Daromir can’t stop the transformation as they retreat to the Opal Tower. The journey is far too long, and Vana has far too much time tothink. To twist himself up in mental knots. Daromir would usually be able to untangle those knots once he got Vana alone. But this time is different, because Daromir is panicking too.
Not just at the king’s announcement, but at Vana’s reaction.
Daromir knows Vana’s moods better than his own, and he’s seen this before. The moment of rejection. Of rebellion. The moment Vana is ready to refuse an impossible task.
Then Vana adapts. His mind keeps working, fitting himself into the task before him. The task becomes far less impossible once Vana has carved and broken himself into the proper shape. Once Vana’s ethics have bent to accept the unacceptable.
That adaptability wasn’t always bad. It’s allowed them both to survive this long in House Dire. Daromir protects Vana physically, while Vana protects them politically.
But if Vana adapts to this betrothal, Daromir won’t survive unbroken.
Daromir imagines it now against his will: Vana clasping hands with a faceless dark-haired man. Leading him back to the tower after the ceremony. Daromir would follow them, a step back and to the right, a distance he never hated until now.
Would Vana have to explain the bloodbond and pleasure-sharing to Sei Mallory? Or would Vana cut off the bond for the night, to keep Daromir out?
Would Daromir cut off the bond himself before it destroyed him?
Daromir should have kidnapped Vana back to Kaiskara months ago. Years ago. Now it’s too late. They’re bound too painfully to this wretched land, and the worst chain of all might be Vana’s own mind.
The Opal Tower isn’t a safe haven now. Daromir’s usual routine fails to reassure him, because every clear room is another moment closer to confrontation. He takes extra time checking each room, delaying like a coward, as Vana paces the parlor. Vana’s face is cold and pale, his hands clasped tight behind his back. Daromir should stop Vana from pacing. Take his arm, hold him. Stroke his hair and tell him everything is all right.
Daromir can’t, because he isn’t all right either.
So, after checking the bedroom, Daromir stands in the doorway, half a room apart from the other half of his heart. “I need the rest of the day off.”
Vana stops short as if struck. “Daro, please. We need to discuss this.” His voice is far too steady, but he can’t control the panic in his eyes.
“What is there to discuss?” Daromir asks sharply. Henevertalks like this to Vana. But he isn’t as good at acting as Vana, and he can’t muster any warmth. Like his magic is spiraling out from his soul, freezing every part of him. “You’ve already decided to marry him, haven’t you?”
Vana flinches, and Daromir’s heart sinks.
“Right. I’ll be back by morning.” Daromir practically rips the buttons off in his haste to shed his uniform coat. “I just need a fucking day off.”
Vana follows him into the bedroom. “This doesn’t have to change anything. I’ve thought it through. This is a strategic match. It’s just for the magic. Even if I marry him, I don’t have to bed him. We can—”
“I can be your kept lover, on the side?” Daromir snatches up his off-duty coat. He moves towards the door, but jerks back when Vana reaches for his arm. “Damn it, Vana. I never thought there was a line I wouldn’t cross for you, but you fucking found it.”
Vana looks as hollow as a wraith in the half-shadows of the bedroom. He touches the door frame instead of Daromir’s arm, like he needssomethingto keep upright. “What are you saying, Daro?”
Daromir takes a shaky breath. His heart rattles against the prison of his ribs. “I will always be your bloodguard, Vana. Sharing your pain is the honor of my life. But if you marry someone else, your bloodguard is all I can be.”
Vana’s hand tenses around the doorframe. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Sodon’t,” Daromir begs.
Vana doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. He’s already killed a man at Imrik Dire’s request. Of course he won’t refuse marrying one.
There’s a fraught silence in which Daromir is afraid Vana will ask him again. Worse, Daromir is afraid he won’t be able to refuse Vana a second time. He’ll accept the proposition, sharing Vana’s bed while another man takes Vana’s name, and it will kill him.
But Vana remains silent this time. He steps out of the way when Daromir strides from the bedroom and across the parlor. Daromir yanks open the hallway door, making Zuzana and the other guard on duty jump.
“Fetch Indra,” Daromir orders the other guard, who salutes and takes off down the hall. Then he turns to Zuzana and adds, “I’m taking a day off.”
“Okay, sure,” Zuzana says cheerfully—then her eyes widen when Daromir closes the door behind him. “Wait, now?”
“Yes, now,” Daromir says, and strides down the hall before she can stop him. Before she asks anything else or sees the emotion on his face.
By the time Daromir reaches the courtyard, he’s put on his coat and pulled himself together. He isn’t as good an actor as Vana, but he isn’t that bad. He’s certain his face shows none of his distress.
