The final crack in my resolve shatters it into thousands of glittering shards.
I knew her story before she spoke it aloud. But that look in her eyes when she told me—Gods, it nearly broke me. I wanted to pull her into my arms right then and never let go. To kiss the words from her lips, soothe the hurt from her eyes with my touch, whisper the three words I’ve never said to anyone:I love you. Anything to erase every harsh word I’ve ever thrown at her.
Hell, I wanted to fuck her right there in the sand until we both forgot—forgot who we were, forgot I’m the son of the man who ruined her life, forgot she’s the Fae forced to marry me.
But I have to be careful. Until we’re married, she’s still in danger.
And I can feel her conflict, the war raging beneath her skin.
I need her to choose me as thoroughly as I’ve chosen her.
Alaya
A chill has settled in my chest.
The echoes of his voice and the hard press of his words still vibrate in the air.
My fury is righteous, rooted in memory:
His father killed mine.
Every time I look at him—at the line of his jaw, the arrogant tilt of his head—I see the shadow of the man who shattered my life. And Prince Kiernan has done nothing to earn forgiveness, testing my loyalty with cruel indifference.
I should despise him.
But this hatred is not pure. It’s polluted by feelings I can’t name, let alone accept. Chaotic and formless, like a hidden undercurrent in a dark river. When we were on the sand, with him above me, there was the humiliating heat of defeat, but also something else—the raw, undeniable awareness of his strength, his warmth. The brief, terrifying closeness of his body. A magnetic, unwanted pull towards the same face I often want to strike. A strange, electric tension whenever he’s near—a reaction that betrays my deepest resolve.
I’m trapped between two opposing forces.
The duty of vengeance demands I hate him. My mind screams for his downfall, but a traitorous part of my heart aches for his touch.
This baffling, visceral attraction insists the connection is real, terrifyingly so.
I’m not just confused—my fortress walls are crumbling. The impossible war between these two desires has left me trembling with exhausted confusion.
I don’t hate him. I hate myself for wanting him.
Chapter Nine
Alaya
As I resume my walk to the Western Pasture, the need for solace overwhelms everything else. I need a moment to breathe, to connect with someone who doesn’t demand pieces of me.
My body relaxes the moment the pasture comes into view, the sweet smell of grass and flowers swirling in the air.
Heller spots me and jogs from the stables, enveloping me in a musty, horse-smelling bear hug. His wide grin and messy windswept hair kindle something warm in my chest—delight, or maybe just relief.
“How are you doing, Heller?” I ask as he leads us back towards the stables. The light has started to fade, leaving behind a vibrant amber glow that makes everything look soft and luminous. Golden Hour.
At the fence, he jumps up to sit on the top bar and holds out a hand to help me up. I take his rough, work-worn hand, and he pulls me effortlessly to sit beside him.
“I’ve missed you coming down,” he says finally.
“Boring wedding stuff.” I wave it away, not wanting to admit I feel bad for what Prince Kiernan did to him because of me.
Something startles the horses in the pasture. They bolt, hooves flying across the grass and kicking into the air, manes and tails billowing behind them.
“They really are stunning.”
