And now Aly has walked straight through my defenses like they were never there.
It’s never been anything more than obsession,I reassure myself.That’s all it is even now: obsession. Even if she’s carrying my child.
IfI ever say those words out loud, it won’t be to Liev first.
It’ll be to her.
“I’ll tell him what he needs to know,” I say evenly. “The facts. That’s enough.”
Nika nods, then adds with dry amusement, “Good thing you waited until you’re mostly healed.”
I glance at him. “Why’s that?”
“If he tries to kill you, at least you won’t bleed out immediately.”
A rough laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
It isn’t entirely a joke.
Liev has killed for less. If he thinks I’ve dishonored his daughter or put her at risk, our friendship won’t mean much. He knows how our world wrecks people. He wouldn’t let Alyona be put in the way of our bloody business.
I just hope he’ll believe the same of me.
A knock sounds at the door. One of the guards leans in and says, “He’s here.”
My shoulders tighten instinctively.
Nika straightens and cracks his neck. “I’ll bring him up.”
When the door shuts behind him, the study feels larger and emptier than before, despite it being a curated space meant to feel close and safe. The quarter keeps rolling over my knuckles as I roll my shoulders, testing the pull of healing muscle and the ache beneath my ribs. I have taken bullets and knives without hesitation, but this feels worse than any wound.
This conversation could change everything.
A soft knock sounds again.
“I said bring him?—”
The door opens before I finish speaking.
Aly stands there.
She’s wearing leggings and one of my shirts, the fabric swallowing her curvy frame, her hair loose and messy from sleep. She looks warm and soft and completely out of place in a room built for war and strategy. Somehow, she makes it feel less suffocating just by stepping inside.
“What are you doing out of bed?” I ask immediately.
She rolls her eyes. “Good morning to you too.”
“You should be resting.”
“Kazimir,” she says patiently, “I’m barely pregnant, not made of glass. And I slept close to ten hours.”
“You’re still?—”
“Perfectly fine,” she finishes, but there’s no accusation in it. Only affection. “You’re being overprotective again, Kaz.”
The past two days, after having everything confirmed, have been a whirlwind of trying to find a balance between control and care.
She walks toward me slowly, like she can sense the tension vibrating through me. When she reaches me, she slips her hand into mine without hesitation. Her fingers are warm, steady, grounding in a way nothing else has ever been.
