The curse purrs.
For once, we agree on something.
I kiss her.
Slow. Claiming. Pouring everything I can't say into the press of my mouth against hers.
Mine. Stay. Forever.
When I pull back, she's flushed and breathless, and there's a young soldier pretending very hard not to stare from his cot in the corner.
"I have to prepare," I tell her. "Rurik's mobilizing the defenses. But I need you to do something for me."
"Anything."
"Stay inside the fortress. No herb gathering outside the walls. No—"
"No."
I stop. "No?"
She pulls back slightly, and I can see the stubborn set to her jaw that means I'm about to lose this argument.
"I'm not hiding in a room while everyone else prepares for battle," she says. "These people are risking their lives because of me. Because I won't go back. TheleastI can do is help."
"The least you can do is stay alive."
"I'll be more useful here." She gestures at the infirmary—at the soldiers being tended, the supplies being organized, the quiet efficiency of the healers she's been training. "If they breachthe walls, you're going to need every healer you have. That includes me."
I want to argue. Want to lock her in my chambers where I know she's safe.
But she's right.
And more than that—she's not asking permission. She's telling me how this is going to be.
My mate. My equal.
Not a possession to be protected.
A partner choosing to stand and fight.
"Fine," I bite out. "But you don't leave the fortress. And you take guards everywhere. Two minimum."
"Deal."
She turns back to her patient like the matter's settled.
I watch her for a moment longer—the way she moves with confidence through the room, the way the other healers look to her for guidance, the way she's already become essential to the functioning of this place.
Not just surviving.
Leading.
The crown made a mistake when they sent her here.
They gave me a weapon they didn't understand.
And now they want it back.
