I nod, shifting my weight. “Are you going alone?”
“Rowena’s already at the Pyre Keep,” he continues, adjusting his bracers. “I’ll take a few of the soldiers on horseback. Garrick too. I could use a ride. Plus Xaroth will fly ahead, scouting. It should be fine.”
I watch the way he moves—efficient. Precise. Always thinking ahead. He always is. And for the first time, it occurs to me how little time he takes for himself. How his entire life has been duty, war, strategy. Even now—after the bond, after I finally stopped running—he still chooses the realm first.
And that really bothers me. But I can’t say it. Not now. Because this is who he is. This is who he’s always been.
Always duty. Always first. Always him, carrying everything.
But what happens when there’s nothing left of him to give?
I shift, toeing at a loose stone with my boot. “Guess I’ll see you when you get back, then.”
Thane tightens the last strap on his saddle—but slower this time. Like he’s stalling. Like he might change his mind.
I wait. Hoping.
He doesn’t.
But then—he steps back, raking his fingers through his hair. And just like that, the composed, unreadable Warlord is back.
“I’ll be back soon,” he says, final, certain.
There’s no hesitation. No invitation to linger.
He says it like a promise. But everything else—his pause, his eyes, the way he rakes a hand through his hair—says otherwise.
And for some reason, that makes my stomach twist even more.
The outpost moves around us—soldiers calling out orders, the clatter of gear, horses shifting restlessly in their stalls. But at this moment, it feels like it’s just us.
Me. Standing here. Watching him leave.
Him. Standing there. Looking at me like he wants to say something else . . . but won’t.
Instead, his hand finds my arm, fingers curling as he pulls me in. A quick kiss—brief but firm, his lips warm against mine, his other hand cupping my jaw.
For a moment, he lingers. Just breathing, his brow resting on mine. I close my eyes hoping he will stay like this . . . with me.
Instead—he eases back, his grip steady but deliberate as he moves me back to where I was standing. Putting the space between us again, as if leaving would be impossible without it.
I lids snap open, disappointment sinking heavily in my gut.
Something shifts. A pulse—faint, steady—at the back of my mind. Not a thought or words. Just . . . presence. As if he’s there—just beyond my reach. As if, if I reach back for that thread, I could feel him.
Is that the bond?
Thane eyes me as he adjusts the sword at his hip, swings himself onto his horse with the ease of a man who has done this a thousand times. I watch the way his hands move, the way his jawclenches slightly when he glances toward the road. He doesn’t look back at me. Not until he speaks.
“Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone.”
I snort. “No promises.”
I can’t help myself, even now.
He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. But I swear I see the corner of his mouth twitch. Just for a second.
Then—he’s gone.
