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He watched me cross the entire Hall. He watched me climb the three shallow steps to the dais on bleeding feet. He watched until I stopped directly in front of him, exactly where I had promised I would stand.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

I had imagined this moment every night since Monday, and in every version of it I had been much calmer than I was now.

I had never promised anyone that Kaelen would refuse the Severing. I had only promised myself that when he made his choice, he would make it knowing the truth instead of acting on his father's fear.

Now I stood less than a foot away from him, shaking badly enough that I could feel it in my knees, and wondered whether the truth would change anything.

"You're late," he said quietly enough that no one else would hear.

"I was busy."

The corner of his mouth moved, almost becoming the expression I had spent three months wanting to see.

Then Oda began, and whatever had been there disappeared.

"We are gathered on the eve of the Solstice, according to the old form, to witness the Severing of a bond," she said. Her voice carried through the entire Hall without effort. "Once spoken, it cannot be unspoken. Once cut, it cannot be mended."

She looked at Kaelen.

"The one who rejected must take up the knife, speak the words, and mean them. The old form begins its work as the vow is spoken, but it will not complete a lie."

Those final words did not need emphasis.

My confidence faltered.

What if he means it?

The ritual did not care what Kaelen had felt three months ago. It cared what he meant now. Fear could change what a person was willing to choose. Pain could do the same. Aldric had spent months convincing him that loving me would destroy us both, and I had no way of knowing how much of that fear Kaelen had absorbed.

He could look into my eyes, say my name, and honestly want the bond gone.

If he did, there would be nothing left for me to fight.

Kaelen picked up the knife.

It was old and unadorned, with a short blade and a bone handle polished smooth from years of use. He held it in his right hand, the same hand that had once split a steering wheel beneath his grip, and at first his fingers did not tremble.

He raised the knife above the white cloth between us.

Then he looked directly at me.

I lifted my chin and held his gaze.

"I," he began.

His voice carried through the Hall, cool and controlled, using the formal tone I had first heard from him in the courtyard months ago.

"Kaelen Vance."

The candle between us remained perfectly still.

"Heir of Fenhall."

His eyes stayed gray, but only for another second. Then a narrow rim of gold appeared around the irises.

"Before the Council of Iron."