the deep navy shirt that clung too perfectly to his frame. The fabric was soft, expensive, stitched with subtle embroidery in Virellien silver. The slacks fit just as snugly, tailored within an inch of indecency. He looked… good. Sharp. Like someone with House blood in his veins. But it wasn’t him.
Thane, already fully dressed in black and steel gray, stepped behind him, gaze roaming over Riven’s reflection like he was considering devouring him all over again. “You look like you belong,” he said, tone low and approving.
Riven snorted and tugged at the collar. “I look like a well-dressed hostage.”
“You’re not a hostage,” Thane said, and slapped his ass hard enough to make Riven jolt forward with a startled breath.
Before he could retort, Thane’s hand slid around his waist, spun him, and crushed their mouths together. The kiss was searing—possessive and bruising. Riven’s fingers curled into Thane’s jacket, dizzy with the intensity of it. When they finally parted, Thane’s breath was warm against his lips.
“Now you look exactly right,” Thane murmured.
They didn’t speak again as they left the bedroom, but Thane’s hand lingered at the small of Riven’s back the entire walk through the estate’s upper halls, steady and guiding. Guards bowed their heads. Staff disappeared into side corridors. Wordhad spread about what had happened in the vault, what Thane had done. And who he’d done it for.
They reached the audience chamber doors, already open.
Inside, House Virellien was waiting.
The twins were there, Luca standing tall with his arms crossed, Cassian seated with his leg elevated, looking like he was trying to pretend it didn’t ache like hell. Leron stood near the hearth, face impassive, but his eyes flicked briefly to Riven and held.
Asterian was present too, pale and still a bit drawn, though clearly recovering. He offered a shallow nod as they entered.
And on the raised dais at the front, in her high-backed chair of darkwood and steel, the Matriarch sat in full regalia—sleek dark robes threaded with power, her hair braided back from a face as unreadable as ever. She didn’t rise. She didn’t need to. Her presence filled the room like a storm front.
But it wasn’t her that the others turned to first. It was them. Thane and Riven. Together.
And not a single soul questioned it.
The hush that settled over the audience chamber was complete. Even the air seemed to still as the Matriarch slowly rose to her feet. Riven had never heard her raise her voice before—she didn’t need to. Authority dripped from her like ancient blood. But when she spoke now, her voice carried easily to every corner of the room, clear and resonant.
“This is a gathering of celebration,” she said, sweeping her gaze over the assembled House members, “and one of mourning. But it is also something else—something rarer.”
She let the words settle, let them breathe.
“We celebrate our survival. The Hollow Hand thought they could gut us from within. That they could exploit our grief, our pride, our history, and burn us down to ash. They were wrong. They underestimated what it means to bear the Virellien name.”Her eyes flicked to Thane, then Riven. “They did not understand that we are forged in fire and bound by blood, and that even those we do not yet call our own will bleed to protect us.”
A ripple moved through the room. Even the twins looked briefly caught off guard.
“We mourn our fallen,” the Matriarch continued. “We will honor them properly—by rebuilding what was threatened, and by not forgetting what their deaths bought us.”
She took one step down from the dais, her robes whispering along the stone floor.
“And lastly,” she said, with a voice like thunder behind velvet, “we welcome.”
