Page 17 of Ash and Burn

I'll do it myself.

The thought of spending constant time with her, of being her protection and her guide through Ashvorn, sent heat coursing through his veins. His dragon practically purred at the prospect.

That reaction terrified him.

The mate bond was already wreaking havoc on his carefully maintained control. Being around Arvid constantly wouldn't be supervision—it would be self-destruction. The outbreak already consumed most of his waking hours, and adding the distraction of her presence, her scent, the way she challenged him at every turn…

No. Absolutely not.

"Tal will accompany her when I cannot," he said, the words tasting bitter despite their necessity.

The disappointment that flashed across Arvid's face hit him like a slap. She masked it quickly, but not before his enhanced senses caught the slight slump of her shoulders and the way her hands clenched briefly at her sides.

"This is ridiculous," she said, but the fight had gone out of her voice.

"It's necessary," Cevryn interjected smoothly. "And temporary, of course. Weekly progress reports will be required, and Dr. Jasper's continued presence will be subject to review."

Probation?

The word hung unspoken in the air, a leash disguised as compromise.

"Understood," Calix said through gritted teeth, knowing that pushing harder now risked losing Arvid entirely—a prospect that felt infinitely worse than accepting Cevryn's conditions.

Arvid turned on her heel and strode from the chamber without another word. The heavy doors closed behind her with a sound like falling stones.

Cevryn's smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that looked altogether too sharp. "I do hope Dr. Jasper proves as valuable as you believe, Your Majesty."

Calix left without responding, his dragon snarling beneath the surface as he pushed through the chamber doors and into the corridor beyond. By the time he reached the building's entrance, Arvid had already disappeared into the afternoon heat.

He found her a block away, walking toward Ashspire with the determined stride of someone who had already memorized the route. The realization sent an unexpected warmth through his chest—she was adapting to his world with remarkable speed. He matched her pace, falling into step beside her without invitation.

The silence stretched between them. Not comfortable silence. The kind that preceded explosions.

"This is temporary," he said finally, the words inadequate but necessary.

Arvid barely glanced at him. "It shouldn't be necessary at all."

The accusation stung because it carried truth. Calix understood her frustration—had lived it himself countless times when council politics interfered with protecting his people. But understanding changed nothing about the reality of their situation.

"Council concerns about outsiders aren't entirely unreasonable," he said, attempting to explain what couldn't be justified. "Security risks, information leaks, the precedent of bypassing established protocols⁠—"

"People are dying." Her voice cut through his explanations. "That should matter more than politics."

"It does." The certainty in his own voice surprised him. "That's why I bypassed politics yesterday to bring you here."

She turned to look at him then, really look, and he caught something that might've been admiration in her dark eyes before she looked away again. But she didn't voice it, didn't acknowledge the risk he'd taken or the battles he was fighting on her behalf.

They walked the rest of the way to Ashspire in loaded silence, the pyrestone path radiating heat that matched the tension between them. Calix found himself studying her profile, the determined set of her shoulders, the way she moved with unconscious confidence through his territory as though she belonged there.

Dangerous thinking.

By the time Ashspire's familiar silhouette came into view, Calix had made a decision born of desperation and something that felt suspiciously like hope.

"You should eat something," he said as they approached the estate's entrance. "It's been a long day."

"I'm not hungry." The response came automatic, a reflexive rejection of anything resembling care.

"You need to eat." The command slipped out before he could soften it, his protective instincts overriding diplomatic consideration.