"What the fuck was that?" Damien demands. "And what exactlyareyou?"
The prince shrugs.
"No."
The single syllable hangs in the air, impossibly casual.
No?
That's it?
Just... no?
We all stare at him, absolutely baffled by the audacity of simplyrefusingto answer legitimate questions about matters that nearly killed us.
Cassius's shadow tendrils surge forward before he can stop them, dark appendages reaching toward Prince Yoshiro with clear aggressive intent. They strain against some invisible barrier—perhaps the professor's protection, perhaps the prince's own defenses—but the message is clear enough.
Explain yourself or face consequences.
The prince just waves at the shadows like they're curious pets rather than manifestations of void-touched death magic.
Professor Eternalis ignores the display, her voice cutting through the tension with scholarly precision.
"The soul retrieval technique that affected you is actually a bonded skill set," she explains. "Due to the circumstance, it had to be triggered by the blast of magic energy the chalice gave out, triggering it to not only be used on Gwenievere herself, but pulled you all out of your bodies as well."
She pauses, her gaze moving to where Gwenievere floats in her crystalline chamber.
"Her counterpart had to be the one to draw you back."
Counterpart.
The word sends ice down my spine despite the vampire blood keeping my temperature steady.
"The second instance occurred more out of trigger than accidentally," she continues. "Though with how low her blood levels were, it could be why she was so out of it."
My mind races through the implications.
Gwenievere's counterpart—Gabriel, presumably, the twin brother who has shared her consciousness for so long—was responsible for pulling our souls back from whatever abyss the chalice's power sent them to. The connection between them, the bond of shared existence, somehow extended to include us through our mate bonds with Gwenievere herself.
We were saved by the strength of our connection to her.
Even unconscious, even drained, even separated from her brother for the first time in years—she reached for us.
And something reached back.
Mortimer speaks, his scholarly voice carrying undertones of carefully controlled alarm.
"You're not actually suggesting that Prince Yoshiro is a bond mate or potential partner of Gwenievere, are you?"
The question articulates what we're all dreading.
His dissatisfaction is audible—dragon fire flickering around his words like heat lightning, scales threatening to emerge along his forearms before he wrestles them back beneath human skin. The room temperature rises several degrees in response to his emotional state, competing with the frost still spreading from Zeke's position.
We could all agree with his horror at the implication.
Another bond mate.
Another man tied to the woman we love, claiming pieces of her heart that we've fought and bled and died to earn.
