The room fell into silence, thick with power and pride and rage.
Inderia’s smug expression faltered just a little, a crack in her porcelain mask. Theron stepped forward, his composure peeling at the edges.
“I have acted in place of the king since he fell ill,” he said, voice rising with each word. “I’ve protected this kingdom. I’ve carried its weight?—”
“And now you want its leash around my throat,” Zander cut in. “No.”
“You would throw away your title?” Theron asked coldly.
“I already told you,” Zander growled. “Enough.”
He turned to me and extended a hand—not a command, not a plea, but a choice.
And I took it.
“I denounce the match,” he said clearly, meeting Theron’s stunned gaze with pure defiance.
Without another word, he led me out.
Down the corridor. Past the guards. Past the lingering nobles still murmuring outside the council chamber.
He didn’t speak until we were inside his bedroom and the door clicked shut behind us.
Zander slammed a fist against the wall, the crack echoing through the room.
His rage trembled beneath his skin, every line of his body pulled too tight, as if even his bones couldn’t contain it.
But I…
I stood still.
Because even though he’d said the words. Even though he’d chosen me.
That lingering weight pressed against my chest—heavy and inevitable.
Because no matter how much he meant it, no matter how fiercely he defied Theron…
The king—whoever that ended up being—would want Zander married to a noble.
I reached up and unfastened my pendant, the cool weight of it pressing into my palm like it knew what was coming.
Zander was still turned away, jaw clenched, shoulders rising and falling with fury as he stared at the cracked stone where his fist had struck the wall.
“Zander,” I said gently.
He turned, and the moment his eyes found mine, I saw something flicker—hope, fear, something he tried to bury under pride.
I held out the ring.
His ring.
The one he’d given me not with a proposal, but with a promise.
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Give it to me again,” I said softly, closing the distance between us. “When this is over. Not before.”
His lips parted as if he might argue, but the words died in his throat. Slowly, he extended his hand, palm up.
