Stellan moves closer, his voice carrying that familiar note of calculated certainty. “Step with her, Thane. Let them see. They’re waiting.”
Right. Three hundred people. Still kneeling.
I take a breath and step forward.
My fingers find his sleeve without conscious thought, gripping the dark fabric. “With me,” I whisper.
He glances down at where I’m holding onto him, and the smallest smirk graces his full lips. His hand covers mine, slides it down from his sleeve, and laces our fingers together. The warmth of his skin, the deliberate certainty of the gesture, sends a shiver through me.
When I look back into his silver eyes, the mask slips, just for a heartbeat, and I catch a glimpse of something raw underneath that makes my chest ache.
He nods.
We step forward together.
The Ether responds immediately—not to my fear this time, but to the bond humming between us. The silver mist rises, curling around our joined hands, threading between our fingers like liquid starlight.
And then it happens.
The bond connecting us now becomes visible—bright, undeniable, hanging in the air between Thane and me like a bridge made of pure light. It hums, alive, in rhythm with my heartbeat, then settles into a steady glow that every single Feeder in the clearing can see.
A gasp moves through them like a wave, three hundred voices breathing in at once.
The murmurs start immediately.
“Gods above,” someone breathes.
“Is that—?”
“The bond. It’s visible.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
A woman near the front of the crowd rises to her feet, not aggressive but desperate for answers. Her voice carries over the rising whispers. “What does this mean? Does the Council sanction this union?”
More voices join hers, some reverent, others edged with panic.
“Is everything changing now?”
“What happens to the rest of us?”
“Are we free?”
And then, barely above a whisper from someone in the back:
“She chose him.”
The words hit me in the chest, different from all the others. More personal. More true.
The questions pile on top of each other until the clearing buzzes with desperate hope and barely contained fear. I can feel their stares on me, measuring my every breath, tracking every flicker of expression.
They want answers I don’t have. Promises I don’t know if I can keep.
I open my mouth to say something—anything that might calm the rising tension—but my throat closes up. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I make a promise I can’t fulfill, or give them hope I can’t deliver on?
The silver strand pulses brighter, responding to the storm I can’t contain.
Thane’s hand squeezes mine—cool, steady, a contrast to the heat rushing under my skin. The touch grounds me, and for a moment the overwhelming weight of their expectations feels almost manageable.
