Izan’s bed is exactly as sparse as I imagined. Simple frame. Clean sheets. No decoration, no personal touches, nothing that suggests comfort or pleasure. A soldier’s bed. A beast’s den.
I’m alone in it now. He left an hour ago—council business, he explained, damage control from the morning’s declaration. But his scent clings to my skin, and every time I close my eyes, I feel his hands mapping my body with the same intensity he brings to everything.
I’m not giving you permission. I’m making a choice.
I spoke those words. Meant them. Still mean them, even now, even with the taste of him still on my lips and the memory of his touch still burning through my nerves.
But lying here in the aftermath, I have to acknowledge a truth I’ve been avoiding since the throne room.
I’m not afraid of being claimed anymore.
I’m afraid of how much I crave it.
The door opens. Izan enters without announcing himself—his room, his rules—and pauses when he sees me still awake in his bed.
“The council accepted my explanation.” His tone is neutral. Controlled. The same manner he uses for strategy sessions and intelligence briefings. “Kaelreth is furious but not willing to escalate. Seravax is reserving judgment. The others are watching to see how this plays out.”
“And how do you think it will play out?”
He crosses to the bed. Sits on the edge, near enough to touch but not touching. The firelight catches on his features,illuminating the hard lines of his face, the remnants of intensity still lingering in his stare.
“I think the Blood Regent now knows exactly how to hurt me.” His words don’t waver. “I think my enemies will use you as leverage whenever possible. I think the next few weeks will be the most dangerous of your life.”
“Sounds about right.”
“I think I wouldn’t change a single thing. Even knowing the consequences. Even knowing what it might cost us both.”
His hand lingers against my cheek. Steady. The hand of someone who levels cities but touches me like I might break.
“Neither would I.”
He stretches out beside me, still dressed, making no move to resume what we started earlier. Simply present. A barrier of fury and flame between me and everything that might threaten.
NINETEEN
ALERIE
The message arrives at dawn.
Maelin’s handwriting—cramped, practical, the letters slanted from years of writing quickly in poor light. Blood Regent supply transfer. Eastern Market Wards. Third bell past noon. She’s marked a location I recognize: an alley behind a textile merchant’s stall where we’ve exchanged information twice before.
Another lead. Another chance to map the network that’s slowly strangling Pyraeth.
My skin prickles with an unease I can’t identify.
“You’re not going alone.” Izan’s statement carries no room for negotiation. He stands at the window of the strategy chamber, silhouetted against the gray light filtering through volcanic glass. His shoulders are tense in ways I’ve learned to read over the past weeks. The set of his jaw tells me he’s already calculated every argument I might make and rejected them all.
“Maelin won’t approach if she sees dragons.” I keep my tone even. “She’s survived this long by knowing when to disappear. Your soldiers will spook her.”
“Then they’ll maintain distance.” He turns, and the ember-glow in his irises reminds me of last night. Of his hands onmy skin. Of the way his control shattered and reformed around me like molten metal. “But you’re not walking into the lower districts without protection. Not after the council’s attention. Not after?—”
He stops. Something shutters behind his eyes.
Not after he publicly declared me his. Not after he made me untouchable in the halls of dragon power but painted a target on my back everywhere else.
“Fine.” I fold the message and slip it into my bodice. “Distance. But if they get close enough to scare her off, I’m holding you responsible for lost intelligence.”
The flicker at the corner of his mouth might be amusement. Or it might be the predator acknowledging that his prey has teeth.
