I nod slowly. That also tracks. Honestly, it explains a lot more than the wholegiant, lethal warriorthing ever did. “Right,” I say. “Makes sense. You’ve got the whole ‘outthink everyone in the room’ vibe going on.”
His gaze holds mine for a second, then shifts—just slightly. “There was another role,” he adds.
I narrow my eyes a fraction. “That sounds like the interesting one.”
There’s the faintest pause, like he’s considering how to phrase it in a way I’ll understand. “I was assigned to early-bond development.”
I blink. “…I’m sorry, what?”
He doesn’t react to my tone.
“Newly formed pairs,” he clarifies. “Younglings in our world who bonded early often formed unstable bonds. There werethose who had not yet learned control, communication, or regulation of instinct.”
I stare at him.
“Hang on,” I say, holding up a hand. “You’re telling me that before all this”—I gesture vaguely at him, at everything he is now—“you were basically… what? Running around teaching couples how to not kill each other, and how to, what… be romantic…?”
A tendril of a smile moves through his expression. It’s warm and surprisingly gentle. It also makes my heart stumble. “In simplified terms,” he says, “yes.”
I let out a disbelieving breath, dragging a hand over my face. “That is—” I shake my head. “That isnotwhat I was expecting.”
“Most did not,” he replies calmly.
I look at him again, properly this time, something in my chest shifting as the pieces start to line up.
He reads people. Listens and never pushes past a boundary I set, no matter how much it costs him.
And the way he’s handled… us.
“Bloody hell,” I mutter. “You’ve been dealing with bond-related chaos your whole life.”
“Yes,” he states plainly
“And now you’ve got me.”
“Yes.”
I narrow my eyes at him, studying the steady certainty in his expression. “You don’t even sound tired about that.”
“I am not,” he replies, his voice grounded and unwavering.
The tone he uses settles low in my chest, heavy and undeniable. There’s no strain in him, no reluctance, no sense of burden. He stands there like this—likeI am a fact he has already accepted, already chosen.
I take him in properly, dragging my gaze over the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his frame, the quiet control in howhe holds himself. Respect takes hold in a way I don’t question or resist.
“You’re wasted as just a warlord,” I say, my tone quieter now but no less certain.
His brow lifts slightly. “Just?”
“You know what I mean.” My eyes flicking back to his. “You’re more than that. You always have been.”
He holds my gaze, and the air between us thickens with awareness. His attention does not waver. It stays fixed and deliberate, as though he is weighing every word I’ve said and finding it worth keeping.
“I am what I am required to be,” he answers.
“Yeah,” I reply, softer now, my voice carrying less edge and more truth. “But I’m beginning to see all of you.”
He goes still.
