Page 142 of The Immortal’s Mark

“That thing where you just… wait. Like you’re not going to push. Like whatever I decide is fine and you’ll just accept it.” I hear the frustration in my own voice and can’t stop it. “It’s infuriating. You could at least have the decency to pressure me so I’d have something to push back against.”

“Would that help?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I drag a hand through my hair. Dumpling watches me from the desk with the expression of a creature who has never experienced an existential crisis in his life and finds the whole display tiresome. “I’m not good at this. The staying. I’ve done a lot of leaving. Leaving is easy. You just… go. No conversations. No explanations. No standing in someone’s bedroom trying to figure out if you’re brave enough to still be there in the morning.”

“I know.”

“I’ve left a lot of people, Ren. Some of them I loved. Most of them I told myself I didn’t, because it’s easier that way, but—” I stop. Breathe. Try again. “I’ve never stayed. Not really. Not when it meant something.”

“I know.”

“If I stay,” I say. “If I do the staying thing, the waking up here thing, the consort thing—” The word feels strange in my mouth, too big and formal. “That’s not a season or a year or a convenient arrangement. That’s actually planning for something instead of just surviving until the next disaster.”

“Yes.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Yes.”

I stare at him. He stares back. Neither of us moves.

“You could help,” I say. “With the convincing. You could make some kind of romantic gesture. Tell me you can’t live without me. Sweep me off my feet. Whatever it is normal people do when they’re trying to get someone to commit.”

“Would that work?”

“Absolutely not. I’d make fun of you.”

“Then I’ll skip it.”

“Probably wise.”

Silence. Dumpling’s purr fills the room like a small, fuzzy engine.

I think about the last two weeks. Waking up in my own quarters, which are perfectly fine, well-appointed, fit for a guest of the emperor. Walking through the palace corridors alone. Sitting through court functions and watching him across the room and pretending I don’t want to be closer. Going to bed by myself in sheets that smell like nothing, in a room that doesn’t have ink stains on the desk or a warm spot by the lamp or any of the small specific details that mean him.

I think about the road. Waking up with his arm around me, his breath warm against my hair. Learning how he sleeps—restless at first, then still, then reaching for me in the dark like his body knows where I am even when his mind is elsewhere. The way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, soft and hungry and scared all at once.

I think about the temple. About my bloodline, about the Hungering King, about the ritual that needs me to die for love.

I think about standing in this corridor for five minutes like an idiot because I’m scared of wanting something I might actually be allowed to have.

“Okay,” I say.

Ren blinks. “Okay?”

“I’ll stay. The whole night. The waking up thing. The breakfast with ministers thing. The—” I wave my hand. “All of it. Whatever this is. I’ll do it.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t smile. Just looks at me with those dark steady eyes that see too much, and says, “You’re sure.”

“No. I’m not sure. I’m terrified. I’m probably going to panic at some point and say something stupid and try to sabotage this because that’s what I do when things get serious. But I’m staying anyway.” I cross the room, because if I don’t move I’m going to lose my nerve. “So. Yes. I’m sure. As sure as I get. Which is not very, but it’s what I’ve got.”

I stop in front of him. Close enough to touch.

He reaches out. His hand cups my jaw, gentle, the way he always touches me—like I’m something that matters. Like I might break and he’s trying not to let me.

“You won’t break,” he says.

“I know.”