I swallow hard, my fingers curling into the fabric of my pants. “What if this is just him?”
What if he’s feeling something I never will? What if he’s already bound to me in some way—and I will never be able to return it? I shake my head, my pulse too fast, my stomach twisting.
“What if the bond is the only reason he wants me?”
Valen doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. Because the words are already out there, cutting through the air between us like a blade.
I inhale sharply, pressing my palm against my chest, trying to settle something that won’t quiet.
“What if . . . ”
But the words catch. Because I know what I’m about to say. And I know Valen will hear it.
And gods, I don’t want it to be true.
I swallow hard.
“What if, without the bond . . . he wouldn’t have chosen me?”
What if none of this is real?
Valen’s voice is quieter this time. “That’s what’s scaring you?”
I look away, jaw tight. Because yes. That’s exactly it. Because I need to know that what’s between us is real.
My life today is unrecognizable. Sometimes things move so fast I can’t keep up. There’s no time to think. No time to process. I’m still grieving for my parents. But there’s no space for that.
Not with the war coming. Not with the Shadeheart. Not witheverything I have to become to stop her.
And gods—I just need one thing that’s real.
Just one.
Valen watches me. Then exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“I don’t know, Amara.”
The honesty in his voice unnerves me. I expected him to have an answer. I expected him to unravel this for me, the way he always does.
I inhale, my pulse unsteady as I press my fingers against my temple.
“So what am I supposed to do with that?”
Valen is quiet for a long moment before he leans forward, bracing himself on his staff—like the weight of my worries is pressing into him too.
“Bonds are strange things.” His voice is even, thoughtful. “Magics might bind your souls, but it doesn’t bind your will.”
I swallow hard, my hands clenching in my lap. “Then explain this. Explain why he feels it and I don’t.”
Valen rubs his thumb against his fingertips—thoughtful, but not comforting. “Maybe it’s something that takes time.”
I shake my head, my throat tightening. “And if I never feel it?”
He exhales through his nose, not quite meeting my eyes. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
The words sink. Heavy. Cold. Final. I bite down on my lower lip, hard—looking away, unwilling to let him see the crack forming. My teeth catch too deep. I taste blood.
Metallic. Sharp. Real.
