“This is what you meant, isn’t it?” I ask him, blunt, not bothering with our usual dance. “When you said your interest in Nightfall’s crown had changed. I used to think you wanted the throne of Prime above all else.”
“Yes, well, things change,” Alaric answers without hesitation. “Family is all. The crown once meant power, order—the ultimate control. Now?” His mouth softens. “Now it is simply another tool to keep what is mine safe. Jules is my true match in every way. The zareth between us grows every single moment. Even stretched now, with her in the Eyrie and me on the Plains, I feel it.”
Kael exhales, not quite a sigh.
“I feel the same with Phoebe,” he admits, voice threaded with awe and something gentler. “She is in Castletide, but her pulse runs through my veins. I know when she sleeps. When she wakes. When she worries.” His gaze flicks toward the healer’s tent. “When she laughs, the sea itself feels less heavy.”
I grunt, the sound rougher than I intend.
Because I understand.
At least, I am starting to.
The bond inside me is not just a thread now—it is a chain of molten steel, wrapped tight around my heart, tugging constantly toward the Healer’s Pavilion where Delia stands breathing, learning, existing.
Owning me.
I do not know if I want that.
When I set out for Earth, I did it with one purpose—one cold, practical aim.
To find a human woman who could be bound to me.
A vessel for the Fates to pour their boon into. A tool.
Just as Alaric originally planned, before destiny had other ideas.
We would trick the Fates, he said.
Use the bond and the boon to protect our realms, wrest the crown into steady hands, and stabilize Nightfall before it shattered completely.
It was supposed to be simple.
Instead, the Fates are laughing at me. At the three of us.
Because no, I did not bring back a tool.
I brought back Delia.
She looks at me like I am something more than a monster.
She walks into my flames and does not flinch.
She meets my jealousy with amusement instead of fear.
She sits in my pavilion, in my bed, in my world and says she wants to stay.
Trick the Fates?
Nope. Not at all.
In fact, I’m beginning to suspect we are the ones being tricked.
“Do you feel it?” Alaric asks quietly, breaking into my thoughts. “When you move away from her—the way it pulls? The way it hurts?”
My lips curl. “I am not inclined to discuss my pain, Dragon Lord.”
He snorts. “Then I will tell you, anyway. It doesn’t ease. Not truly. You simply learn to move with it. To accept that part of you is always with them.”
