As he sweeps up the glass, I busy myself with the remaining herbs, painfully aware of his presence. When he finishes, he doesn’t leave.
Instead, he closes the infirmary door and leans against the counter beside me.
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” The word is quiet but firm. “I’ve been watching you avoid everyone’s eyes since your conversation with Nyxiana.”
My pulse quickens. “You were watching me?”
“It’s my job to notice things.” His eyes never leave mine. “And you’re terrible at hiding when you’re upset.”
I turn away, arranging bottles that don’t need arranging. “It’s nothing important.”
“Try again.” He gently turns me back to face him. “What did she say that’s got you looking over your shoulder all day?”
The concern in his expression breaks something loose inside me. “She warned me about fae court surveillance,” I admit reluctantly. “About my father’s expectations.”
His posture shifts subtly, alert. “What expectations?”
“Political marriages are ... traditional. Especially for daughters of houses like mine.” I focus on the jar in my hands. “My sister is being negotiated into an alliance now.”
Callum’s jaw tightens visibly. “And they expect the same from you.”
“My father understands my work here is important.” The words sound just as hollow now as they did earlier.
“But?” He steps closer, reading the doubt on my face.
“But the courts are tightening control over cross-species relationships.” I finally meet his eyes. “Especially ones without political value.”
Understanding darkens his expression. “Like ours.”
The simple acknowledgment of what’s growing between us sends warmth through my chest despite the circumstances.
“No one is forcing you into some political marriage,” he says, voice dropping low with intensity. “Not while I’m alive.”
The protective fire in his eyes steals my breath. “It’s complicated, Callum. My family has responsibilities—“
“The only responsibility that matters is to yourself.” His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. “You deserve to choose your own path. Your own—“ He hesitates, then finishes, ”—relationships.”
We stand together in the quiet infirmary, both acknowledging the danger of what’s building between us, and I realize we’ve moved closer during our conversation. His scent surrounds me—cedar and leather and that hint of wildness that makes my heart race.
“If the fae courts see this as unsuitable ...” I whisper.
“Then they’re the ones who are wrong.” His free hand rises to brush a strand of hair from my face, lingering against my cheek.
The warmth of his skin against mine ignites heat low in my belly, and I find myself leaning into his touch. His gaze turns heavy as it drops to my lips, and I can feel the protective energy radiating from him, creating a charged atmosphere that pulls me closer.
The world around us seems to slow as our eyes remain locked. Something shifts inside me—my fae magic stirring in a way I’ve never experienced before. It’s as if every cell in my body suddenly recognizes something profound about the man standing before me. The sensation washes through me like warm honey, crystallizing into absolute certainty.
Callum goes perfectly still, his hand frozen against my cheek. I watch the change ripple across his face—his expression transforming from protective to something primal and certain. His eyes flash with amber fire, his wolf rising to the surface with unmistakable recognition.
“You’re my mate,” he whispers, voice rough with conviction.
The words send a shiver down my spine, naming what I already know to be true. My magic pulses in response, a warm glow spreading through me that has nothing to do with healing and everything to do with bonding.
“Yes,” I breathe, the word feeling foreign yet utterly right on my tongue. “I feel it too.”
We stand frozen, both trying to process the enormity of what’s happening. My diplomatic training has prepared me for countless situations, but nothing like this perfect, terrifying certainty.
