Rygnar’s hand was still at my waist when the final note died away.
“You move differently than Mesaarkan females,” he said quietly.
“I hope that’s not an insult.”
“It is not.”
The lanterns flickered along the carved stone walls. Conversations quieted, not abruptly—gradually—as attention shifted toward us.
I felt it then.
Not pressure.
Expectation.
“Rygnar,” I murmured, “they’re watching.”
“Yes.”
He did not step away.
Rygnar
She had danced without hesitation. Human and Mesaarkan movements had woven together as if no empire had ever stood between them. And my people had witnessed it.
I turned slightly—and saw Kareth Vorn standing near the central lantern. She was not addressing the crowd or commanding. She was simply holding the ceremonial obsidian blade in her palm.
Kareth’s gaze met mine across the room, and she nodded ever so slightly. Not raised. She and the council were making an offering. The question unspoken was whether I would accept.
My pulse shifted. This had not been planned. But some moments require no planning. I looked back at Lina.
“They are offering recognition,” I said quietly.
Her smile faded, not in fear—in awareness.
“Recognition of what?” she asked.
“Of us.”
Her eyes searched mine, measuring.
“This is not required,” I told her immediately. “This is not something I discussed or arranged.”
The applause had softened now, conversations lowering as attention sharpened again.
Kareth waited. Lina followed my gaze and saw the blade. Understanding flickered across her face.
“If we do this, we’re doing it because we choose to. Not because they expect it.”
“Yes.”
She looked back at me.
“Do you want it?”
The question carried no pressure, only trust.
I stepped closer so only she could hear. “I want the world to know you stand beside me.”
