"There was never a choice," I tell her. "From the moment you looked at me without fear. From the moment you touched me and didn't flinch. You were always going to be mine."
"Possessive," she says, but she's smiling.
"Territorial," I correct. "There's a difference."
She laughs—bright and clear and utterly fearless.
And I believe, for the first time in my cursed life, that we might actually survive this.
We'rein the war room that night—me, Rurik, Garrett, and the other squad leaders—when the second message arrives.
This one isn't from the crown.
It's from Lord Theron. The vampire.
I break the seal and read:
Vorak,
Seems we've both decided dying free is better than living as the crown's dogs. I have three hundred fighters and a coastline they'll have to cross to reach me.
But they'll come for all of us eventually. Divide and conquer. Pick us off one by one.
So here's my proposal: Alliance. The cursed lords, united. Share intelligence. Coordinate defenses. Maybe even take the fight to them before they bring it to us.
What do you say? Monsters together?
— T
I pass the letter to Rurik.
He reads it twice. Looks up.
"He's right," my captain says quietly. "If we stand alone, they'll crush us. But together..."
"Together we might actually have a chance."
I look at the map spread across the table. Blackwood in the mountains. Theron's territory on the southern coast. Kael's shadowlands to the east.
Three cursed lords. Three treaty brides who refused to go back.
Three territories about to become the crown's primary targets.
"Send a reply," I tell Rurik. "Tell him yes. Alliance. But on our terms—we share information, we coordinate, but no lord commands another. We're partners, not subordinates."
"And if the others refuse?"
"Then we go to war anyway." I fold the map. "But at least we'll have tried."
Rurik nods and heads out to draft the response.
I'm left alone with the map and the weight of what I've just done.
Rebellion.
That's what this is.
Not a refusal. Not a negotiation.
