I consider the question carefully. “They are alert. Concerned. And very interested.”
“That sounds worse.”
“It is,” I agree.
I fasten my tunic and extend my hand to her. She takes it without hesitation, rising to stand beside me. The bond aligns instantly, settling into a configuration that feels… prepared.
“They will come in force,” I tell her. “Not just envoys. Not just observers.”
“How many?”
“All of them.”
The words land with the gravity they deserve. Amelia does not flinch. Instead, she lifts her chin, her grip on my hand tightening, not in fear but resolve. “Then they can see exactly what they’re trying to judge.”
I look at her, truly look, and feel something dangerously close to pride.
“Yes,” I say softly. “They will.”
Amelia watches me dress for a moment longer, then clears her throat softly.
“So,” she says, tone carefully casual, as if we are discussing breakfast instead of the reshaping of two realms. “Just for future reference.”
I pause, one boot half-fastened, and look back at her.
“Yes?”
She shifts on the bed, pulling the sheet more securely around her shoulders, eyes bright with something that is decidedlynotnerves. “If the Matrons are going to start cataloguing the bond in… detail, I feel it’s only fair that I get thefullexperience.”
I arch a brow. “The full experience?”
“Yes,” she says, nodding solemnly. “Last night was… enlightening. But I’ve been thinking.” A pause, deliberatelytimed. “You showed me the wings. I’m still waiting on the rest. Fangs and all.”
I bark a laugh, the sound rough and startled and far too human for my liking. She beams at the success of it.
“Oh,” I say dryly, “so there’s going to be a next time?”
Her smile softens, loses its teasing edge just slightly. “I was hoping.”
Something tightens in my chest, warm and dangerous. I cross the room before I can think better of it, cupping her jaw with my thumb, brushing just beneath her lip in a touch that is restrained only because it has to be.
“You should know,” I murmur, “that making requests like that implies a level of confidence I am not sure you fully appreciate.”
Her eyes flick to my mouth. “I appreciate it plenty.”
I exhale slowly and step back before I forget why restraint exists at all.
“For the record,” I add, turning away again, “wings are not a performance feature. ”
“Mm,” she hums. “Pity.”
“But they are pretty sensitive to touch..”
I glance over my shoulder to find her watching me with open affection now, unguarded in a way that would have unsettled me once. Instead, it steadies something in me that has not known steadiness in a long time.
The wards ripple again, sharper this time. The moment fractures, but it does not vanish.
Amelia sobers, rising to stand beside me, slipping her hand into mine as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Her grip is firm.
