Still glowing, faintly, like embers dying.
That night,I can't sleep.
I lie in the dark, one hand pressed against my throat where the collar sits, and realize something that makes my heart race and my stomach drop:
It doesn't burn anymore.
The metal is still there. Still cold. Still a constant weight reminding me I'm property, not person.
But the vicious heat—the punishment for fear or defiance or just existing wrong—isgone.
Muted.
Like something changed when I touched him.
Like something in me recognized something in him and decided we weren't enemies.
I press my palm flat against my collarbone, feeling my pulse jump beneath skin and metal.
My body knows something my mind hasn't caught up to yet.
Even if I don't understand it.
Even if it terrifies me.
My blood recognizes him.
And I think—gods help me, I think—his blood recognizes mine.
Whatever magic is in me, whatever power the brand and the collar and the auction were supposed to suppress...
It responded to him.
To his curse.
To his pain.
Like calling to like.
I curl onto my side and stare at the thin line of moonlight under the door.
Thirty days, the contract said.
I wonder if that's enough time to figure out what we are.
Or if it's just enough time to make leaving impossible.
THE FIRST CLAIM
Vorak's POV
I'm standingin the courtyard when the Crown Inquisitor arrives.
I know what he is before his horse even stops. The black uniform. The silver medallion stamped with the king's seal. The four armed guards flanking him like he expects resistance.
He expects correctly.
My men form up behind me without being ordered—Garrett, Kael, the others—hands on sword hilts, eyes tracking every movement the Inquisitor makes as he dismounts.
