“Not yet. Teddy, please. We’re holding a conclave for those against the north. Tonight. Because as soon as you leave this place… Ilyra will know. She’ll know we know everything. And she’ll come for us. For Dravara. For Zerynthia.” Seren’s words are half-plea, half-promise.
Teddy drops his head back, and a guttural growl rips from his throat, his fists clenched. Because the thought of not protecting his king—his brother—physically pains him.
But slowly, he releases his fists, letting his pulse steady.
He doesn’t look at her. Not yet. Because if he does, he knows exactly what he’ll see: pity. And he can’t bear that.
Seren doesn’t move away. Doesn’t fill the silence. She just… stays. Close enough that he can feel her there. Close enough that it matters.
“Teddy.”
His name lands softly but not tenderly. Steadier than a plea. More intimate than a command.
He exhales slowly, dragging his gaze to hers despite himself.
And there it is.
Not fear. Not doubt. Not even the pity he expected to find. Just her. Unwavering.
“I’m not asking you to donothing, Teddy,” she breathes. “We’ll make a plan at the conclave with everyone who can help us finish this thing.”
His jaw tightens. “Then whatareyou asking for?”
Seren steps closer. Closes the space he left between them. “I’m asking you to give me something before we lose everything else.”
A heartbeat passes.
Her hand slides from his forearm to his chest—steady, grounded. Not tentative. Not seeking permission.
Her honey-brown eyes land on his, reaching for him like an anchor in a storm. “I’m sick to death of people deciding what I get to experience and have in this life. I want to choose something for myself.”
Holy fucking Stars.
That lands. Shock courses through his body.
Is she really saying what he thinks she is?
Because despite himself, his failings, he knows he owes Seren this.
Her gaze flicks up to his. Honest. Stripped raw.
“I know what this is,” she says. Her voice doesn’t waver. Not like it used to.
“I know you won’t stay…” His breath catches, almost imperceptible. “I know you won’t stay with me.” Her words come out like a declaration of peace.
She steadies herself, like her composure is a heartbeat from snapping.
“I know you can’t promise me anything.”
There’s no accusation in it, no hurt—just truth.
“And I’m not asking you to.”
She takes another step closer. Close enough that his will is the only thing holding the distance now.
“Just don’t pretend you don’t want me, Teddy.”
Her hand presses into his chest, trails up the column of his throat, and scoops around the back of his neck.
