He pulls me closer, presses a kiss to my temple—a gesture so casual and affectionate it makes my chest ache in the best way. Then we start walking toward the Heartgrove, his arm around my shoulders, mine around his waist. Not just holding hands. Holding each other.
I lean into his side as we move, letting him support me. My leg is throbbing where the crossbow bolt hit, and every step sends pain lancing up my thigh. He notices—of course he notices—and adjusts his pace without comment, his grip on me tightening.
The forest parts before us like a living thing—because it is, because he is, because somehow I’ve become part of this too. The thorns don’t reach for me anymore. The vines move aside rather than blocking my path. The roots smooth into solid ground beneath my feet.
Briargrave has accepted me.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. But I know how I feel about the man beside me—his body warm against mine, hisheartbeat steady under my palm where it rests on his chest. The warden who opened himself to a monster’s power and let me pull him back. Who fought an army and a weapon and his own darkness with my name on his lips.
FORTY-ONE
THAROS
The forest has never felt like this.
I walk through Briargrave with Xela pressed against my side, her arm around my waist, her head resting against my shoulder when the path allows. The thornpaths open before us without hesitation—not reluctantly, not with the grinding resistance I’ve felt since the binding began. They open like breathing. Like welcoming.
Because she’s part of it now.
The roots beneath our feet pulse with her presence. Feel her heartbeat echoing through the network of living wood that connects every corner of my territory. When I touch her, I feel it twice—the warmth of her skin against mine, and the pulse of her life registering through Briargrave itself.
The sensation is strange. Intimate in a way I didn’t expect.
“You’re quiet.” Her voice is soft, pitched low so it doesn’t carry beyond us. “Plotting our next move, or just brooding?”
“Processing.”
“That bad?”
I stop walking. Turn to look at her properly, my hand sliding from her shoulder to cup her face. The setting sun paints her in shades of gold and amber, catching the gray of her eyes andturning them to something warmer. Blood still streaks her skin—hers and theirs—but beneath the violence, she’s beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
“You anchored me.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “When the Severance Engine was tearing me apart, when I could feel myself dissolving into the forest—you reached through that. You held on.”
“I told you I would.”
“You don’t understand what you did.”
Her chin lifts. That stubborn set to her jaw that I’ve come to recognize as defiance. “Then explain it to me.”
I try to find the words. They don’t come easily. But she deserves to understand. She deserves everything I can give her.
“The binding ritual was supposed to be absolute. Unbreakable. I gave myself to Briargrave, and Briargrave claimed me in return. There wasn’t supposed to be room for anything else.” I trace my thumb across her cheekbone, feel her lean into the touch. “But you created room. When you grabbed my hand, when you refused to let go—you carved out space in the bond that shouldn’t have been possible.”
“So I’m what, part of the forest now?”
“You’re part of me.” The admission costs something. Everything. “The binding recognizes you because I recognize you. Because I chose you over everything else the forest offered.”
Her breath catches. I watch her process the words, watch understanding dawn in her expression.
I kiss her. Can’t help it. The feel of her against me, the scent of her filling my lungs, the way her body fits into mine like she was made to be here—it overwhelms the words I should be saying. My hands find her hips, pull her closer, press her against me until there’s no space between us.
She responds with equal hunger. Her fingers tangle in my hair, nails scraping against my scalp in a way that sends heatracing down my spine. When I lift her—just enough to bring her mouth level with mine—she wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation.
“We should—” She breaks the kiss long enough to gasp the words. “The Heartgrove?—”
“Can wait.”
“The King?—”
