“And I couldn’t have reached it without you exposing its weakness.” His mouth presses against my temple. Lingers there. “Mine.”
One word. Not partnership. Not gratitude. Not acknowledgment of teamwork. Claiming.
I could bristle at that. Could remind him I’m not property. Could point out that we succeeded as a team, not because I belong to him.
Instead, I press closer. Let my hand rest over his heart, feeling the steady thump beneath my palm. His arms lock tighter around me in response—not soft, not tentative.
“You’re bleeding.” I trace a cut on his jaw. “And your ribs?—”
“Already healing.” He catches my hand, presses his mouth to my palm. “Dragon.”
“Show-off.”
His lips curve against my skin. Not quite a smile. Close enough.
“The world will start to thaw.” My voice comes out barely above a whisper. The exhaustion is catching up with me now that the adrenaline is fading. “Every city the Arbiter froze. Every ruler it controlled.”
“Tomorrow’s problem.” His arms tighten around me.
“The gods will retaliate. They lost their executioner. Their enforcer. They won’t let that stand.”
“Let them come.”
“Tyr—”
“For the next hour, we’re not moving.” His command voice allows no argument. “You’re bleeding from your ears. I have broken ribs—healing ribs, but still broken. The executioner is dead, and its fortress is rubble.” His grip on me tightens. “The rest can wait.”
I could argue. Every moment we rest is a moment our enemies can use. The gods are watching. They saw us kill their weapon. They’ll respond.
But he breathes steadily beneath me. His body blocks the cold. And I’m so tired that staying conscious feels impossible.
“One hour.”
“As long as I say.” His hand moves down my back—not gentle, but proprietary. Mapping the territory he’s claimed. “Sleep if you need to. I’ll keep watch.”
“You need rest too.”
“I’ll rest when I know you’re safe.”
“We’re sitting in the middle of a frozen wasteland surrounded by the rubble of a divine fortress. How is that safe?”
“You’re in my arms.” His voice drops lower. “Safe.”
I feel my eyes closing. Feel the tension draining out of my muscles.
“Dragons.” I make the word an accusation, but there’s no heat behind it.
“Witches.”
I let my eyes close. Let his arms become the only thing holding me to the world. The dragon who destroyed an executioner to keep me alive. Who took blow after blow while I searched for the weakness. Who trusted me to save him when the crown-light tried to consume his mind.
THIRTY
ZEPHYRA
Iwake to the sound of ice cracking.
Not the violent kind from the stronghold’s collapse. This is deeper—a groaning sound that rolls across the wasteland like distant thunder. The world is breaking apart, and for once, that’s a good thing.
