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Don’t ever let go.
Somewhere beyond them, a voice rang out across the arena.
“All rise for the Aureate.”
Daven’s arms locked tighter around him.
The world moved anyway.
The drums changed. Slower now. Heavier. Ritual instead of blood.
When Ryneth finally lifted his head, the arena gates were opening. Milanov stepped out first in white and gold, the rest of the Imperial line following behind him in ceremonial color, bright enough under the floodlights to turn the whole arena feverish all over again.
The roar rose harder this time. Not for the killing, but for what came after.
Daven never let Ryneth go completely. One hand stayed locked at the back of his neck as Milanov’s voice rolled out across the dome.
“Helion,” the Imperial called, his voice amplified clean and cold across the glass. “Witness what stands before you. Witness what this city keeps.”
Ryneth’s breath caught.
Daven took his hand and lifted it between them.
“Before the Aureate, before the Luminary, before Helion itself,” Milanov said, “Ryneth Solan stands claimed and chosen. Bonded to Prince Daven Caelith of the Imperial line.”
The crowd broke apart into something almost violent.
Daven slid the ring fully into place under all that noise, his gaze never leaving Ryneth’s face.
“And Helion will know him,” Milanov finished, “as its newest prince.”
All Ryneth could do was stare while the whole city screamed around them.
“Don’t touch that one.”
Ryneth glanced over his shoulder, bottle in hand. “Why?”
“Because that’s Helianth’s.” Daven came up behind him, took the bottle from his hand, and set it back on the counter before replacing it with another. The easy way he did it, like Ryneth was still too wrung out to be trusted with his own hands, should’ve annoyed him more than it did. “And if you drink his expensive shit after a night like this, he’ll sulk for a week.”
Ryneth snorted.
The kitchen island was cluttered with open bottles, glasses, and whatever Yure had dragged out of the cupboards in a rare moment of usefulness. Someone had cut bread. Someone else had left fruit untouched on a plate.
Ryneth reached for a glass.
Daven caught his wrist. Heat closed around his pulse. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“You nearly electrocuted half the arena.”
“I electrocuted one man.”
Daven’s mouth twitched. “You killed one man in front of thousands and then you claimed one for life. That’s enough for one night.”
Ryneth gave him a look, but it didn’t hold. Not with Daven standing close enough that their hips brushed every time one of them moved, not with his hand still wrapped warm around Ryneth’s wrist.
The static in him had quieted. Not gone, just… settled. A low hum under the skin instead of a storm.
