His hands tremble where they grip my hips. I’ve never seen him tremble before—not when facing an army, not when channeling the King’s power, not when the Severance Engine tried to tear him apart.
But he’s trembling now.
“I don’t—” He stops. Swallows. “I don’t know how to accept this. Someone choosing me. Choosing to stay.” His voice drops to a whisper. “No one has ever...”
“I know.” I kiss his forehead. His temple. The ridge of his brow. “That’s why I’m saying it. So you hear it. So you believe it.”
He catches my mouth with his. The kiss is desperate—a claiming, a surrender, a question and answer all at once. I taste salt on his lips and realize he’s crying. This ancient, scarred, terrifying creature is crying because I told him I’d stay.
I kiss him back with all I possess. Let him feel the truth of my choice in the press of my body against his, the way my fingers tangle in his hair, the sound I make when his hands slide beneath my shirt to find bare skin.
His palms are warm against my ribs. Calloused and rough, but gentle—so impossibly gentle. He touches me like I might break, like I might disappear, like he’s still not sure I’m real.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “I’m real. This is real. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” His voice is wrecked. “I just... I need a moment. To believe it.”
“Take all the moments you need.”
We could take this further. Should, maybe. But there’s something different about this moment—something sacred. So I pull back,
press my forehead against his, and just breathe.
“Whatever happens next,” I tell him, “we face it side by side. That’s the deal.”
“I never agreed to that deal.”
“Too bad. It’s the only one I’m offering.”
He laughs—a broken sound, more sob than humor—and pulls me against his chest. His arms wrap around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
“Side by side,” he repeats. “I think I can live with that.”
“You better. Because I’m not?—”
The forest shudders.
Not a gentle tremor—a violent convulsion that ripples through every root and branch. The trees groan, their trunks twisting. The thornpaths writhe like wounded snakes. And from somewhere deep, somewhere that feels like it’s coming from everywhere at once, a sound rises.
The Thorn King is screaming.
I’ve heard the King’s voice before. Felt its hunger pressing against my awareness. But this is different. This isn’t hunger or rage or the patient malice of an ancient predator.
This is fear.
Tharos goes rigid against me. His head snaps toward the Heartgrove, and I see his expression shift—confusion giving way to alarm.
“That’s not possible.” He’s on his feet before I can respond, hauling me up with him. “The King doesn’t feel fear. It’s not capable of?—”
Another convulsion. The ground beneath us buckles, and I grab onto Tharos to keep from falling.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know.” His voice is tight. Controlled in a way that tells me he’s more scared than he’s letting on. “Something’s wrong at the Heartgrove. Something the King didn’t expect.”
“Didn’t expect or didn’t plan for?”
“Both.” He grabs my hand. “We need to move. Now.”
