"I'm not going back," she said quietly. "There's nothing for me there. My family sold me. The kingdom I grew up in sees me as property. Even if I could void the contract somehow, even if I could hide forever, why would I want to? Why would I fight so hard to return to people who never wanted me?"
His heart was pounding. He could hear it in his ears, feel it in his throat.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I choose this." She met his gaze, and there was no hesitation there. "Whatever it means, whatever comes next, I'm coming with you."
For a moment, Ralvar couldn't breathe.
Then he was moving.
He crossed the space between them in a heartbeat, pulled her into his arms, and buried his face in her hair. She came willingly, her hands fisting in his vest, her body pressing against his like she was trying to climb inside his skin.
"Say it again," he growled against her throat.
"I choose you."
"Again."
"I choose you, Ralvar Stonefang." Her voice was breathless, half-laughing. "I choose—"
He kissed her, pouring everything into it—his desperation, his relief, his fierce and impossible hope. His hands gripped her hips and lifted her, pressing her back against the stone wall, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on.
Her legs came up to bracket his waist, injured ankle forgotten. The position pressed her against him, soft curves fitting perfectly against his harder edges, and a sound tore from his throat that was more growl than groan.
"I should—" He broke the kiss, panting. "We should—there's no time—"
"I know." Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back. "I know, just—one more—"
His mouth found her neck, and she arched into him with a moan that went straight to his spine. He could smell her arousal, rich and intoxicating, mixing with the scent of his own desire until the air between them felt combustible.
Not now. Not yet. Safety first.
The thought was a splinter in his brain, sharp and insistent. He forced himself to pull back, to rest his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard.
"When we reach safety," he promised her, his voice rough as gravel. "When there are no guards hunting you and no danger at our backs. When I can take my time and worship you properly, the way you deserve—"
"I'll hold you to that."
He laughed an actual laugh, rusty from disuse but real. "As you should."
He lowered her gently, mindful of her ankle, and stepped back to create distance before his control shattered completely. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes dark with desireshe no longer tried to hide.
Beautiful. Brave.His.
The sound reached him first.
A crack in the distance. Could be a branch, could be just the forest settling, but his instincts were already shifting, the warrior in him snapping to alertness. He held up a hand for silence, tilting his head to listen.
Delia froze.
Another sound. Softer. The scrape of something against stone.
Ralvar crossed to the ruined doorway in three silent strides, pressing himself against the wall and peering through a crack in the stone. His eyes adjusted instantly to the daylight outside, scanning the tree line, the undergrowth, the subtle signs that only a trained tracker would notice.
Fresh boot prints in the mud, maybe fifty yards out. Disturbed undergrowth where someone had crouched. A broken twig at exactly the height of a human shoulder.
They'd been here. Recently.
