I pour the herbs into my water, sighing.
I’m in so much trouble.
THE BOND
TWENTY-FOUR
Lenuk found some hidden texts, so ancient they were barely held together. He gave his life to bring them to me. Thank you dear old friend. May they help bring peace to our realm . . . All I can make out, so far, is something about a “sacred bond wrought to deliver from ruin . . .” the rest I need to bring in for restoration.
—VALEN’S JOURNALS
AMARA
The barracks are alive with the usual morning chaos—soldiers clattering plates, the scent of fresh bread and sizzling sausage thick in the air.
I sit at one of the long wooden tables, a cup of mercifullystrong tea cradled in my hands, trying to look composed. Like I’m fine. Like I didn’t wake up in Thane’s bed and immediately start spiraling.
Across from me, Lyra stares. Smirking. Of course she knows.
To my left, Fenric is half-asleep, cradling his mug like it might run away. Taila is slicing an apple with a dagger she conveniently forgot to leave at the training session yesterday. Darius and Nessa are debating over patrol routes—but their ears are clearly on us.
I take a slow sip of tea, eyes fixed on the rim of the cup. Maybe if I don’t meet her gaze, she’ll let it go.
She does not. She leans in, resting her elbows on the table, voice far too loud.
“So . . . how’s your head?”
Fenric snorts into his mug. That clearly woke him up.
I scowl. “Like someone split it open with a battle axe. Thanks for asking.”
She hums. “And your heart?”
I choke. Full-on, tea-up-the-nose, eyes-watering cough.
Nessa freezes, apple halfway to her mouth. Taila raises a brow, chewing slowly. Lyra beams like she just won something.
“You’re the worst,” I croak, dragging both hands down my face.
Fenric mutters, “Called it,” into his cup. Darius, very helpfully, says nothing—but absolutely doesn’t blink.
Lyra nudges my foot under the table. “You’re deflecting.”
Of course I’m deflecting.
I’ve spent the last few days pretending the bond isn’t real. That it doesn’t hum between us like a second heartbeat. That it isn’t syncing my thoughts. My feelings.
That it doesn’t pull tighter every time he’s near.
And we were close. Gods, we wereright there. He started letting me in. And I—I stepped back. Flinched. Let the fear get inthe way.
Now he’s pulling away and I can feel it. Every moment he doesn’t look at me. Every silence stretched too long. I see it in the way his voice tightens when we speak.
I feel it in the fuckingbond.
It’s quieter now. Not gone. Just . . . braced.
I sigh and shove a piece of bread into my mouth—safer than speaking.
