It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I would have wanted.
“I’ve been working on it for days,” he says, stepping into my space, his hand cupping my cheek. “Every time you slept, I was here, building this. I wanted you to know that I see you. That I know you.”
The words are right. They’re the words I’ve been dying to hear. But as he leans down, pressing his forehead to mine, something feels off.
“Andrik?” I whisper. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine.” His thumb brushes across my cheek. “Just tired. It’s been a long day. But we’re safe now. You’re safe.”
“Rest,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep watch. And tomorrow, I’ll finish this. I promise,Saelûn.”
I want to believe him.
I do believe him.
But something in my chest is screaming.
46
Chapter 47-
The witness POV-
She’s shivering.
Even in the soft,golden flicker of the firelight, I can see the tremors racking her small frame. She pulls my tunic—his tunic—tighter around her, her knuckles white as she clings to the scent of him. She’s soaked from the forest, her hair clinging to the pale curve of her neck in dark, damp strands.
My little dove.Finally in the nest. Finally mine.
My chest burnswith a pressure so intense I can hardly breathe. I want to throw off this mask, pull her into my arms, and bury my face in her hair.
I wantto tell her that I’ve loved her since the first time I saw her. That I’ve waited lifetimes for this moment. That she was always meant to be here—with me.
But I haveto be him if I want her.
“You’re freezing,”I say softly, keeping my voice low and steady. “Let me draw you a bath.”
She blinks up at me,eyes clouded with exhaustion.
“Okay,”she nods.
I move to the bathroom,my limbs moving with an unfamiliar grace. I fill the tub with steaming water, and the vapor rises, coating the mirror. I add the herbs I prepared—lavender, chamomile, and rose petals.
All I want isfor her to be comfortable here.
When I return,she’s standing by the fire, staring into the flames. She looks so fragile, it makes my heart ache with twisted guilt, but I know I’m the only one who can keep her from breaking.
“It’s ready,”I say gently.
I turn awayas she slips out of my tunic. Even now—when every primal instinct in this borrowed form is screaming to turn around, to touch, to claim—I hold back.
I loveher enough to wait. I love her enough to play this part, to wear his skin, if it means she never has to feel the pain of that false bond ever again.
“Thank you,”she whispers.
I linger in the doorway,watching the tension leave her body as she sinks into the warmth.
She is breathtaking.
