She was his, and he was hers, and the thought had his chest tightening even as he strode through the palace corridors. After all these years of wanting her, of holding himself back, of telling himself he had no right—
She was finally his.
And he intended to keep her.
The envoys from Suneria had left an hour ago, their threats still ringing in the air. Sanctions. Tariffs. Economic war. As if any of that mattered. As if anything mattered except the woman who had fallen asleep in his arms last night, exhausted and sated and so beautiful it made his chest ache.
He would marry her today if he could. This very hour. He wanted the whole world to know she belonged to him, wanted to put a ring on her finger and his name after hers before anyone—Suneria, Aretha, anyone—could try to take her away.
But first, he had to find her.
A passing maid had told him Aurora had gone to the hospital wing to visit her sister, and Mik’hail had felt a flicker of unease at the news. His Briar had such a soft heart. Too soft, sometimes. She would sit by Aretha’s bedside for hours if no one stopped her, pouring out guilt and grief for a sister who had never deserved her kindness.
He walked faster.
Last night, she had clung to him like she was afraid he would disappear. Had whispered that she was scared—scared this was all a dream, scared she would wake up and he would be Aretha’s again.
The memory made his jaw tighten.
He should have stayed. Should have been there when she woke up, should have kissed her awake and made love to her again until she understood that he wasn’t going anywhere. That he would never go anywhere. That she was stuck with him now, for better or worse, and he had no intention of letting her go.
But he had been a fool, and he had left her alone, and now she was sitting with Aretha when she should be in his arms.
He would fix that.
He would find her, and he would take her somewhere private, and he would tell her that they were getting married. Not in a month. Not in a week. Now. Today. Before she had time to doubt, before she had time to be afraid, before anyone or anything could come between them.
The hospital wing came into view, and Mik’hail slowed his steps as he approached Aretha’s room.
The door was slightly ajar.
He could hear voices inside. Aurora’s voice, soft and hesitant. And another voice—Aretha’s, though he couldn’t make out the words.
Mik’hail raised his hand to knock, but something made him pause.
“I just want you to know,” Aurora was saying, “that it’s only infatuation on my part.”
He froze.
“So please.” Her voice was small. Almost fragile. “Be happy with him.”
Mik’hail stepped back from the door.
Infatuation.
Only infatuation.
Be happy with him.
His hands,he realized distantly, had curled into fists at his sides. Ever since meeting her, there was a secret part of him that this could happen. That one day she would realized he wasnotwhat she imagined him to be. And that he was too old for her, and she was too young for him.
The age gap had always been there, a chasm he had tried to pretend didn’t matter.
But he was wrong.
It mattered, obviously.
And she had realized that after just one night with him. A young girl infatuated with an older man, wanting to see what it was like. And now that she had seen, now that they had spent one night together—
