“Because theyweregoing to take you.” His words are rough. Strained. Like they’re being torn out of him against his will. “Kaelreth’s challenge wasn’t about security protocols. It was about testing whether I’d fight for you. If I’d backed down, if I’dlet them transfer you to collective custody, you’d be in the Ash Cells within the hour. Beinghandledby specialists who wouldn’t care whether you survived the process.”
The statement lands like a blow. I think of the Ash Cells—the dead weight of dampened magic pressing against my blood, the slow psychological torture of capability without expression. Think of thespecialistswho’ve interrogated me in other places, other captivities. The things they did to extract cooperation.
“So you claimed me instead.” Steadier than I feel. “Made me untouchable by declaring me yours.”
“Yes.”
“And the council? The other dragons? They’ll accept that?”
“They don’t have a choice.” He steps closer, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “What I declared in there—it wasn’t politics. Wasn’t posturing. Every dragon in that hall recognized what it was.”
“You didn’t ask me.” The observation emerges quietly. “Before you made that declaration. You didn’t ask if I wanted to be claimed.”
“No.” He doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t soften. “I didn’t. Because if I’d asked, you would have refused. And then Kaelreth would have taken you, and I would have had to kill him, and the council would have labeled me a traitor, and everything we’ve built toward stopping the Blood Regent would have collapsed.”
“So you made the decision for me.”
“I made the only decision I could live with.” His hand rises, hovers near my face without quite touching. The tremor in his fingers is visible even in the corridor’s dim light. “You can hate me for it. You probably should. But you’re alive, you’re free, and no one in Pyraeth will dare touch you now. If that makes me a monster, I can accept that.”
Hate him. I can’t.
I’m not furious. I’m terrified. But not of him.
“You would have killed him.” My voice drops. Softens. “If Kaelreth had accepted that challenge. You would have done it without hesitation.”
“Yes.”
I’ve been the object of obsession before. Been pursued by powerful men who saw my bloodline as a resource to be exploited. But none of them would have risked their position, their political standing, theirlifeto keep me.
Izan would. He demonstrated that today. In front of witnesses.
“This changes everything.” I’m not sure if I’m stating a fact or asking a question. “The council, the other dragons, the entire political landscape of the Flight—everything shifts because of what you declared in there.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t care.”
“No.” His hand finally makes contact—fingertips tracing along my jaw with disarming gentleness. “I care about one thing. Keeping you safe. Everything else is negotiable.”
This is what reaches me. Not grand gestures or dramatic confessions, but small moments of unexpected tenderness from someone capable of tremendous violence.
“Izan—”
“Don’t.” He withdraws his hand, and the loss of contact leaves me cold despite the corridor’s residual heat. “Don’t say anything yet. You need time to process what happened. To decide how you feel about being claimed by a dragon who can’t seem to stop claiming you.”
He’s right that I should need time. That I should step back, examine what just happened, and decide with clear eyes whether this is a choice or an inevitability I’ve been walking toward since the basement.
But clarity isn’t what’s left in me right now. Only the way his touch felt against my skin, and the certainty in his declaration.
“Take me back to the stronghold.” Decided. Final. “We can discuss this later. Right now, I need to be somewhere that isn’t here.”
He nods once. His hand returns to the small of my back—gentler now, but no less possessive—and we resume walking.
EIGHTEEN
ALERIE
The stronghold feels different when we return.
