“I didn’t mean to keep things from you.”
He exhaled slowly.
“And I didn’t mean to invade you,” he said. “I just… I need to understand you.”
She nodded. Then leaned forward and kissed him—slow and full of apology.
The second time they came together that night, it was slower. Less hunger, more reverence. Like they were relearning each other’s language.
They fell asleep tangled in silence, skin to skin.
But for the first time in many weeks…
Maris did not begin to dream.
Chapter thirty-one
The Thief
-Alarik-
The moment she said yes, Alarik felt it.
It wasn’t a sound or a vision.
It was a pull — taut and fierce slipping through his fingers like sand.
He stood in the center of the war room, light from a dozen stained-glass windows spilling broken moons across the marbled floor. But it was her not light or shadow that flooded his mind.
She had agreed to Kael and the bond was forming.
A temporary tether, he knew the rite. Standard for nobility, especially among Nythran houses— too blood thirsty to ever trust their intended without a psychic link to protect them. It was an emotional bleed— the earliest steps to a permanent seal. Not always active. Not always deep unless love was involved and gods damn her if it was.
Alarik staggered a step before catching himself on the edge of the black iron table. Zairon looked up from his seat, dark brows furrowing.
“She accepted his proposal, their bond is beginning to form.” Alarik said, voice low, strained. Each syllable landed like glass underfoot.
"She is choosing what is familiar, what she believes will bring her peace." Zairon spoke.
Alarik's gaze didn't lift. His breath shook as he slammed his palm against the map sprawled across the table, the weight of his magic flickering across the room in waves of pale light.
“I told you,” he growled. “I told you I would take her from his bed if I had to.”
Zairon stood slowly. “Alarik,”
“She said yes,” he bit out. “If he rushes a wedding and the bond seals —if the final vow is made —”
“She becomes his,” Zairon finished quietly. “entirely, it would be impossible to undo.”
A pause.
A muscle ticked in Alarik’s jaw. He turned from his friend, from the table, from everything and strode toward the arched windows overlooking the sea.
Waves crashed below, cold and distant.
His reflection stared back from the dark glass ethereal —haunted, dressed in his pale leathers that did little to hide the wild glint in his eyes.
It wasn’t just about vengeance anymore.
