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“Elarian.”

Heat flashed across his body as if he had stepped into the sun before lurching back into the shadows.

“And before that, Lucan,” she said, voice so low he strained to hear her words, “he said you’ve been obsessed with me for centuries. But I never met you as a young elf, never shared those stolen years in the Evermist after I ran away from Melistra’s calling with anyone but Reshva. So tell me, Lucan…” She stepped into him, thighs pressing against his hips. “Before the Evermist became our battlefield, what was it to you?”

Lucan trembled as she brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. That wolfish grin returned, a gleam in her eyes brighter than even the thrill of the hunt he saw last night.

Stumbling over his words, Lucan closed his eyes to compose his thoughts.

“That was a long time ago, Elarian,” he said at last.

He tried to breathe in, but his chest only tightened. Skin twitching where Aurelion had carved his runes into tender flesh, Lucan tried desperately to focus instead on the warmth of her fingers lingering at his jaw.

“Why stay away?”

Lucan swallowed. Why did he stay away from her all those years ago? He told himself it was the fey wolves protecting the maiden, but that was only the convenient excuse.

“You fucking terrify me,” he breathed out, the words torn from a part of himself he had long believed dead.

Her forehead touched his, hands circling his throat as though she feared he might vanish into shadows if she let go. Lucan relaxed into her touch. He breathed in deeply until his lungs ached.

A bitter laugh erupted from deep within his chest.

“Everything about you is…unbearable.” His eyes drifted shut. “I look at you and forget myself. Forget what I became. I spent centuries convincing myself you were simply another enemy. Then you smile…” His jaw tightened. “Gods, Elarian, you fucking radiate defiance in the face of death. You smile, and I remember a man I buried long ago. I don’t know if I want to corrupt you or protect you.”

“Who says I’m not already corrupted?”

Lucan froze. For one heartbeat, he allowed himself to see her.

Not the assassin. Not the blade forged beneath moonlight and blood. Not the woman who had hunted him through centuries of hatred.

Just Elarian.

The wild woman who had once run through the Evermist untouched by the world. The creature who had looked upon monsters and gods alike and decided neither deserved her obedience. The impossible, infuriating, beautiful reminder that something could survive being broken.

Then, as quickly as it came, the memory vanished.

The familiar mask settled back into place. Lucan stepped away, and the absence of her warmth felt sharper than any wound.

“Enough,” he whispered as he walked back to the mirror to adjust his tunic collar.

Elarian blinked. The confusion that crossed her face nearly broke him.

Nearly.

“I believe we have lingered in my chambers long enough for one evening.” His voice returned to its usual measured calm, every syllable polished smooth. “The court will notice if their prince arrives late.”

A flicker of amusement passed through her eyes.

“There he is.”

Lucan frowned. “Who?”

“The arrogant bastard who cannot survive a moment of vulnerability without retreating behind a wall.”

“You mistake composure for retreat, pet.”

“Do I?” Brushing off the bits of ash from her silk, Elarian walked to the door and waited patiently for Lucan to follow. “Because I believe you’ve been retreating your entire life.”