We start walking along the ledge toward a set of broad stone steps carved directly into the cliff face.
As we move, the trees below stir, branches lifting as if in a breeze I can’t feel.
The closer we get to the fortress, the more intense the hum beneath my feet becomes.
It’s not overwhelming, but it’s intimate.
Attentive.
Like the land is watching me with a thousand unseen eyes.
My stomach flips.
It’s not just the land.
It’s him.
Dagan stays half a step behind and to my side, always between me and the open drop.
It’s subtle. Protective.
Quietly possessive in a way that should annoy me but somehow doesn’t.
I glance over at him, taking in the cut of his jaw, the way his coat hangs heavy off his broad shoulders, the faint lines at the corners of his mouth that speak of a man who doesn’t smile easily.
He catches me staring.
I look away quickly.
Too late.
His voice drops low. “Tell me what you are thinking.”
I consider lying.
Then I remember the ground literally responds when I get emotional here and decide—yeah, nope.
“I’m thinking this is the strangest, most beautiful place I’ve ever seen,” I admit. “And I’m thinking I don’t know what it means that your land is humming at me. And that every time I try to process any of this, my brain just goes, wow, he’s hot which is extremely unhelpful.”
His steps falter for one beat.
Then those green-gold eyes cut to mine, sharper now. Lit from within.
“You feel it,” he says. “The fit.”
“Fit is one word for it,” I mutter, heat rising in my cheeks.
He stops us with a gentle pressure on our joined hands.
The fortress is looming above us now, its carved arches and narrow windows glowing with warmly lit interiors. The stone under our feet is smooth and worn. Behind us, the terraces stretch away into twilight.
We’re standing in the heart of his domain.
And he’s looking at me like I’m the wildest thing in it.
“We fit, Oona,” he says softly.
He uses that nickname again. But this time, it takes me off guard.
