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Rowan can be strangely soft sometimes, almost painfully easygoing in ways that make no sense considering where he came from, but I can’t forget that Dad asked me to watch him for a reason.

The town visits. The library. The footsteps following him.

Something isn’t adding up.

I mean, who’d want to track him down if not me? It doesn’t make any fucking sense, but he sure has talent for ending up exactly where he shouldn’t be.

And yet, lying here with him tangled around me, it’s hard to imagine he’s anything other than exactly what he claims to be. A shy scholarship student with too many responsibilities on his shoulders and a body that still goes tense in his sleep like he’s bracing for impact.

I probably shouldn’t be thinking about how to make any of that better just because he gave me the best sex of my life. It’s reckless. Dangerous.

But when I turn my head and look at him sleeping against my throat, lips parted, his breathing slow and warm against my skin while his cock rests lazily against mine beneath the sheets, all I can think about is the fact that he stayed.

Despite being nervous. Terrified, even.

I felt it in the way his pulse jumped beneath my hand and the way he kept searching my face afterward like he was waiting for me to become someone else.

But he let me pin him beneath me, let me touch him however I wanted, trusted me enough to fall asleep wrapped around me afterward like his body had already decided I was safe before his mind caught up. And for some reason, the trust hidden inside that realization feels far more intimate than anything we did with our bodies last night.

My multi-slate vibrates on the nightstand, pulling me away from the sight of Rowan tangled around me, and my stomach tightens when I reach for it and see the missed calls lighting up the screen from Dad.

Call back. Your mother wants to speak to you

That’s odd. Or is it? Dad almost never texts me this early unless something’s wrong, and the message itself is worse.

Most people think Dad runs the Virels because he’s the one handling negotiations, security, bloodshed, all the ugly parts of keeping an empire standing. But Mom has always been the real head of the family. Even before she lost her sight, people listened when she spoke. Dad just made himself her weapon afterward. Her shield.

And he expects the same loyalty from me.

Usually, that responsibility doesn’t bother me. It’s the world we were born into. Protect the family. Protect the house. Survive long enough to keep everyone else alive too.

But lying here with Rowan asleep against my chest, his body still warm and loose beneath the sheets, I resent anything trying to pull me away from him.

I glance down at him again, and something hot twists low in my stomach at the sight of him curled against me, golden hair spilling across my skin while those elegant musician hands remain loosely wrapped around my waist like he was always meant to be here.

Even now, Rowan feels too soft for this world despite everything Caervast and Sero tried to turn him into.

The thought arrives before I can stop it.

Mine.

Rowan shifts in his sleep and presses closer with a quiet sound against my throat, his body instinctively seeking warmth, trust woven so naturally into the movement that it almost unsettles me.

Careful not to wake him, I untangle myself from the sheets, but his fingers tighten against my waist in protest before he settles again.

That really shouldn’t affect me this much.

I pull my clothes on quickly before checking the message again, unease settling low in my stomach as I look back toward the bed one final time.

To where Rowan is still curled into the warmth I left behind, completely unaware that the outside world is already starting to push its way back in.

Dude, get a grip on yourself. He’s one pretty musician, not the end of the fucking world.

I slip out onto the terrace overlooking the lower Caervast courtyards, and the cold morning air hits my skin hard enough to drag me fully awake. Beyond the academy, Tolian still sleeps beneath the gray dawn, distant towers glowing faintly through the fog.

I light a cigarette and lean against the stone railing, the call barely ringing once before Dad answers.

“You realize normal students are unconscious at this hour, right?” I mutter, smoke curling from my mouth as I stare out across the city. “Some of us enjoy sleeping.”