The brief softness between them was immediately gone, replaced with a cold darkness.
Rune’s quiet laugh sent shivers down her spine. “Did I not say I would kill you if you returned?”
“Someone had to protect her from you, demon.”
Rune strode toward him with a predator’s ease. He jerked the axe from a pile of firewood with a loud crack. “Yet you refuse to accept that person is not you.”
Caelum barely had time to dismount before Rune was moving.
Fast.
Too fast for someone supposedly mortal. Murderous intent rolled off him in cold waves.
Alora’s heart lurched. “Rune, don’t!”
Caelum stumbled backward toward the front of the cottage and he followed.
“Rune!” she cried, panic stabbing her ribs.“STOP!”
A shockwave of power burst from her chest, rippling through the atmosphere like a sheen of white light.
A ring of ancient white glyphs blazed to life beneath Rune’s feet in a perfect circle, etched into the earth. He froze mid-stride.
Not bound by shackles.
Bound by hercommand.
His knees hit the ground with an abrupt thud as if a monumental weight had fallen onto his spine. His hands braced in the dirt, trembling with rage and disbelief.
“What—” Rune snarled, voice strangled. “Alora… what have you done?”
The air thickened.
Magic twisted around her, the white glowing paths on her arms pulsing.
Caelum staggered at her, eyes wide.
“I-I don’t know,” she whispered, trembling as the glyphs blazed brighter beneath Rune, holding him in place, powerless to rise.
Rune glowered up at her, pupils blown, deepening to something darker. Terrified. Reverent. A little ruined.
“Release me,” he growled, but even that sounded unsteady.
Her heart hammered.
She summoned her voice, barely a breath. “How? I don’t even know what this is.”
Rune swallowed hard. “This is… old magic. An array of glyphs forming a binding spell and not one my shadows created.”
“But I don’t know any spells. I don’t even know how I did it.”
“Your blood did,” another said.
They turned to the path where Lady Zinnia stood, radiant and terrible in armor shaped like blooming petals. Thorn-etched plates curled over her shoulders, her sword glowing with a softblush light. Her pink hair was braided back with a crown of silver thorns, her presence a blend of fae grace and lethal command.
“I am Princess Zinnia of the Spring Court, Thornbearer of the Midlands, daughter of the Mortal God. Lay a finger on my niece, and I will bloom a garden from your corpse.”
Behind her, an army of paladins stood like a living forest braced for war. Their armor was formed of dark green steel, layered like overlapping leaves and veined with faint gold. Helms shaped with elk horns glinted beneath the morning light, and their yew spears and bows shimmered as if carved from the forest’s own heart.
