“If anything ever tries to hurt you . . . ” A beat. “I will burn it to the ground.”
He shifts slightly, his arms tightening around me.
“But Icanpromise I won’t let jealousy get in the way again.”
A beat.
“Especially now that you’re mine,” he breathes into my ear.
He says it is like a vow. And I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.
“Deal,” I say, voice soft, but sure.
We sit like that for a moment—still on the blanket, legs tangled, the remnants of food and half-full wine glasses scattered around us. The fireflies drift. The lagoon ripples soft in the distance.
And then—his voice, near my ear, soft enough to break me: “And your magics merging . . . it didn’t make you a monster, Amara.”
A pause. His arms tighten slightly.
“It made you powerful.”
KETHRAKI
TWENTY
“History is written by the survivors, and they bury their secrets. Try to erase them. But I believe we’re seeing the first signs of something awakening, something that was intentionally hidden. Something powerful.”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
The morning light filters into the outpost, cutting through the cool air as I step into the mess hall, still feeling the lingering warmth of last night on my skin. I’m sore, but in the best way.
I grab a plate, find my usual seat, and try to act normal.
I fail.
Because the moment I sit down, Lyra’s eyes snap to mine. And I know she can see it all over me.
She freezes mid-bite, then grins. A slow, knowing, wicked grin. Then, loud enough for half the damn mess hall to hear, “OH, FINALLY! I had a feeling when you came to bed late last night!”
I choke on air.
Lyra slams her hands on the table, pure joy radiating off her like she just won a bet. “IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME.”
My friends raise their cups of tea and clink them together in toast.
I groan, dropping my forehead against the table. “Lyra—”
Taila waves a hand. “No. No. You do not get to be embarrassed. You get to be celebrated.”
Lyra leans in like she’s about to conduct a war debriefing—smug, strategic, and horrifyingly invested. “So? Was he as good as we suspected? Did he live up to all that warlord energy? Was it—”
“Yes! We must have details!” Fenric shouts over the laughter and teasing.
I slap my hand over his mouth. “Not. Another. Word.”
Fenric wrenches my hand away—and cackles. Like a villain.
