But the feeling of everything being suspended, of us waiting, hadn’t quite let up.I’m safe. Indoors. Warm. And dry. That’s all that really matters.
Except it’s not. Because I can’t stop thinking about what they said. About what it means.
I turn slowly in front of the mirror, my fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of the gown. It doesn’t feel like mine. The deep blue clings in all the right places, soft and elegant in a way I don’t recognize. The stitching is delicate, the cut far more refined than anything I’ve ever worn. My hair falls loosely over my shoulders, cleaner, softer than it’s been in days, and my skin, somehow, doesn’t look like I’ve been fighting for my life in a labyrinth.
I barely recognize the girl staring back at me. She looks… composed. Almost regal. Like she belongs in a place like this.
Like she could stand between four kings and not fall apart.
My stomach tightens at the thought.Four.They didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even seem surprised. As if it was something they’d already been circling around, something they understood long before I did.
Sharing.
The word alone makes heat creep up my neck.
I press my fingers lightly to my lips, my pulse picking up as my thoughts betray me, wandering somewhere they absolutely should not.What would that even look like?Being with one man is already something I barely understand. Something I’ve never… experienced.
Butallof them?
My breath catches, and I quickly look away from my reflection, like the girl in the mirror might know exactly what I’m thinking. I can’t even imagine how that would work. Where I would look. What I would do. How I wouldn’t completely fall apart under the weight of it.
The memory of Ashton’s hands on me flashes through my mind, uninvited and far too vivid, and heat floods through me all over again. And that was just one of them.Gods.
My face burns, and I press my hands to my cheeks, willing the thoughts away, but they linger anyway, curling at the edgesof my mind. They all said they care about me. That theylovedme.
A strange ache blooms deep inside me. They didn’t say it lightly. And they didn’t take it back.
A small, quiet part of me doesn’t recoil from it. Doesn’t run. It leans into the thought instead. Into the way they look at me. The way they move around me. The way I feel when they’re close.
Someone knocks at my door. I wonder if it’s just whichever one is currently guarding my door, or a signal that all of them are here to see me.
My heart stutters. “Come in,” I call, a little too quickly.
The door opens. And then… I forget how to breathe. All four of them step inside. And gods, they look nothing like the men I’ve been surviving beside.
Or maybe they do.
Just… more. Refined. Sharper. More dangerous in a different way.
Oberon enters first, his dark clothing fitted to his broad shoulders, the clean lines doing nothing to hide the raw strength beneath. If anything, it makes it worse. More noticeable. More intentional. His presence fills the room instantly, controlled but still barely contained.
Sylvian follows, composed as ever, his long black hair loose around his shoulders, the dark strands only making the sharp green of his eyes more striking. His clothes fit him perfectly, accentuating the length of his body and the quiet strength in every line of him. He doesn’t move like someone trying to impress, but he doesn’t have to. He carries himself with an effortless confidence that’s impossible to ignore.
Ashton lingers in the doorway for a heartbeat, shoulder braced against the frame like he owns the space, his grin already in place. It sharpens when he sees me, then softens, just enoughto feel real. His long blond hair falls carelessly around his face, his clothes fitted in a way that somehow makes him look even more dangerous, not less. There’s nothing restrained about him. Even polished, even dressed like this, he looks like trouble… the kind you know better than to touch, and still want to anyway.
Cassius closes the door behind them with deliberate care, the soft click sounding louder than it should. His movements are precise, economical… nothing wasted. His attire is simpler than the others, but on him, it feels intentional, the clean lines molding over broad shoulders and a solid, muscular frame that doesn’t need embellishment. His pale blond hair catches the light, almost silver against his skin, and when his eyes lift, and they’re icy, impossibly blue, before they settle on me with a focus that feels… consuming. Measured. Controlled.
Except for the way they linger just a second too long.
My pulse stutters. They’re all… too much. Too big. Too strong. Toothere.
And they’re all looking atme.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I force myself to look away before I do something incredibly embarrassing, like stare. Well, stare more than I already had. Not that any woman could blame me.
“Well,” Ashton says after a beat, his voice lighter, though there’s something underneath it. “That’s not fair.”
I glance back at him. “What?”
