“I think,” Nezra sighed, “that Verena deserves the truth. And if you keep it from her, whatever it is, you’re no better than the ones hunting her. I think,” she whispered, head tilting, “you’re already tangled in lies. And when she finds out, it won’t be me you need to fear.”
“Don’t insult me by thinking you’re anything I would fear.” Ronan moved to pass her, but Nezra’s palm shot up, runes sparking to life across her skin. The air thickened, her swirling eyes catching him like a net. “Don’t you dare use your tainted magic on me,” he growled.
Voice now threaded with urgency, she said, “There are choices that must be made. So, you can’t tell her anything, not yet.”
These fucking Liraern.
Tendons twitched beneath his skin. “You’d have me bare my secrets, then demand I keep them caged. Which is it, tide spawn?”
The hurt crossed Nezra’s face and was gone just as fast.
Even if heneverspoke it, how could Verena not know, how could she not feel it? The pull, the power that was always there, lacing them together, binding him to her.
“Whatever she feels,” Nezra ran her fingers over the runes, the purple light wavering under her touch, “tell her it’s the blood oath. It’s normal. It’s what they all feel like. She has choices to make before she knows what she stands to lose.” The runes flared, then dulled, her hand falling back to her side. “Think of your kingdom, prince. If she learns too soon, it could change the course of all we fight for. It could unravel Selvarra itself.”
Ronan eyes dimmed, just a fraction, smoke wiping the fire straight from them as he stared past the divider separating him from her.
So close. So godsdamned close to having her after almost losing her entirely.
He finally swept past Nezra, but her stare followed, heavy and accusing, as if luring him to cross that threshold.
It was subtle at first when Ronan entered. Not the bond itself, but what stirred awake within her because of it. Like a ripple over still water.
It hadn’t come from her body, but through the bond intertwining them. He could feel the cold coil of the curse, winding stealthy and patient within her veins. But layered beneath he felt something else.
Stronger, older. Rising and no longer content to be still.
Verena sat on the edge of a cushion, her legs dangling off the wooden bed pushed into a corner. Her fingers moved through the tangles of her curls, undoing the braid sewn into her scalp until soft waves tumbled down her back, veiling her lean shoulders.
She couldn’t see him through that fall of hair, but shefelthim. The bond made sure of it. Her hands stilled, head snapping up. And then those bright, fierce azure eyes locked onto his.
The sight dragged at him. He wanted to cross the space, to touch her, to press his palm over the rhythm of her pulse.
Alive.The bond flared.
She smiled. And gods, if that didn’t crack him clean through.
“New shirt?” she asked, one eyebrow arching high.
His hands shot instinctively to his chest, where the fabric clung too damn tight. Words tangled on his tongue. “It’s Killian’s. Mine was soaked in—”
Her blood.
“Ah.” She clicked her tongue, a mock apology lacing her voice. “Sorry about that.”
Returning to the snarl in her hair, her fingers tugged at the stubborn knot. Wisps twisted from his palms, gliding across the space, reaching to untangle the strands for her.
She startled, flinched, and the smoke evaporated into nothing.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Can I help you?”
“It’s okay.” She patted the cushion beside her, an invitation disguised as simplicity. “Come sit.”
The bond went taut and Ronan stumbled forward, almost tripping over his own boots as it dragged him toward her.
Was it her, calling him closer? Or the bond itself, doing what he had grown suddenly, impossibly too nervous to do?
The cushion dipped beneath his weight, the frame giving a soft groan as he settled. Verena slid higher onto the bed, sinking back into a mound of pillows. With quiet audacity, she stretched her legs across his lap.
