She smiles, faint but unmistakable. “That’s the most I’ll get from you, isn’t it?”
“For now.”
She rises then, stepping closer, the space between us warms, steady and intentional. There is no accidental contact, no surge, no pressure to define what this is becoming.
“Did you ever think,” she asks again, quieter now, “that you deserve something that isn’t strategy?”
The question unsettles me more than any accusation has tonight. I hold her gaze.
“You are full of heavy questions,” I say, letting a note of wryness soften the truth.
Her smile deepens, eyes glinting.
“Good,” she replies. “Because next, I’m going to ask you something much more dangerous.”
I lift a brow. “Should I be concerned?”
She tilts her head, amusement warming her expression.
“Probably,” she says. “But I think you’ll enjoy it.”
The weight lifts enough that I allow myself to believe her.
“If we stopped resisting the bond for just one moment,” she asks softly, “would you let it happen?”
19
AMELIA
The knock comes at the worst possible moment. It is sharp and insistent, cutting through the charged quiet between us like a blade through silk. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Zeidan’s gaze is still locked on mine, dark and intent, his body close enough that I can feel the warmth of him without touching. The bond is restless, coiled tight beneath my skin, urging, pressing, insisting that this moment matters more than whatever waits beyond the door.
The knock comes again.
“Lady Crow,” a voice calls from the other side, formal and strained. “The council requests your presence. Immediately.”
Of course they do. I close my eyes, forcing my breath to steady. When I open them, Zeidan is watching me with an expression that is impossible to read fully, something between frustration, restraint, and a vigilance.
“They won’t wait,” I say quietly.
“No,” he agrees. “They never do.”
I step back, and the bond protests sharply at the sudden distance, a physical ache blooming low in my chest. Zeidan’s jaw tightens as if he feels it too, but he says nothing as I reach for mycloak and straighten my posture. By the time I open the door, I am the Heir of Nytheria again, composed, resolute, guarded.
The corridor beyond is already filling with movement. Elders, Purnas, wardens. Too many eyes. Too much expectation. Zeidan falls into step beside me without being asked.
The council chamber is colder than I remember. The Wildspont’s pulse beneath the floor is faint and uneven, like a heartbeat struggling to keep rhythm. As we enter, conversation dies abruptly. Faces turn toward us, some relieved, others wary, a few openly hostile.
Elder Vira stands near the center of the chamber. She does not look surprised to see me.
“Lady Crow,” she says smoothly, inclining her head just enough to be respectful. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”
“You summoned me,” I reply. “I came.”
Her smile is practiced, polished to perfection. “Indeed. We have… concerns.”
A murmur ripples through the chamber.
