“You need to leave.” He turned away, one hand raking through his hair. “Now. Before I forget every reason I am supposed to keep you safe instead of—”
He stopped.
Sabine did not move.
“Instead of what,” she said quietly.
Lucien looked back at her, and the expression on his face was raw enough to hurt.
“Instead of ruining us both because the bond wants you and I am no longer certain which parts of that want are ritual and which parts are mine.”
Then he walked to the far table, picked up one of the ledgers the attendant had brought, and did not look at her again.
Sabine understood the dismissal.
She gathered the succession law volume, returned it to its shelf, and left the archive with her mouth still warm from his kiss and her body still carrying the memory of his hands at her waist.
By the time she reached her chamber, her hands had stopped shaking.
Barely.
Lysa took one look at her and said, “You found something.”
“Yes.”
“In the archive or in the prince.”
Sabine met her eyes. “Both.”
Lysa studied her for a long moment, then crossed to the wardrobe and began laying out evening clothing. “You should know that the palace is already whispering about how long you were alone with him in the records hall. Elara is many things, but subtle is not one of them. She told three people on her way out that you and the prince were reviewing succession law together.”
“That is technically true.”
“Yes. But the way she said it made it sound far more interesting than archive work usually is.”
Sabine sat on the edge of the bed and pressed her marked palm against her mouth.
She could still taste him.
Could still feel the rough desperation in his kiss, the way his control had shattered the moment she closed the distance, the heat of the bond answering hard enough to make her forget every reason she should not want him.
“Lysa,” she said quietly. “What happens if the bond is real and the rite is broken and wanting him makes me useless when the final vow comes.”
Lysa paused in her work. “Then you will have to decide which is more dangerous. Wanting a man who might not be able to save you, or facing the final vow alone without anyone who understands what the rite actually demands.”
She was right.
Sabine knew she was right.
But knowing it did not make the wanting any easier to survive.
She rose, crossed to the window, and stared out at the palace gardens below.
Somewhere in the roots and soil and ritual architecture of the Trials, the truth of what had happened to Isolde was still waiting to surface.
And somewhere in the archive, Lucien was probably still standing exactly where she had left him, trying to convince himself that distance would save either of them when the bond had already decided otherwise.
Sabine pressed her marked palm against the cold glass and felt the lines pulse once in answer.
