Page 46 of A Thread of Breath and Bone

In a blink, his mouth is on mine. There’s no lightning. No world tilt. There is nothing but the dry, dusty scent of cinnamon and a hollow ache in my chest from the betrayal of it all. It isn't a collision of souls—it's a burial of our past.

“Please,” he cries. “Kiss me. Don’t fight this. This is what we will miss out on.”

We’re both crying. I feel absolutely empty. My skin revolts before my mind can. The Aethermark doesn't just hum—it roars. A nuclear heat surges from my core, a physical 'No' echoing from the stars themselves. Kellan doesn't pull away. He's thrown back by the sheer force of a Bond he was never meant to touch.

“Gods,” he screams. His eyes are red and cheeks tearstained. Frustration gets the best of him as he kicks over a pot of flowers. He glances at his burned palms to my eyes, which I know are flickering with golden fire.

“You promised,” I cry, the heat fading with every breath. “You promised you’d always be my friend, and you're breaking that promise.” I fall to the ground and stare at the moss carpet. Guess that answers that. After more than a few minutes, I see Kellan’s hand reaching out for me. I’m scared to touch him. I’m scared to hurt him.

Moments later, the air around us shatters. Iridescent waves of violet and sapphire and pinks cut through the misty breeze. The mist doesn't just part for Ryker, it flees. He steps into the clearing, the iridescent waves protectively wrapping around me. He doesn't look like a Prince—he looks like an apex predator here to reclaim his mate. Before I can say anything, his fist connects with Kellan’s jaw with a sickening thud, sending Kellan to the ground again.

He doesn’t even stop moving for me. He reaches down, his hand steady as he pulls me from the ground and tucks me firmly—possessively—against his side. He tucks his other hand, the one he used to punch Kellan, into his pocket. He’s the picture of nonchalance unless you know what to look for. His stormy eyes have gone nearly white with silver streaks as if looking at a hurricane from above.

"I've warned you," Ryker grits out, his voice dropping to that lethal, quiet timbre that makes even the Regils hesitate. "She's not a prize for you to steal because you're lonely. She’s mine. Her heart, her soul, her very breath." He turns his gaze to me, his eyes swirling with silver storms, before they snap back to Kellan. "And if you ever corner her again and force her into a situation she didn’t ask for, I won't just hit you. I'll make sure the gods themselves can't find the pieces of you that are left."

A single glance at Kellan reveals everything crossing his face—anger, sorrow, then apology.

Ryker leads me back into the palace for the meeting with my father. “Are you okay?”

I nod and fight back another round of tears. I don’t know why I am crying. It might have something to do with the guilt consuming me.

He opens my door, both of us slipping inside. Zhel is inside getting my dinner gown laid out. When she sees Ryker, she curtsies and leaves. The door shuts behind me.

“I’m sorry,” I say on an exhale, my voice still shaky.

Ryker exhales slowly, his forehead resting against mine. The storm in his eyes softens, but it doesn’t fade. “Raea, you don’t need to apologize. Not for his choices. He crossed a line, and that’s on him—not you.” His hand slips around the back of my neck, grounding me. “I know he’s hurting. I know what it feels like to love someone so deeply it twists you inside out. But none of that excuses making you feel cornered. You never have to apologize for someone else’s actions and lack of boundaries. He should have known better.”

My breath catches as his thumb brushes a tear from my cheek.

“And as for me being here…” He gives a small, rueful smile. “I’m sure it makes it harder for him. But I’m not going anywhere. I’d rather be the one standing between you and anything—or anyone—who tries to take what isn’t freely given.”

“Ryker…” My voice breaks on his name.

He leans closer, his breath brushing my lips. “You aren’t fully mine yet,” he whispers, the words carrying a promise instead of a claim. “But one day soon, you will make the choice. In front of everyone…” His thumb traces my bottom lip, sending a spark through me. “These lips will meet mine because you want them to—and no one will ever take that choice from you again.”

I close my eyes, trembling at the weight of it.

Before our mouths meet, he pulls back with a wicked grin, his mood changing in a blink. “Time to go, Princess. We have a meeting with your father.” He winks and turns on his heel, leaving me breathless and burning in his wake.

I’ll have to ask him later how he knew Kellan had kissed me.

My father’s private office is on the third level and intimate enough to only seat the four of us. Behind him is our kingdom crest, a golden and majestic bird spanning its wings in the shape of a ‘T’. Its body is an emerald, and above its head are sun rays shooting out in the shape of a crown. Twenty-two stars fill in the space around it. It’s the same crest that has been tattooed on my wrist since I was five years old. The first king of Treon discovered the emerald in the forest below. The bird represents the rare golden starbird that nests on three of our planets.

The circular room is filled with political books, scrolls, and different trinkets our family has collected over the centuries. His desk sits at the center atop a rug. Light filters in from windows above, and the ceiling arches up into a dome with a candle-lit chandelier. There’s hardly any new tech in here, aside from his holographic communication pad and his monitor.

When Ryker and I walk in, I notice my mother is also seated. My father stands and makes his way over, pulling me first into a long hug and making sure I’m okay since I missed dinner last night. He’s inspecting me like I might have a crack in me somewhere. When he’s satisfied with his appraisal, he pulls Ryker into a hug.

Ryker turns to me with a lifted brow and shrugs. “We hug,” he says, probably responding to my mouth still hanging open.

“Please, sit,” my father says.

He takes a seat behind his desk alongside my mother. She looks regal with her hair pulled up into a fancy display of braids and buns with ribbons that match her gown. Her eyes soften when she looks at me.

“We have much to discuss. First—” His face falls, and he pauses, glancing to my mother. “I want to explain something that has been bothering me for some time now. I believe it’s time to come clean.”

I sit straighter. My mother nods.

With a sigh, my father says, “We were all so terrified of you Bonding as children. It should have been impossible, yet—” He shakes his head. “You were already showing signs of something we couldn’t explain.”