Desire.
It’s unrestrained, unguarded, a longing he always kept hiddenunder the watchful eyes of my duenna.
“I forgive you, Ryker,” I say, my voice trembling under the weight of the moment.
His relief is palpable, his shoulders sagging as though the burden he’s carried has finally lifted. Slowly, he leans in, his lips hovering just a breath away from mine.
“You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted,” he murmurs, a quiet confession. And yet?—
Kaelzar.
The image strikes, unbidden. His sharp, angular face. The shadows that cling to him like armor. The scent of storm and leather that lingers whenever he’s near.
I force the thought into the dark corners of my mind. This isn’t about him right now, this is about Ryker and me. Our ending, our closure, our... whatever this is.
His lips brush against mine, soft and warm.
The kiss is gentle at first, a hesitant exploration, as though he’s afraid I might pull away. His hands tighten slightly on my face, grounding me, and for a fleeting moment, I want to let him. I want to sink into this. I want to pretend nothing bad had ever happened, and it all had been one bad dream.
But I can’t. My pulse doesn’t race, it slows, turns heavy. My fingers twitch against his arms, instinct screaming at me to shove him away.
Ryker’s lips move against mine, and I try to force the connection, try to make myself want it.
But the fire I expect—the spark, the urgency—never comes. Instead, my chest tightens with something dense and immovable, as if the air itself has turned to rock inside me.
My magic stirs uneasily as his hands slide from my cheeks to my neck, then lower, fingertips grazing the fabric of my dress near my collarbone.
The restless stirring in my chest coils tighter. I try to focus on the warmth of his hands, on the familiarity of his presence, but a quiet wrongness presses in at the edges of my awareness, like a thread pulled too taut.
And then I feel it. The weight in my legs. The bend in my spine. The pressure of the stone beneath my knees.
I’mkneelingbefore him.
The realization strikes like an anvil over my head.
A month ago, I might not have noticed. I would have stayed kneeling for hours if it meant we could share this moment. But now, it’s a reminder of everything I lost. Of everything I vowed to reclaim.
I’m not that girl anymore. I can’t be.
I pull back, breaking the kiss.
Ryker smiles, oblivious to the turmoil twisting inside me. “You’re even better than in my dreams,” he murmurs, his voice filled with reverence. “You’re so popular among the commoners now. Your influence will be invaluable for leveraging the Consul’s approval?—”
The words don’t register at first. A dull, ringing silence follows.
The warmth of his hands lingers on my skin, but it feels like an uncomfortable weight now. Then his words finally spear through my mind: Popular. Influence. Leveraging.
Not Raylane. Not his wife. Not the girl he loves.
I rise to my feet abruptly, his hands falling away. “Is that what this is about?” I whisper, my voice is cold. “A way for you to use me?”
The first flicker of panic crosses his face. “Raylane, no. It’s not like that. You’re twisting my words?—”
“Am I?” My voice is edged with fury. “Tell me, Ryker, if I weren’t popular, if I had died in that Challenge, what then? Would you have just moved on to someone else?”
Ryker takes a step forward, desperation carved into every line of his face. “Raylane, please,” he says, his voice breaking.
I steel myself and force the tremor from my hands. I will my face into an unreadable mask. I exhale slowly, letting the weight of my words settle before I speak.
