She doesn’t step away. Instead, she looks up at me with those green eyes that see too much, her lips parted slightly in invitation or question. The power flow carries her emotions directly to me—desire and determination and something thatmight be love, all tangled together in ways that make thinking clearly nearly impossible.
We should discuss tactics. Plan our next move. Process what we’ve learned about this new level of magical coordination.
Instead, she steps closer, eliminating the last of the space between us. Her hands rest against my chest, and I can feel her pulse racing beneath my palms where they rest on her waist.
"Rhea," I say her name carefully, as if it were something precious I’m afraid to break. "What we’re considering?—"
"I know what we’re considering," she interrupts, her voice steady despite the flush in her cheeks. "I know the risks, the complications, what it might mean for both of us." Her hands fist in my shirt, anchoring herself as she meets my gaze without flinching. "I also know I’ve never wanted anything more in my life."
The words break something loose in my chest, some barrier I’d built against hope and possibility. The power sharing has left us both raw, exposed, emotions too close to the surface to hide behind careful words.
But she deserves more than desperation. More than the urgent claiming my body demands.
"Are you certain?" I ask, though the question encompasses far more than just the kiss we’re both thinking about. "Once we do this, there’s no going back. Not to what we were, not to the careful distance we’ve been maintaining."
"I don’t want to go back," she whispers, eyes opening to meet mine with fierce determination. "I want to go forward. With you. Whatever that means, whatever it costs—I choose this. I choose you."
The simple declaration breaks the last of my resistance. When I lift my hands to cup her face, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones, her eyes flutter closed at the touch.
But I don’t take what I want. Not yet. Instead, I study her face—the delicate arch of her brows, the soft curve of her mouth, the way candlelight turns her skin to gold. I memorize this moment, the choice she’s making, the trust she’s offering.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur against her lips, close enough to kiss but not quite touching. "At any point, tell me to stop."
Her eyes open, meeting mine with such clear certainty that my breath catches. "I won’t need to."
Only then do I close the distance between us, our lips meeting with careful reverence. The kiss starts gentle, tentative, both of us afraid of the power we’re wielding. But the magical link amplifies everything—her soft intake of breath, the way her hands fist in my shirt, the taste of her mouth beneath mine, sweet with honey from the tea we shared earlier and something uniquely her.
Control frays under the assault of sensation and emotion flowing between us. The kiss deepens, becomes hungry, desperate, months of restrained desire finally given permission to burn. She presses closer, her body fitting against mine as if she belongs there, and I’m lost to everything except the feel of her in my arms.
The spiral blazes so bright, it illuminates the entire chamber, magical energy crackling in the air around us. I can suddenly sense everything—every living creature in the abbey, every thread of magic woven through the ancient stones, every shadow that moves with unnatural purpose.
And most clearly of all, the Marshal’s shock and growing panic as he realizes what we’ve accomplished.
We break apart slowly, reluctantly, both breathing hard and still wrapped in each other’s arms. The power flows between us stronger than ever, carrying shared wonder at what we’ve unlocked.
"He’s afraid," I realize, the knowledge coming from our enhanced magical awareness as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud. "Our unity isn’t what he planned for."
"He expected us to suffer," Rhea agrees, her voice breathless but triumphant. "Expected the bond to be a source of pain he could exploit. Instead, we’re becoming stronger."
The abbey begins to tremble around us, stone grinding against stone as the Marshal realizes his fundamental miscalculation. Dust rains from the ceiling, and cracks spider across the walls as the building itself responds to his growing desperation.
"He’s trying to force us toward the bell tower," I say, feeling the building’s movements. "Speed up his timeline before we can complete the Unity Rite and turn his own power against him."
"Then we don’t let him dictate the terms." Fire sparks in her eyes, bright with determination and something that might be anticipation. "We finish what we started, but on our terms."
As we gather our essential supplies and prepare to leave the collapsing chamber, I understand something fundamental has shifted in the balance of power. The Marshal isn’t just hunting us anymore—he’s running from what we’re becoming together, from a possibility he never considered.
The hunt has become mutual, and for the first time since waking from my cursed sleep, I believe we might actually win.
Power pulses between us, a promise of strength beyond what either of us could achieve alone. But more than that, it’s a promise of partnership, of choosing each other not because magic demands it, but because our hearts do.
TWELVE
RHEA
The hidden chamber we’ve claimed as our sanctuary sits deep in the abbey’s foundations, carved from living rock and shielded by walls thick enough to muffle sound and magical resonance. Ancient symbols cover every surface—not the Christian imagery of the upper levels, but older markings that predate kingdoms. Spirals and interlocking circles that speak of powers far more ancient than any human god.
Power flows through the very stones here, making this the perfect place for what we’re attempting. What we must attempt, if we’re going to survive what’s coming.
