Page 146 of Embers of Ruin

I saw it firsthand and couldn’t agree more.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Onyx? Does everyone know?”

“Not many. The scholars in the archives, of course. But I don’t trust the people around me anymore, Lyra. There’s a traitor in our midst, and I’m still trying to root them out.”

He exhales slowly before continuing. “Onyx is my younger brother. The curse runs through our bloodline. Each of us carries a piece of it, but the king bears the heaviest share. If I die, that burden passes to him.”

His jaw tightens. “We’ve spent years searching for a way to heal the land, and…” He lets out a weary sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. “There’s so much more I need to tell you. But it can wait.”

I smile, because for once he's giving me answers instead of half-truths dressed up to keep me calm and compliant.

“I have a confession, Thorin. I don't hate you.”

“You never really hated me, Lyra.” He smirks, dragging his fingers slowly through my curls.

“Oh, I actually did,” I say, laughing. “I just had to warm up to you.”

He tickles me behind the ear and I laugh harder, then he’s leaning down, and his mouth finds mine—soft, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world now that I’m real and warm in his arms instead of a memory he chases in his sleep.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmurs. “Not because I fear you will vanish. Because I want you there.”

I smile against his lips. “I was already planning on it.”

I’ve survived kidnappings, rebellions, magical disasters, and enough emotional trauma to occupy several lifetimes. Yet somehow the simple warmth of his hand against my cheek nearly undoes me. His forehead settles lightly against mine and I close my eyes. For a long moment, neither of us moves, lingering in it, stretching it out as if we could freeze time and stay in this one instant forever.

Then he leans down and seals his lips over mine. Not like a king claiming something. Not like a man taking. Like someone who has spent far too long denying himself the one thing he wants. I know, because I've spent just as long denying myself the very same thing.

His hand slides to my jaw, rough from years of sword calluses and old battles as his fingers disappear into my hair. He kisses me as though he’s trying to memorize me, as though he might never have the chance to do it again. His shadows curl around us, wrapping us in velvet darkness as his mouth lingers against mine. Slowly, almost reverently, the kiss deepens until it becomes something that blazes between us, consuming every coherent thought I have.

Light flares behind my eyes, glowing and alive. His shadows surge closer, and I feel my own magic reach for him, answering something ancient inside him. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and every place we touch hums with quiet recognition.

“Lyra.”

The way he says my name makes my heart ache.

I swallow. “Don't.”

A faint crease appears between his brows. “Don’t what?”

I laugh softly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

His gaze never leaves mine. “Like what?”

Gods. Men are exhausting.

“Like I hung the moon in the sky and placed every star, or whatever it was you said to me weeks ago.”

He laughs, low and warm, then shakes his head. “You have no idea how impossible you are.”

“I do, actually.”

He leans down to kiss me again, whispering against my mouth. “You are mine, Lyra.”

Before his lips reach mine again, I glance up. My breath catches—his eyes have gone black… as black as the night he tore the world apart to find me. Black veins creep slowly up his neck.

Claim me, my magic whispers.

“Mine,” he growls, and crushes his mouth to mine in a kiss that melts me.