The council ends near midnight. The others file out in pairs—Drayke and Selene murmuring to each other, Rurik making Aisling laugh despite the gravity of what we’re planning, Zyphon dissolving into shadows with Nasyra a step behind.
Tamsin and I remain. She’s studying the maps still pinned to the wall, her expression thoughtful.
“You didn’t want to move forward with the Crown.” It’s not a question.
“No.”
“But you did anyway.”
“Because it’s the right strategy.” I move to stand behind her, close enough to feel her warmth. Close enough to wrap my arms around her waist, which I do, pulling her back against my chest. She fits there perfectly—the curve of her spine against my torso, her head tipping back against my shoulder. “Because you’re right—Ulrik didn’t plan for you. And because—” I press my lips to her hair “—I trust you to control it.”
She relaxes into my hold, her hands coming up to rest on my forearms. “That must have cost you something. Recommending a plan that puts me at risk.”
“More than you know.”
“Tell me.” She turns in my arms until she’s facing me, her amber eyes searching my face. “Tell me what you’re thinking. What you’re feeling. You hide behind strategy and probability, but I know there’s more underneath.”
The request cuts close to bone. I’ve spent so long guarding my inner world, keeping it locked away where it can’t be usedagainst me. But Tamsin isn’t trying to use anything. She’s asking to understand.
And gods help me, I want her to.
“I’m terrified.” The admission comes out hard. “Not of Ulrik. Not of the assault or the wards or the shadow constructs.” I cup her face in my hands, my cold palms against her warm cheeks. “I’m terrified of losing you.”
Her breath catches.
“When Lyric died, something in me froze. Permanently, I thought. The part that could care, could want, could imagine a future with someone in it.” My thumbs trace her cheekbones, memorizing the feel of her skin. “You’ve thawed it. I don’t know when it happened or how, but you’ve become—” I search for words that feel inadequate. “Necessary. Essential. The person I think about when I should be focusing on strategy. The face I see when I close my eyes.”
“Auren—”
“Let me finish.” I take a breath. “Tomorrow you’re going to open the Crown and prove you can control it. Then we’re going to fly into hostile territory and assault the most fortified position in the world. A hundred things could go wrong. A thousand. And if something happens to you—” my voice cracks, just slightly “—I don’t know who I’ll be on the other side of that. The thought of existing without you in the world... it’s not something I can calculate. Can’t strategize around. It’s just dark.”
She rises on her toes and kisses me. Not soft, not brief—desperate, deep, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for words. Her arms wrap around my neck. My hands slide into her hair, tilting her head back for better access. The heat of her mouth against my cold lips is intoxicating. Addictive. Something I could lose myself in for hours.
When she finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” she says, her forehead pressed against mine. “You want to know why I’m so confident about the Crown? It’s not just bloodline. It’s not just training.” Her hands cup my face, mirroring my earlier gesture. “It’s because I have something to come back to now. Someone. You.”
The words settle into me, finding cracks in walls I didn’t know were still standing.
“That’s not—” I start.
“Logic? Strategy? No.” She smiles, and it transforms her face from regal to radiant. “It’s better. It’s motivation. The most powerful Fire-Bringer ever born, fighting to get home to her ice dragon.” Her thumb traces my lower lip. “Ulrik doesn’t stand a chance.”
I want to argue. Want to point out that emotion isn’t a substitute for preparation, that wanting something doesn’t guarantee success. But looking at her—at the fire in her eyes, the certainty in her stance, the warmth that reaches past every defense I have—I believe her.
Or at least wanting to.
“Come to bed,” I say instead of any of the logical arguments I should make. “Tomorrow will be difficult. You should rest.”
Her smile turns wicked. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Rest?”
“Eventually.” I kiss her again—slower this time, savoring. “But first I want to remind you what you’re fighting to come back to.”
She takes my hand and leads me from the war room. Through empty corridors that feel different with her beside me. Past doors I’ve walked through a thousand times that now seem to lead somewhere new.
Tomorrow, she’ll prove herself to the Brotherhood. We’ll finalize plans that will determine whether we live or die. Then, the next phase of this war begins.
But now, in this moment, she’s here. In my arms. Walking toward my chambers with firelight in her eyes and her hand warm in mine.
