Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My precious Astrea,

My hands shake as I write this, and these tear-stained words may be the last gift I can give you. I write this not because I am dying, but because I may die, and the thought of leaving this world without you knowing the truth is unbearable.

If you are reading this, then the war has ended and I am gone. I had prayed—begged the gods with every breath—that I would survive to explain everything, to sit with you and smooth your hair while I told you truths that will break your heart. That dream is ash now, and I am left with only these inadequate words to carry a lifetime of love.

Do you remember the first time I braided your hair? You were so small, barely able to sit still, squirming on the chair while I worked. You kept asking why we had to make it "fancy" and I told you it was because you were my little princess. You laughed and said you'd rather be a dragon. Even then, you had such fire in you.

I am so proud of who you have become, my darling girl. Proud of your healing hands that chase away pain. Proud of the way you dance like the whole world was created just to watch you move. Proud of the softness you have kept in a heart this cruel world tried to harden. Part of me hoped you would choose the healers' quadrant, where you could mend what is broken in quiet safety, away from the wars that have consumed your mother.

But I know you better than that. You have too much fire, too much need to stand between the innocent and those who would hurt them. Whatever path you chose, I know it was right. You were always meant for something greater than safety.

Now I must destroy everything you believed about your family, and it will hurt you in ways I cannot bear to imagine.

I left our home because I discovered who your father truly is. He loves you, Astrea—never doubt that. As a father, he gave you everything good and pure and safe. But as a man, as a husband, he became someone I could no longer recognize. Someone who would sacrifice innocents for power, who would watch children die to maintain control, who held secrets that went against everything I raised you to believe in.

So I made the choice that has tortured me every day since. I joined Fen's rebellion. I chose to fight against my own husband. Against your father.

Do you understand what that means? I walked away from you—my heart, my soul, my reason for breathing—knowing I might die in this war and never hold you again. I chose righteousness over my own child. I chose a cause over my daughter's happiness. The guilt of that choice has been eating me alive since the moment I left.

But I would make it again. Gods forgive me, I would make it again, because the world I am fighting for is one where you can love freely, where you can be everything you were meant to be without fear.

You have your father's fire—the same burning intensity I fell in love with all those years ago—and my heart. If Fen and I fail, if this rebellion falls, you will win the war we could not. I know this as surely as I know my own name.

I need to beg your forgiveness for keeping these secrets. Children should never carry their parents' wars, and I wanted you to choose your own path without the weight of my choices crushing you. But I know you, my beautiful girl. I know you will choose what is right for your heart, for everyone who needs protecting—not just in war, but in love.

Please tell me time hasn't stolen your feelings for Xaden Riorson. A mother knows when her daughter has found her match, and I saw it even when you were children—the way your whole world lit up when he smiled at you. You deserve to be with who you have always loved. Don't let anyone steal that from you.

My greatest regret is not following my own heart sooner. I wasted years trying to fix what was already broken instead of fighting for what I knew was right. Don't make my mistakes, Astrea. Choose love over duty. Choose truth over comfort.

I am going to miss everything. Your wedding day, when you dance in a dress that makes you look like starlight. The children you will have, who will have your laugh and his eyes. Growing old watching you become the woman who changes the world. The knowledge that I will never see any of it is a knife in my chest that never stops cutting.

But I will be there, my darling. I will be in every sunrise that touches your face, in every song that makes you smile, in every moment you choose courage over fear. I will be in the air you breathe and the water you drink and the earth beneath your feet. Death ends a life, not love. I will love you beyond the grave.

Win this war. Live the happy, peaceful life I could not give you. Love that boy until your heart bursts with it. Dance in gardens that know only joy. Heal in a world that no longer needs so much mending.

Live, my precious daughter. Live beautifully, boldly, completely. Live for both of us.

I love you more than words, more than breath, more than life itself.

Your mother, forever and always, Helena

P.S. If Xaden Riorson has kept this letter safe all these years, know that I trusted him with my most precious treasure long before he knew he was protecting her. Love my daughter well, boy. She is everything good left in this world.

Chapter Text

The letter falls from my hands.

I stare at it on the floor. My mother's handwriting. Her tears staining the edges.

She fought against him. Against my father.

The room tilts sideways. I can't breathe—can’t think. I can’t process what this means.

Six years.

"Astrea." Xaden's voice sounds far away.

I can't look at him. If I look at him right now, I'll fall apart completely.

"You knew."

The words come out broken. Everything is broken. Liam is dead. My mother chose a war over me. My father isn't who I thought he was. And Xaden—

"You fucking knew."

"I was protecting you—"

"No." I shake my head, and the movement makes everything spin. "No, you don't get to say that anymore."

My hands won't stop shaking. Nothing will stop shaking. I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams, piece by piece, breath by breath.

"In the mine, when I thought I was dying, I prayed." Speaking hurts. "I prayed to live so I could forgive you. So I could tell you I understood why you kept secrets."

I finally look at him, and his face blurs through tears.

"I prayed to live so we could build something together. So I could marry you and fight with you and let you trace my freckles and be happy."

A sob escapes before I can stop it.

"And you still didn't tell me."

"Astrea—"

"Even after I almost died. Even after I became a fucking star to save everyone. Even after I told you I loved you more than breathing—you still looked at me and chose to let me die without knowing any of this."

I curl forward, arms wrapping around my ribs where everything hurts. Where the venin blade went through. Where my heart used to be.

"My mother left me to fight against my father. She chose your rebellion over her own daughter."

Each word is a knife twisting deeper.

"And you let me think she died for nothing. You let me think they loved each other. You let me believe he was good."

I can't stop crying now. Everything pours out—grief for Liam, grief for my mother, grief for the father who isn't who I thought, grief for the trust that's bleeding out on stone floors.

"Six years of wondering why I never fit anywhere. Six years of feeling like I was living the wrong life. And you knew. You always knew."

Xaden takes a step toward me, and I flinch away.

"Don't touch me."

Because if he touches me, I'll forgive him. And I can't. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"She fought with your father. My mother stood beside Fen Riorson and chose his cause over her own family."

I laugh, and the sound is wrong.

"God, I prayed to forgive you for lying. And there was so much more you were hiding."

"She made me promise—"

"She's dead!" The scream tears out of me. "She's been dead for six years, and I've been grieving someone who never existed!"

I can't sit up anymore. I can’t hold myself together. I slide off the bed onto the floor, next to my mother's letter, next to the ruins of everything I thought I knew.

"I don't know who I am." The admission comes out as a whisper. "I don't know who you are. I don't know what's real."

Xaden's boots appear in my vision. He crouches down, reaches for me.

"Don't." I pull away. "I can't. I can't do this right now."

"I love you."

"I know." My voice breaks completely. "That's what makes this hurt so much."

I close my eyes and listen to him stand up. Listen to his footsteps cross the floor. Listen to the door open and close.

Then I'm alone with my mother's words and the pieces of myself scattered across cold stone.

And I don't know how to put any of it back together.

My chest heaves with sobs that won't make sound. I curl against the floor and shake apart in silence.

My mother's dragon.

Loinnir was there. She knows.

I drag myself upright. My legs shake, but I force them to move. Down the hall, past tapestries I've seen a thousand times. Down stairs worn smooth by generations of Riorson feet.

I know these corridors better than my own heartbeat. Every turn, every door, every place to hide when the world gets too loud.

All of it lies.

The main doors gape open. I stumble through them, bare feet slapping stone that bites cold through skin.

They wait in the courtyard.

Loinnir rests beside Tairn's massive form. Both dragons watch me approach, and I see knowledge in Loinnir's silver eyes. Secrets. Truth she's been keeping.

I collapse against her snout.

"You knew." My voice breaks. "You knew everything."

Tairn's wing spreads over us, blocking out stars and wind and everything else.

Little healer. Loinnir's voice wraps around my mind. You were not ready.

"Ready?" I press my face against her scales. "For what? To know she left me? To know he isn't who I thought? To know everyone lies?"

You may still not be ready.

"I don't care." I pull back, meet her eyes. "Show me. Show me what really happened."

Loinnir studies me. Deciding if I can survive what she's about to share.

Very well, she says. But some truths destroy us.

The world dissolves.

I'm suspended hundreds of feet above a battlefield that stretches to the horizon. Bodies litter the ground below—rebels and loyalists alike, their blood soaking earth that will never forget this day. Smoke rises from burning camps, from shattered dreams, from the corpses of dragons who died for causes their riders believed in.

Through Loinnir's eyes, I watch the rebellion struggle against impossible odds.

We've been fighting for hours. My wings ache, my breath comes in ragged gasps, and the wound along my ribs where a crossbow bolt grazed me burns with every wingbeat. Helena grips my scales with bloodied hands, her own injuries making each movement agony.

We're losing. The royal forces outnumber us three to one, and their dragons are fresh while ours falter from exhaustion.

A red dragon rises through the smoke to meet us. Brathadair—nearly a century old, massive and scarred from decades of war. On his back sits the man Helena once loved enough to marry, to bear a child with, to build a life beside.

Markus Ysoria. General of Navarre’s forces. The man who's been hiding the venin threat while thousands of Poromiel citizens die beyond the wards.

"Helena." His voice carries across the space between us, powered by a compulsion signet that no longer works on the woman who stopped believing in him. "This rebellion ends here. Surrender, and I might let some of your people live."

I feel Helena's rage building, her desperate fury at what he's become.

But the battlefield below tells the story of our defeat. Rebel dragons fall one by one, their riders dying with them, and the royal forces press their advantage with ruthless efficiency on infantry units.

"So you can let more innocents die while you hide behind your precious wards?" Helena's voice cuts with razor sharpness.

"I protect our people—"

"You protect yourself." I bank left as Brathadair angles toward us, testing our defenses. "How many Poromiel villages burned while you sat safe in your halls? How many children died from venin attacks you could have prevented?"

"Acceptable losses for the greater good."

Acceptable losses. Helena's mental voice seethes with hatred. Loinnir, show him what acceptable losses look like.

With pleasure.

I dive toward Brathadair with twenty years of fury behind my wings. Helena grips my scales as we plummet, bow already in hand, arrow nocked and ready.

Brathadair meets our charge head-on, a century of battle experience guiding his movements. Fire erupts between us—not the careful flames of training, but killing heat that turns air to glass.

I roll beneath the flame, feel it sear my back as we pass underneath Brathadair's massive form. Helena's arrow flies true, punching into the red dragon's shoulder joint. Brathadair roars, more in anger than pain.

"You always did fight dirty," Markus calls as his dragon wheels around for another pass. "Just like your rebel friends."

"And you always fought like a coward," Helena snaps back, nocking another arrow. "Sending others to die while you make excuses."

Brathadair dives at us from above, claws extended like swords. I snap my wings closed and drop, letting him pass overhead, then whip my tail up to catch him across the belly. Scales tear, blood spatters, and the old dragon snarls with genuine pain.

Good, I send to Helena. Let him bleed.

But Brathadair has tricks earned through decades of war. He twists in midair, catches my tail in his jaws, and bites down hard enough to crack bone.

Pain explodes up my spine. I scream and lash out with my claws, raking deep furrows across his snout until he releases me.

"Enough games," Markus says, and his voice carries the cold authority of someone who's watched cities burn. "Helena, you have one choice. Surrender now, or I'll have Fen Riorson and every rebel leader executed. Publicly. Your daughter will watch her mother's friends die screaming."

Helena goes very still on my back.

"You bastard," she whispers.

"I'm practical. This rebellion dies today, one way or another. Make it easy, or make it painful."

Helena draws her bow again, this time aiming directly at Markus. "Go to hell."

The arrow takes him in the shoulder, spinning him sideways. Blood blooms across his uniform, but he rights himself, pressing one hand to the wound.

"Have it your way."

Brathadair attacks with renewed fury, claws raking across my neck in parallel lines that tear scales and flesh down to bone. Blood pours from the wounds, thick and hot, spattering Helena's legs.

Loinnir! Helena's mental voice panics.

I'm not done yet, I snarl, and prove it by catching Brathadair's wing in my teeth. I bite down until bones crack, until the old dragon shrieks and pulls away.

But the damage is done. The wounds in my neck are too deep, too wide. I can feel my strength bleeding away with every wingbeat.

"Markus." Helena's voice breaks as we begin to spiral downward. "I loved you once. Loved what you could have been."

"What I could have been?" Blood runs down his face where Brathadair's pain echoes across their connection. "I became someone willing to make hard choices so our daughter could have a future."

"You became someone who would sacrifice that future for the illusion of control."

A crossbow bolt screams through the air.

It punches through Brathadair's neck with a wet sound, continues its arc, and buries itself deep in Markus's chest. He jerks backward, hands flying to the shaft protruding from below his ribs.

On the ground, Fen Riorson drops his crossbow and runs toward where we're about to crash.

I hit earth hard, managing to cushion Helena's fall with my body. The impact drives what little breath I have from my lungs, sends fresh waves of agony through my wounded neck. Helena tumbles from my back, rolling across broken ground until she comes to rest against fallen stones.

Brathadair crashes nearby, the crossbow bolt having pierced deep enough to be fatal—eventually. Markus slides from his dragon's back, the wound in his chest bleeding freely but slowly.

Helena struggles to her feet, staggers toward where her husband lies propped against his dying dragon. "Markus—"

"The bolt went deep." Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth. "I have hours. Maybe less."

Fen Riorson appears beside Helena, his own wounds evident but not life-threatening. "Helena, we need to go. There are more coming."

"Wait." She kneels beside Markus, tears streaming down her face. "Astrea—promise me she'll be safe. Whatever happens, whatever punishment comes from my choices—"

"She's innocent." Markus's voice comes out strained but certain. "I'll make sure everyone knows that. She'll be pardoned, protected. You have my word."

Helena nods, then turns toward me. I lie in a spreading pool of my own blood, each breath a struggle.

Do not, I send, feeling her intention.

"You're dying." She crawls toward me, places her hands on the wounds that are killing me. "And I can't live in a world without you."

You'll die if you heal me. We die together. I chose you in life. I choose you in death.

"I know." Golden light begins to flow from her hands into my torn flesh. "Loinnir, listen to me carefully. In five years, go to Basgiath. Find Astrea. I know her path will lead her to the Riders Quadrant. To you."

Helena, please don't do this—

"She'll need you. And you'll need her." The healing light grows brighter, stronger, and I feel my flesh knitting back together even as Helena's life force flows out of her. "Promise me you'll find her. Promise me you'll love her like I would have."

I promise. But Helena—

"Tell her I'm proud of who she becomes. Tell her I love her beyond words, beyond time, beyond death itself."

The healing light flickers and dies.

Helena collapses into Fen's arms, her heart stopping, her breath ending, her sacrifice complete. She's healed me just enough to live—just enough to sever our bond before death can take us both.

The severing hits like having my soul ripped away.

Twenty years. Twenty years of shared thoughts, shared pain, shared joy. Twenty years of flying together, fighting together, living as two parts of one whole.

Gone.

I scream—a sound of loss so profound it shakes the earth, cracks stone, sends what few living creatures remain fleeing for distant cover. The sound carries everything I can't say: my love for the rider who chose death over compromise, my rage at a world that demanded such choices, my grief for all we've lost and will never have again.

Fen Riorson cradles Helena's body against his chest, his own tears falling onto her still face. "If we just had more time," he whispers.

Markus watches from where he leans against Brathadair, blood seeping between his fingers. "You think this changes anything?" His voice carries venom even as he dies. "Your rebellion failed, Riorson. Half your forces are dead, the rest scattered. I'll have every survivor executed by dragon fire."

Fen's face goes white. "You're dying, Markus."

"But my commanders aren't." Markus coughs blood, smiling through the pain. "They'll hunt down every rebel sympathizer, every family that helped you. This was all for nothing. You accomplished nothing except getting good people killed."

Fen stares at him, the weight of failure crushing down. All those deaths. All those families who believed in their cause. All for nothing.

"Helena died for nothing," Markus adds, his voice growing weaker but no less cruel. "Just like you will."

I spread my wings and take to the sky, leaving behind the battlefield where love proved insufficient against duty, where a mother chose the world over herself, where everything good died in service of something necessary.

I fly away carrying the promise to find a daughter who doesn't yet know she's an orphan.

The vision ends.

I can't breathe.

My chest seizes, ribs contracting like a fist around lungs that have forgotten how to work. The world tilts, spins, fractures into pieces that don't fit together anymore.

My father killed my mother.

The man who kissed my scraped knees murdered the woman who gave birth to me.

I gasp for air that won't come, hands clawing at my throat, at my chest, at anything that might make this stop. But there's no stopping this. No going back to before I knew.

"I can't—" The words choke off. "I can't breathe."

Little sun.

Loinnir's voice wraps around my mind, but even that feels wrong now. Little sun. My father used to call me his star. The same man who watched my mother die and smiled about it.

"Don't call me that." I curl forward, forehead pressing against stone that bites cold through skin. "I don't know what I am anymore."

The panic builds, spreads through my chest like poison. Everything I thought I knew—gone. Every safe place—destroyed. Every person I trusted—a liar.

The venin are real. They're hunting people, killing people, and I never knew because everyone decided I was too weak to handle the truth.

Xaden has been fighting a war behind my back. The boy I gave my heart to has been lying to me since we were children.

My mother didn't die in some accident. She died fighting the man who raised me. She died because she couldn't stand to watch him let innocents burn.

And I've been mourning them both. The hero father who never existed and the peaceful mother who chose righteousness over everything else.

"I want to go home." The words tear out of me, desperate and broken. "Please, I just want to go home."

But home doesn't exist. Never did. Home was a lie built on my father's crimes and my own ignorance.

Child of two worlds, Tairn's voice fills the space where my sanity used to be. You weep. Why?

"Because I'm lost." The words hurt to say. "I'm completely lost and I don't know who I am anymore."

The darkness behind my closed eyes swirls, threatens to pull me under completely. I've been brave for so long—through Basgiath, through battles, through watching Liam die, through becoming something that shouldn't exist.

But I don't know how to be brave when everything I built that bravery on was a lie.

You have been strong, Loinnir says, and her voice carries twenty years of loving someone who made impossible choices. You have been so very strong, little one. But you must be strong a little while longer.

"I don't know how."

Remember.

"Remember what? None of it was real."

You are.

Loinnir's snout nudges against my curled form, gentle as a mother's touch.

You are real. The love you carry—that is real. The choices you have made—those are real. The woman who became starfire to save strangers, who honored a friend's sacrifice, who chose love even when it nearly destroyed her—she is real.

I lift my head, tears streaming down my face. "But I don't know who that woman is."

You are Helena's daughter, Loinnir says. You carry her heart—the heart that chose death over compromise, that loved so fiercely it saved a dragon's life. And you are Markus's daughter. You carry his fire—the passion that could have changed the world if it hadn't been corrupted by fear.

Tairn's wing lifts above us, revealing stars that pierce the darkness like scattered diamonds.

Look up, he commands.

I tilt my head back, and the night sky opens before me—infinite, brilliant, eternal.

What do you see?

"Stars."

And which burns brightest?

I search the heavens, find the star that outshines all others. "That one."

You are that star, Astrea. The brightest light in all the darkness. And stars do not dim simply because the night grows deeper.

"The sun." I taste the word, feel something shift inside my chest. "I am the sun."

You are the sun, they confirm together. And the sun does not surrender to shadow.

I sit up slowly, feeling pieces of myself clicking back together—not the same as before, but stronger. Built on truth instead of lies.

My mother died for what was right. My father lost himself to fear and power. Liam died believing in something worth dying for.

And I survived. I survived becoming a star, survived learning the truth, survived having my world shattered.

I am Astrea. Not Ysoria—that name carries too much blood. Just Astrea.

Astrea, who burns even when everything else turns cold.

"What do I do now?" I whisper.

Now, Loinnir says, you decide who you want to be. And you do not let anyone—not Xaden, not duty, not fear—decide for you.

I nod, wiping tears from my cheeks. The panic has faded, leaving behind something steadier. Something that burns.

I am my mother's daughter. I am my father's daughter. I am the sun.

And I burn eternal.

Chapter Text

I wait with my dragons until my hands steady.

Loinnir’s scales warm beneath my palm as I trace fresh tissue across her wing tear. “How did this heal so fast?”

The mender who stabilized you tended to me as well. He learned not to touch without asking after I showed him my teeth.

“What did he say?”

That you healed yourself while unconscious. It disturbed him.

I understand why. My signets throb too large, too powerful—like wearing clothes made for someone else. My own body feels wrong, unfamiliar. I’m relearning how to exist in my own skin.

I want to stay with Loinnir and Tairn, but staying won’t change what waits inside.

“I have to face him.”

Are you ready?

Ready to have my heart torn apart and rebuilt? “I don’t know. But I can’t stay out here forever.”

Light spills from the main doors across stones my bare feet know. Each uneven surface, each weathered groove.

He waits.

Xaden hunches on the bottom step, elbows braced against his knees, face buried in his hands. His hair juts in every direction—evidence of restless fingers—and when he lifts his head, dark circles bruise the skin beneath his eyes.

My chest tightens. Exhausted and wrecked as he is, he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I want—gods, I ache to go to him. Want to smooth back his disheveled hair and kiss away those dark circles. Want to crawl into his lap and pretend the last few hours never happened.

The urge strikes so hard I actually take a step toward him before I stop myself.

No. Violet made me promise not to let anyone make me small. I intend to keep that promise.

“You came back,” he says.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t sure.” He rises like sudden movements might spook me. “How are you?”

I almost laugh. “Terrible. You?”

“Terrible.”

We stare at each other across marble worth more than most people see in lifetimes. I pick at my cuticles—a habit I thought I’d killed years ago—because if I don’t keep my hands busy, I might reach for him.

“I don’t know how to do this. How to be around you right now.”

“I know.”

“I’m so angry I can barely see straight. But I also…” My voice fractures. “I keep wanting to run to you and pretend none of this happened.”

Xaden’s jaw works like he’s swallowing words. Good ones, probably. Words that might make this easier.

“I wish you could.”

“But I can’t. Because you lied to me, and my parents are dead, and Liam is gone, and everything I knew was wrong.”

Tears threaten again. I hate them. I’m so tired of crying.

“I’m sorry,” Xaden says, his voice raw. “Gods, Astrea, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know.” I drag the back of my hand across my face. “But sorry doesn’t fix this.”

“Then what does?”

“I’ve given you chances. Multiple chances. I asked point-blank if there were more secrets, and you looked me in the eyes and lied. I begged you to trust me, and you chose to protect me instead. So I can’t tell you how to fix this.“

“Will you come upstairs? Let me explain?”

I want to say no. Want to shield myself from whatever else he’s hiding. But I need to know. Need to understand how deep this goes.

“Okay,” I whisper. “But I can’t promise I won’t hate you more after.”

“You’ll never hate me.” His voice turns flat, certain. “That’s who you are. Even when I had my hands around your throat, killing you, you didn’t hate me.”

The words strike me. True and awful.

“I’ve been counting on that, haven’t I? Taking advantage of the fact that you’ll forgive me for anything.”

I can’t speak.

“Come on.” He climbs upstairs, but slowly. Like he’s afraid of what waits at the top.

I follow, each step heavier than the last. Before, I fled down these stairs in panic, desperate to escape truth. Now I climb back up to face whatever remains.

These walls hold too much.

I was eight when I realized I loved him. Not the way I loved my parents or my favorite books, but something bigger. Something that made my stomach flip when he smiled and my chest ache when he looked sad.

He’d been teaching me to skip stones by the river, standing behind me to guide my arm. The warmth of his hand on mine had made everything inside me go quiet and loud at once.

But I never told him. Never spoke the words that sat heavy in my chest, waiting.

Twelve when we spent entire afternoons in the library, him reading while I pretended to focus on my own book. Really I just watched. I watched the way his mouth shaped words, how he’d unconsciously push hair from his eyes, then glance at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. We never sat close enough to touch, but I could feel the space between us like it was alive. Burning.

Fifteen when I caught him staring during one of his father’s dinner parties. Staring like he’d forgotten how to look away.

Our eyes met across the table, and heat flashed between us, making my face burn. I’d excused myself and fled to the garden, heart hammering against my ribs, while I tried to figure out what it meant. If it meant anything at all.

He’d found me twenty minutes later, standing by the fountain with my hands pressed to my cheeks.

“You left,” he’d said.

“I needed air.”

“Are you all right?”

I’d wanted to tell him then. Wanted to confess that I thought about him every day, that I dreamed about him every night, that I’d rather spend five minutes with him than hours with anyone else in the world.

Instead I’d said, “Fine. Just tired.”

And we’d stood there in silence, close enough that I could smell the soap on his skin, far enough apart that I could have screamed from wanting to touch him.

Years of loving him and never saying it. So many moments when the words sat right there, ready, and I’d swallowed them because I was terrified of destroying what we had.

What if he didn’t feel the same? What if I confessed and everything changed? What if loving him out loud meant losing him completely?

So I kept quiet. We both did. And now…

Now I don’t know what we are anymore.

“How long have you known?” I ask his back. “About my parents.”

“Since your mother gave me the letter.”

My feet halt. “What?”

Xaden turns, halfway up the stairs. “She came here before the final battle. Asked me to keep it safe, to give it to you when you were ready.”

“She was here.” My voice sounds hollow. “In this house.”

“One night. She and my father planned the attack from the war room. Then she left.”

I clutch the bannister, desperate for something solid. My mother walked these halls, uncertain if she’d survive the battle or ever see her daughter again.

The same halls where I discovered what it meant to love someone so much it hurt.

“What else?” I whisper.

“What?”

“What else have you been protecting me from?”

Xaden halts. “Everything.”

His door closes behind us. Nowhere to run from what we are—what we’ve always been.

I was seven years old the last time I was in this room, digging through his father’s armoire for imaginary treasure. The cook had filled our heads with tales of pirates and gold over dinner. When Fen caught us draped in silk scarves like emperors, my mother appeared behind him.

Let children be children for the short time they have.

Those children died the night our parents’ blood watered earth beneath dragon fire.

Xaden braces against the door like he’s barricading it against the world. His breathing comes uneven, ragged. I can feel his panic from across the room because we’ve always been connected like that—two halves of something that was never meant to split.

“There’s something else,” he says, words scraped raw. “About why I couldn’t tell you operational details.”

I retreat to the window, craving the chill of stone against my spine. This room—closed, intimate—threatens my resolve. Not because he’d hurt me, but because I might forgive him for anything.

“I think Dain can read memories without contact. It’s the only explanation for how they knew our supply routes—something Liam told Violet in private.”

I grip the windowsill. “He was in our heads.”

“Every conversation. Every private moment.” Xaden’s hands curl into fists. “That bastard violated you both.”

“I tried to be careful—”

“Doesn’t matter. If he can read without touching, distance means nothing.” He slams his palm against the wall. “We were protecting against the wrong threat.”

I press harder against the windowsill. Xaden paces three steps, stops, paces back.

“Your signets.” Xaden stares at the floor instead of meeting my eyes. “You have three because your bloodline traces back to Loinnir’s previous rider. Multiple abilities run in certain families.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Sgaeyl bonded with my grandfather before me.”

Dragon inheritance. Power flowing through blood whether we wanted it or not.

“What’s your second signet?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Xaden’s entire body locks up.

“You know about bloodline abilities because you have them,” I say, stepping closer. He flinches. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t change anything—”

“Tell me, Xaden.”

“I can sense intentions.” He barely whispers the words.

My knees buckle. “You’re inntinnsic.”

“Fuck.” He drags both hands through his hair. “Fucking hell.”

“How long have you been reading my mind?”

“Since Basgiath.”

A year. An entire year of mental violation.

“Every suspicious thought. Every moment I questioned you.” I push off from the windowsill. “You knew exactly what I was thinking.”

“Yes.”

“And you used it to lie to me better.”

“I used it to assess whether keeping you close would get people killed.” He slams his fist against the wall again. “I had to know if you posed a threat to everyone I’m responsible for.”

“So I was never your girlfriend. I was surveillance work.”

“You were everything.” He whips around to face me. “You were my salvation and my damnation and the only thing keeping me human in a war that’s trying to turn me into a monster.”

“By violating my mind every day.”

“By being a selfish bastard who loves you more than breathing.” He presses his back against the wall. “By being too much of a fucking coward to trust the woman who owns every piece of my soul.”

I flinch like he’s struck me.

“Do you know what it cost me to love you?” My voice breaks on the words. “Do you know what it’s like to worship someone who keeps choosing everything else over trusting you?”

“I chose you—”

“You chose to monitor me.” I step toward him, and he flattens further against the wall. “You chose to read my thoughts and use what you learned to manipulate me.”

“I chose to keep you close even though it compromised everything I’ve worked for.” His chest heaves. “I chose to risk every life that depends on me because I can’t fucking exist without you near.”

“By invading my privacy.”

“By being desperate and selfish and completely unworthy of you.” He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “By loving you so much it makes me do terrible things.”

“I loved you when you had your hands around my throat.” I advance another step. “When you were literally choking the life out of me, I still loved you. Even when you were killing me, I couldn’t stop.”

His shoulders jerk like I’ve slapped him.

“And you couldn’t give me honesty. You couldn’t trust me with the truth when I would have died for you without hesitation.”

“Because I’m so fucking angry at everything.” He pushes off the wall, starts moving again. “I’m angry at this war, at the world that stole our parents, at a universe that keeps trying to tear us apart. I want to burn everything down just to watch it suffer.”

“I wish it had won.” I slam my palm against the nearest surface. “I wish the universe had succeeded in keeping us apart.”

He goes very still.

“Because if it had, I wouldn’t be standing here wanting to forgive you for something unforgivable.” My hands shake with rage. “I wouldn’t have to love someone who keeps destroying me piece by piece.”

“Astrea—”

“But even if it had won, even if fate itself had conspired to keep us on opposite sides of the world, I would have clawed my way back to you.” I turn to face him fully. “I would have searched every lifetime, every universe, every possible existence until I found the one where you were mine.”

He covers his face with both hands.

“That’s how sick this is. That’s how fucking cosmic and wrong and beautiful what we have is. I would choose this pain again and again because the alternative is existing without you.”

“When I’m with you, the anger goes quiet.” He drops his hands from his face. “You make me less furious at the world. You make me want to be gentle instead of brutal.”

“You make me feel human.” I take a step toward him. “When I became a star, when I transcended everything mortal, you were the only thing that kept me tethered to who I was. You’re my anchor when the power threatens to consume me.”

“You make me want to finish this war instead of just surviving it.” He takes another step toward me. “Build something beautiful in whatever’s left when the fighting stops. You make me remember that there’s supposed to be something worth fighting for.”

“War is no place for this kind of shit. For love.” His voice roughens. “But we found it anyway. In the middle of all this death and violence and horror, we found something that makes me want to end this nightmare so I can learn how to be the man you deserve.”

“I don’t want the man I deserve.” My voice cracks on the words. “I want you. Broken and angry and selfish and mine. I want you exactly as you are, even when it destroys me. You should have told me—”

“I should have trusted you with everything.” He drops to his knees in front of me. I reach out instinctively, then stop myself. “I should have known that the woman who makes me want peace instead of revenge would never betray the people I love.”

“How can anything between us be real when you’ve been reading my mind?”

“Because I fell in love with you when I was ten years old, and every day since then has just been falling deeper.” He looks up at me from his knees. “Because you’ve been living in my soul since we were children, and losing you would be like losing the only part of me that still believes in something good.”

“I can’t trust you.”

“Then don’t.” His hand reaches toward me, hovers in the space between us. “But don’t fucking leave me. I can’t survive in a world where you’re not mine.”

“I hate that I still want to be.” I lower myself to my knees in front of him. “I hate that loving you feels like coming home and going to war at the same time.”

“I hate that I’m selfish enough to take whatever you’ll give me.”

“Even if it destroys us both?”

“Especially then.” His pupils dilate as he stares at me. “Because being destroyed by you is better than being whole without you.”

“You’re the only thing that makes sense when everything else is chaos.” I lean into his hovering hand, finally letting him touch my face. “You’re the only constant in a world that keeps trying to tear me apart. And I hate it. I hate that I can’t stop loving you, even when you keep breaking me.”

“You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” I continue, leaning into his touch.

“I know.”

“And the best.”

“I know that too.”

“If I stay, if I forgive this—” I close my eyes, then open them again. “I need to know it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t.”

“I need to know you’ll choose trusting me over protecting your war.”

“I’ll choose you over everything.” His forehead touches mine. “I’ll choose you over operational security and common sense and my own fucking survival. I’ll choose you until there’s nothing left of me but the parts that belong to you.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise you every godsdamn thing.” His voice turns fierce. “I promise you my secrets and my fears and every fucked-up corner of my soul. I swear to you—honesty even when it destroys us both.”

“And if it does? If trusting me costs you everything?”

“Then I’ll burn every last fucking thing to the ground and thank you for the privilege.”

His hands slide up to frame my face, and I let him because I can’t stop myself. Because this is what we are—two people whose love defies logic and reason, two people who’d rather destroy each other than live apart.

“I love you,” I whisper against his lips. “Even when you’re an asshole who lies to me.”

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.” His thumb traces my cheekbone. “More than my own fucked-up life, more than getting revenge on everyone who destroyed us.”

“Even if it costs you everything?”

“You’re everything.”

We stay there on our knees, foreheads touching, sharing the same space. Heavy quiet settles around us, weighted with everything we’ve just confessed—everything we’ve destroyed and rebuilt in minutes.

Xaden reaches for my hands slowly, carefully. This time, I don’t pull away.

“I need you to understand something.” His words scrape raw. “About how long I’ve loved you. About how deep this goes.”

He captures my hand and guides it beneath his shirt, pressing my palm against warm skin on his ribcage. A scar. Different from the others I remember from that night we shared—thicker, more deliberate.

“Your mother was from Tyrrendor.” His eyes search my face. “Did she ever tell you about our customs? About scars?”

“No.” My fingers explore the raised skin. It radiates warmth under my touch, older than it should be if he got it during the rebellion.

Whatever custom requires this kind of marking sounds brutal. Maybe that’s why my mother never spoke of it—some traditions are too cruel to pass down.

“Tyrrendor marks are visible pledges.” His voice turns flat, distant. “When you love someone, when you take responsibility for their protection, for their choices—you carry the scar. It’s accountability carved into flesh.”

“After the rebellion failed, Lilith carved one hundred and seven scars into my back.” His chest rises and falls in sharp bursts. “One for every child of the rebels. Every life I’m responsible for keeping alive.”

My hand stills against his skin. “That’s barbaric.”

“It’s necessary.” His thumb traces across my knuckles. “But this one—” He presses my fingers more firmly against the scar on his ribcage. “This one I made myself.”

My fingers jerk back instinctively.

“For you.” He guides my hand back to the scar. “The night after I learned what happened to your parents. When I realized you’d grow up thinking I was your enemy, never knowing that I loved you enough to bleed for you.”

“Xaden—”

“I carved your soul into my ribs, Astrea. I took responsibility for your mother’s choice, for the pain it would cause you, for the lies I’d have to tell.” He leans closer. “Even knowing you might never forgive me. Even knowing you might spend your whole life wishing I was dead.”

I press my free hand to my mouth. “You were sixteen.”

“I was in love.” His head drops forward. “I was sixteen and in love and watching the only good thing in my life get torn away because of choices adults made. So I made a choice too.”

My fingers trace the length of the scar. It’s longer than the others, deeper. Carved with purpose instead of punishment.

“You bled for me even after my father executed yours.”

“I bled for you because you were worth bleeding for.” He lifts his head to look at me. “Because even when everything else was taken away, I was still yours.”

“The letter—”

“Everything comes back to this.” He guides my hand along the raised skin. “This promise I made when I was still just a boy who loved you.”

I lean forward until our faces are inches apart. My free hand finds his face, traces the sharp line of his cheekbone.

“You’ve been proving your love for six years.”

“I’ve been yours longer than that.”

He pulls me closer, and I go willingly. Let myself fit against him, let my knees bracket his hips while my hands explore the planes of his chest.

“Astrea.” He breathes my name against my skin.

I kiss him before he can say anything else. Hard and desperate because I need to taste the devotion on his lips, need to feel the proof of his love carved into his skin.

His hands find my hair, my neck, the small of my back—touching me like he’s memorizing every curve.

When we break apart, his eyes have gone dark and his mouth is red from kissing.

“I love you,” I whisper against his lips. “From the boy you were to the man you became. You never stopped proving it, and I know we’ll survive this.”

“You’re mine.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “You’ve always been mine.”

“Yours,” I agree, and the word feels like coming home.

Silver light spills through the window, casting shadows across his face. I study the sharp line of his jaw, the hollow beneath his cheekbones, the way he watches me with such intensity.

I smooth the hair back from his forehead. It clings to his skin, damp from our emotional confrontation. My fingertips find the small scar above his right eyebrow—one I remember from childhood, earned when he tried to climb the stable roof to impress me.

“You still have this,” I murmur, tracing the pale line.

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything about you.” My hands slide down to his shirt collar. “Including how you cried when you hit the ground.”

He snorts. “I was nine. And I didn’t cry.”

“You absolutely cried.” I work the first button free—black horn, carved with the Riorson crest. His chest rises sharply. “Big, fat tears. I kissed them away.”

His expression shifts, grows serious. “That was the first time you kissed me.”

“Technically.” Another button slips free under my fingers. “Though I’m not sure healing kisses count.”

“They counted to me.”

I meet his gaze. “Everything counted to you, didn’t it?”

“Every fucking second.” His voice drops lower.

I swallow hard and work the remaining buttons, one by one, until his shirt falls open.

War has carved him into something powerful. His shoulders could fill doorways, his chest sculpted from years of training with weapons meant to kill. Dark hair trails down from his navel, disappearing beneath his belt.

But the scars draw my gaze. Not just the hundred and seven I know mark his back, but others scattered across his chest and shoulders. A jagged line slashes across his left shoulder. A burn has puckered the skin near his collarbone. The thin white reminder of a blade that nearly opened his throat.

“How many people have tried to kill you?” I ask, tracing the scar at his throat.

“Not enough, apparently.”

I press my lips to the mark, feel his pulse jump beneath my mouth. He’s getting hard—I can feel him through his pants, hot and insistent against my thigh. Heat spreads through my core, my own body responding to his.

“Fuck,” he breathes when I drag my teeth along his collarbone. “Astrea.”

“Tell me what you want.”

His fingers thread through my hair, grip tight. “I want your mouth on me. I want to remember what it feels like to have something good.”

I trail kisses down his chest, pausing to taste salt on his skin. He tastes like sweat and something that’s purely Xaden—something that makes me want to bite down and mark him as mine.

When I reach the line of hair below his navel, his entire body goes taut. I feel him harden further against his pants.

“Not yet,” I whisper against his skin. “I want to see all of you first.”

I push him back until he’s lying on the stone, his shirt spread beneath him. Light from the window cuts across his torso, turning every scar into sharp relief.

My hands explore his torso, fingers finding raised flesh and old wounds. When I reach the scar he carved for me, my breath catches.

It’s longer than I remember from the night he  first fucked me, made me his in every way. It’s deeper. He planned this—every cut deliberate, not some grief-fueled impulse.

“You planned this,” I say, tracing its path from ribs toward his heart.

“I thought about it for days.” His jaw clenches. “About where to put it, how deep to go. I wanted it to last.”

“It’s lasted.”

“So have you. Through everything thrown at you—Basgiath, the world, me.”

I lean down and press my lips to the beginning of the scar. He arches beneath me, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

“I hate that you did this,” I murmur, kissing my way along the raised flesh. “I hate that a sixteen-year-old boy thought he had to carve love into his own skin.”

“Do you hate the scar?”

I pause, considering. “No. I love it. I love that it’s mine.”

“It’s yours,” he agrees. “All of it is yours.”

I reach the end of the scar and rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the rapid beat beneath his ribs. His palms cup my face, thumbs stroking across my cheekbones.

“Come here,” he says, and I let him guide me up until we’re face to face.

“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth. “Even when you make terrible decisions. Even when you hurt yourself for me.”

“I’d do it again.”

“I know. That’s what scares me.”

He kisses me then, deep and desperate, his arousal evident where our bodies meet. When we break apart, his lips are swollen and my skin burns where he’s touched me.

“Stay with me,” he says. “Don’t leave me alone with this anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me, Astrea. Through it all.”

“I promise.” I shift closer, feel the hard length of him pressed between us through his clothes. Heat blooms between my thighs. “You’re stuck with me, Xaden Riorson.”

“Good,” he says, and when he smiles, it transforms his entire face. “I plan on keeping you forever.”

Everything crashes down at once. The brush with death—barely surviving. The raw grief of losing someone we loved. The moment I nearly walked away from it all. I need him—need to touch him, to anchor myself in the certainty that he is real, that he is here, that he is mine. I needed more.

I start to move down his body, mouth watering at the thought of tasting him, but iron fingers snap around my shoulders.

“No.” The grip burns into my skin, words scraping low. “As much as I want your mouth on my cock—need it, fucking crave it—tonight isn’t about me. Tonight, you forget every god you lost faith in. Tonight, I make you believe in something real—my mouth on your cunt, my fingers inside you, my name the only word you remember. I want you spread out for me, trembling and soaked, shaking when I taste you—begging, chanting my name like it’s the last thing tethering you to this world. That’s the faith I want from you. I want you so ruined by my tongue, you start to believe again—if only in the way I make you come. Tonight, you worship nothing but this. Tonight, I’ll make you see a god, and it’ll be me.”

Fire shoots between my thighs. Heat slicks my skin, pulse throbbing so loud the sound must radiate through thin leather. My breath stutters. Hips tilt up, chasing friction that doesn’t exist. A raw, wrecked sound rips from my throat—half-moan, half-sob—before I can stop it.

“Let me—please—” I manage, the plea catching on my tongue, voice stripped bare.

Strong arms drag me up, chest to chest. Warm breath grazes my ear, singeing every nerve.

“Fuck, Astrea. You’re already shaking. You don’t even know how desperate you sound, do you?” His hand closes around my thigh, rough and sure, thumb digging into the muscle, fingers tracing the seam where wetness pools. “I can feel how wet you are for me through your leathers. If you think you’re begging now, wait until I have you spread open and dripping, begging to come with my tongue buried in you. You want that, don’t you? Want to lose yourself for me—want to let me hear you sob my name for it?”

The world tilts. Strong hands lock around my waist, knuckles white through worn leather. No release comes until the last possible second—like letting go too soon might make me disappear. When the mattress hits my back, everything turns clumsy, hungry. Bodies knock together, knees bump, a thick thigh jams between mine. Neither of us cares.

I barely land before towering presence fills my vision—wild-eyed, chest shuddering with shallow, uneven breaths. Every scar, every shadow gleams in hard lamplight. The room reeks of sweat and spent adrenaline. Dark eyes stare like they’re trying to memorize the shape of my body through battered leathers, as if any second I’ll vanish. Fists clench at muscled sides, but tremors betray the restraint.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” The words emerge shredded by something feral and raw. “You know that?” Jaw muscles grind, as if sharp teeth could bite the words back. “You almost walked away from me tonight. I almost lost you, Astrea. And all I can think about is how much I need you—right now, here, where I can fucking see you and touch you. Do you even know what you do to me? What you’ve done to me all year?”

My mouth goes dry. Fingers grip the mattress edge, body aching from collision and the distance still kept. Knees splay, desperate for weight pinning me down. Words won’t come—I just look up, throat working, fingers curling in sheets, knowing that without hands on me, I might come undone anyway.

Bruising fingers seize my wrist, dragging my hand down leather-clad front, shoving my palm hard against the thick line straining beneath. Heat burns through fabric—rigid, pulsing, his cock is barely contained by laces. His jaw is set, lips parted, breath shallow as my hand stays trapped there, no escape allowed.

“This—” Voice turns ragged, thick with need. “This is what you do to me. Every time you walk in the room, every time you look at me like you might let me break you open. You have no fucking clue how hard you make me—how close I am to fucking you against the wall just for breathing like that.”

His massive cock fills my palm, hot, twitching with each word. My fingers curl around the shape, feeling strain, a desperate promise beneath leather. His head tips back, throat bare, exhales tearing free as control dissolves one second at a time.

Urgent hips shove up, grinding hard into my fist—not gentle, almost mean. The thick length strains against laces while pulses throb under my palm. Sweat gathers beneath my hand.

“You make me think about shit I never let myself want.” The confession emerges without eye contact, jaw tense, voice catching. “Like keeping you here—right here in Aretia, in this fucking bed. Lock the door. Rip these leathers off. Put you on your back and make you stain these sheets so deep no one else could ever lie here and not know you were mine. Some nights I lie awake just wishing the fucking world would end so I’d never have to watch you walk out that door.”

My wrist drops. Rough fingers grab my jaw, thumb prying my mouth open. Our foreheads almost clash. Hot, needy breath fills the tight space between us.

“I think about you—right here—every night.” The whisper carries threat. “Your sweat on my tongue. Your knees digging into my sides. My sheets reeking of you, days after you’re gone. That’s all I want. You. Right here. No one else.”

“Then touch me.” The words tear out, frantic and small. My nails bite into sheets—the only anchor I have while every muscle strains toward him.

Blown pupils stare down, jaw clenched so hard temple muscles twitch. That old scar cuts through his left brow—proof he made it through Threshing alive, something I used to trace in darkness. “Not yet.” His fingers clamp my jaw, thumb at the hinge, prying my mouth open. “Wider.” No space exists for refusal. My jaw aches, tongue ready.

A warm thumb presses past teeth, pins my tongue. Other fingers tangle in my hair, yank my head back, bare my throat. I’m trapped right where he wants me—on display, helpless, his to claim.

“Tongue out.” I obey, throat working, chest rising, not caring who I am if I’m not his.

He’s close enough to catch gold in dark eyes, old exhaustion, hunger that never left. Slow, deliberate spit hits my tongue—obscene, with binding wet heat.

“Swallow.” I do. My throat works hard while his burning gaze watches, my chest shuddering.

A wet thumb drags along my lip, smearing the mess, marking me. “Look at you.” The words emerge cracked. “Astrea—my Astrea. You do this for me—no one else could even look at you like this and survive it. Survive your fire. Not like me. I was born for you. You carved me yourself, sculpted me from clay—from the beginning I was wholly, utterly, completely yours.”

He rises, hands at my hips, every line of muscle pulled tight. I dare to drop my eyes, but only to see his cock strain harder against leather, leaking, the ache visible in his set jaw. I want his control to shatter. I want to see what happens when it finally does.

My eyes lock on his again—on his towering height, on how he works knots at my hips. His breath is short, the skin along his collarbone flushed dark. I drink in every detail. His trembling fingers—not with nerves, but need so strong they can’t quite obey. I watch that mouth, the way lips part, jaw flexing every time laces resist.

Hot breath ghosts across my stomach, so close the exhale burns through damp leather. “You know how many times I’ve fucked my fist to this?” Low, brutal words spill—more confession than seduction. “You on my bed, letting me pull these leathers off one tie at a time. Begging to be spread open and used.”

My face burns. I arch up into working hands, wanting friction, wanting him to see the mess he’s made.

Leather drags open, one knot at a time, rough knuckles brushing over damp skin at my hips. “Sometimes I think about you sneaking into my room in the middle of the night, so fucking naked you don’t even bother with a blanket. Just climbing onto my cock like you were born for it.”

“Xaden.” The word breaks, more gasp than plea.

No pause comes, no softening. “Yes, love?Does it make you wet, knowing I get myself off thinking about this? Knowing how many times I’ve pictured your thighs shaking around my head, or your cunt dripping onto these sheets while you beg for my tongue?” Hungry eyes pin me in place, the want there honest and indecent.

My hands fly to broad shoulders, nails biting through fabric as the last laces tear free, leather dragging down my legs. I lift my hips, baring myself shamelessly, knowing exactly what he’ll see and wanting him to see all of it.

Discarded leathers hit the floor. His dark gaze rakes down naked skin, no restraint left. “Fuck, Astrea.” The words aren’t praise—they’re hunger, raw and unvarnished. Knees settle between my legs, palms braced on either side of my hips, so close I feel the heat of thick cock, heavy and leaking, against his leathers.

He stills, like the sight needs memorizing—like touching me now means no stopping.

His crowding presence leans in, settling between my open thighs.

“Open.” The command falls flat, demanding. A thumb drags at my bottom lip until I obey, tongue out.

Two fingers push past my teeth, deep, until my jaw aches, until eyes sting. The mess is wanted—spit running down his knuckles, me drooling around him. “Suck. Make them wet for me. Show me how greedy you are.”

I choke a little, gag on purpose, eyes watering, spit gathering at mouth corners as I suck desperately for any part of him. My hands grip his thick wrist, not to stop, but to keep him there, to hold myself open for whatever comes. Dark eyes watch me, gaze moving from stretched lips to spit leaking down my chin.

“Look at you.” The murmur roughens with hunger. “Sloppy for me. I could watch you like this all fucking night.” His free hand slides up my thigh, blunt pressure forcing my legs wider, pressing deep into muscle until I know bruises will bloom. “That’s it. Keep your mouth open. I want you dripping for me everywhere.”

Fingers drag from my mouth, spit trailing in a string from lip to hand. Without waiting, he smears the mess over my nipple, pinching hard, twisting until I gasp, then lower, dragging wetness down my belly.

Strong hands shove my thighs even wider, pushing my knees up, baring everything. “Not that you fucking need it. You’re soaked—dripping down your thighs, filthy girl.” He spits, this time it lands on my pussy, mixing with slick already pooling there.

“Tell me how much you want it.” Fingers hover just over my cunt, not touching, not giving in. “Beg for it, Astrea. Tell me what you need.”

I whimper, shameless, pressing into the hovering hand. “I need you—I need your fingers, your mouth, all of it—please, Xaden, please, I want to come, I need it, please—”

Cruel, fond laughter escapes before two fingers finally, finally, slide into me, knuckle deep. The stretch comes immediate, unrelenting. His thumb circles my clit, not gentle, just enough pressure to make me jolt. “You feel that? You’re so fucking tight for me. You like begging? You like letting me see you ruined?”

His other hand grabs my jaw, forcing my face toward his. “You’re going to come for me, and you’re not going to stop until I say so. You’ll come all night and you’ll beg me for every single one.”

Fingers fuck me quick, relentless, palm grinding my clit, every thrust making obscene, wet sounds. I arch, mouth open, breath gone, the room spinning while his curved fingers work me.

Xaden—” It’s a wrecked cry, half-broken.

Sweat drips off his brow as he grins, possessive and mine. “Say it again. Scream it. Let everyone in this building know you belong to me.”

I sob his name, legs shaking, pleasure coiling so tight I can’t think, can’t breathe, seconds from coming apart—

—and then it stops. The hand pulls away just as I tip over the edge, leaving me clenching, desperate, empty. I cry out, the loss sharp, humiliating. Strong hands hold me open, watching every tremor, every broken sound.

“Not yet.” The words drip satisfaction. “You don’t come until you beg for it the way I want—until I hear that sound I like.”

His slick fingers hover, watching my face until I’m wrecked—until I break and give exactly what’s wanted, the surrender, the filthy, honest sound he’s been waiting for.

Only then does he return—fingers driving in, palm unrelenting, working me until I’m sobbing, spent, and coming hard around his hand. Every ounce of pleasure ripped from me, all for him

No mercy comes. My body still pulses around his fingers, cum coating his wrist, when depth increases—fingers curling inside me, palm grinding my clit. Every muscle jerks, whole body tensing. My hips twist away, but iron fingers clamp my hip, pinning me flat. A muscled thigh forces mine wide. No escape exists.

“Too much—” My voice cracks, raw, but the plea falls on deaf ears. Fingers drive deeper, harder, using my own wetness against me. Rough thrusts punish while a merciless thumb attacks my clit. My thighs tremble and kick uselessly.

“You can take it.” Hot breath scalds my ear before teeth bite the edge of my jaw. “You’ll take everything I give you. You think I’ll let you stop now?” Low, taunting words pour over my cheek while burning air ghosts across my skin. “Let me hear you, Astrea. Milk my fingers—let me feel you come again.”

My legs attempt to squeeze shut, but powerful hands spread them wider. Weight pins my hips while fingers trap my wrist above my head. Pain crests again—my body burns with sensitivity, nerves firing everywhere at once. Each movement delivers jolts I cannot outrun.

“Xaden—please—” A sob tears from my throat, voice strangled. My body jerks, thighs shaking violently. Tears sting the corners of my eyes while short, desperate pants escape my lips.

Dark eyes devour the sight, mouth curving in a mean, hungry smile. “That’s it. Don’t you dare hold back. I want to feel you gush all over my hand. I want you screaming for it, not caring who hears.”

Relentless fingers fuck me while a thumb rubs tight circles. The next orgasm rips through me without warning—white-hot, brutal, pain tangled with pleasure. My spine arches off the bed, cunt clenching hard enough that vision whites out. Sobs tear from my throat, everything raw, wrung out. Muscles twitch uncontrollably while my next orgasm floods over his hand, soaking skin and sheets.

No pause comes. Another aftershock builds under his relentless touch until muscle spasms consume me. Broken whimpers escape while every inch of me shivers—open, emptied, and his.

Strong hands finally release my thighs—but only to flip me over, rough and sure, planting me face-down in ruined sheets. Trembling legs barely function when a muscled thigh shoves between them, dragging my hips up until my ass rises in the air, cheeks spread, everything on display. Breath comes in gasps while my face burrows into bedding, tears drying on my cheek.

Weight leans over me, hot and cruel breath on my ear. “We’re not done, Astrea. I want you so far gone—so when you walk tomorrow, you feel me everywhere.”

Air struggles into my lungs, muscles turned liquid, but my spine still arches back, pushing into his grip, needing more. I’m utterly gone for him, and I can’t get enough. “You think you’ve wrung me out? Then fucking finish the job. Put your mouth back where it belongs.”

Low, delighted laughter rumbles before large palms cup my ass, spreading me open. Cool air strikes the wet, raw ache between my legs. “You’re still dripping.” The taunt emerges rough from what I’ve done to him. “Messy fucking girl. Can you feel it running down your thighs? You know you love this—love how I take care of you.”

No answer required. His tongue drags through the mess, slow and filthy, licking me open, tasting every inch. When tremors shake me, sharp teeth bite, leaving marks on the backs of my thighs, sucking hard until I know bruises will bloom tomorrow.

“Harder,” I gasp, grinding back into his mouth. “Eat me like you mean it. I want to feel your tongue when I walk.”

Hungry, messy groans vibrate against me. Strong hands slide under my hips, hauling me onto his mouth, holding me there as he devours me. His tongue fucks inside while his nose presses to my ass. The sounds pour out unstoppable—raw, half-sobs, half-curses. My hands scrabble at sheets, hips rolling back into his face, chasing the edge, grinding on his tongue.

Wet heat abandons me just long enough for a sharp slap to ring across my ass. “You think you’re in control? You’re not done until I say so. You want to come again? Prove it. Ride my mouth like you own it.”

Desperation drives me. I shove back, rocking on his face, tears streaking down my cheeks, drool soaking my lips, every muscle burning. “Don’t stop,” I beg. “Don’t you fucking dare. Please, Xaden—”

Relentless feasting continues. Tongue and lips attack everywhere, sucking, biting, lapping up every drop, holding me open when collapse threatens, dragging me back when my body attempts escape. The orgasm builds, hot and brutal, pain mixing with pleasure until violent shaking consumes me. Vision blurs, breath disappears, nothing remaining but the sound of my voice breaking on his name.

And then, just as climax threatens—something inside me shatters loose.

I explode, a scream tearing from my mouth, and night itself fractures with me. The world outside our window—Aretia’s rooftops and alleys, hills cloaked in darkness—erupts in gold. Light blazes outward, blinding, the kind no moon could conjure. I witness it: night burning away, every shadow fleeing as sunlight floods streets and crashes against glass. Dawn splits the world in two, the sun devouring the moon while claiming this room as the center of everything.

Sensation and light consume my body—his mouth still devouring me, tongue relentless, holding me open and helpless while my magic betrays me for anyone to witness. No hiding exists; every window blazes with my release, every stone burns with the truth of what he does to me.

No stopping comes—silence abandons me, the cry that fills the whole city refusing to die. My pleasure becomes an act of war. I burn, I shine, and for one moment the world belongs to us, night fleeing in defeat, all of Aretia forced to witness what he’s made of me.

When the last echo fades, tremors consume me, blindness claims my vision, ruin fills his arms—certain that even if the sun sets again, no darkness will ever hide me.

Aches consume my whole body, nerves raw, thighs trembling, sweat cooling on skin. Movement refuses to come—breath barely functions. Sunlight from my signet fades, leaving only gold-streaked shadows on the ruined bed, the echo of my own scream ringing in my ears.

Warmth settles behind me, palm smoothing over the small of my back while another hand cradles my hip. Gentle touch replaces roughness for the first time all night. Weight leans in, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades, lips soft, breath ragged.

“Fuck,” Xaden murmurs, words scraping raw. “You know what you do to me? I could lose this fucking war, lose everything, and this right here? You in my arms. It’d be enough—everything I need.” Strong arms guide me gently, rolling me onto my side, drawing me into the heat of his chest. Muscles wrap around me, tight enough to hold together everything he’s broken.

Wild heartbeats pound against my cheek, aftershocks still rolling through us both. Warm lips find my hair, then my brow, then my jaw—each kiss careful, steady, like promises sealing against my skin.

Trembling fingers tuck my hair behind my ear. “Doesn’t matter what the world throws at us.” The words emerge quietly, as if afraid they might shatter between us. “We get through it. I’ll fight anyone, anything, fuck, even myself. I’ll never hurt you again. I’ll burn down Navarre, Poromiel, even Tyrrendor if that’s what it takes. I’m not losing you, Astrea. Not now. Not ever.”

Warm fingers seek mine, weaving together. Rough pressure squeezes while a thumb traces the scar at the base of my knuckle, the one he’s kissed a thousand times since I became his.

I turn into him, so close our noses brush, every inch of me open and ruined and safe. “We will,” I whisper, voice ragged but sure. “As long as we’re together. That’s all that matters. Let the world burn, let the gods come. I’ll stay right here.”

Soft, wrecked laughter escapes, forehead pressing to mine. “Gods, you’re fucking stubborn,” he says, and for the first time something gentle flows behind the edge in his voice. “I love you for it. I love you for all of it. You’re mine, Astrea. You’ve always been mine.”

Exhausted happiness spreads across my face in a smile, letting him hold me, letting his warmth anchor me in this moment, in this room still bright with magic’s last rays. Nothing else exists. No war, no fear, no tomorrow. Just us—wrecked, tangled, whole.

Deep breaths draw me in, the whole of me, like he could live off this moment alone. “We’ll get through anything,” he murmurs, kissing my temple while his hand settles over my heart. “Anything. That’s my fucking vow to you. Tonight. Now. Always.”

Chapter Text

Consciousness returns gradually, my body weighted with the best kind of exhaustion. Every muscle aches deliciously.

Xaden’s already awake, propped on one elbow, just watching me. Dark hair juts in every direction and there are scratch marks down his chest from my nails.

“Morning, love,” he says quietly.

“Morning.”

Fingertips skim my cheekbone with devastating tenderness. Nothing like the man who had me screaming his name hours ago.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a dragon.” I shift and wince. “A very large, very thorough dragon.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.” But those same fingertips keep mapping my features with impossible softness. “I love you, Astrea.”

“I love you too.” The words come easier now, no hesitation left between us. “But I seriously can’t feel anything below my waist.”

“I can fix that.”

Before I can question him, one hand moves between my thighs. I’m still slick, still swollen, still sensitive enough that the barest touch makes me jolt.

“Xaden—”

“Shh.” Warm lips brush my neck. “Let me take care of you.”

The touch turns deliberate but different now - not trying to shatter me, just ensuring I’m whole. Like he needs confirmation I’m still intact after he broke me apart.

“You’re going to be sore for days.” Smugness creeps into his tone.

“Good.” I catch his wrist. “I want to feel it every time I move.”

Pupils blow wide, chest rising sharper. “Fuck, Astrea. You can’t say shit like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m trying to be gentle with you, and you’re making it really fucking hard.”

I roll my hips deliberately, seeing his jaw clench. “Then stop trying so hard.”

“No.” The word comes out rough, absolute. “You deserve better than that.”

Before I can argue, he brushes my hair aside, exposing my neck. That mouth presses to the base of my throat, then climbs higher.

“Xaden—”

“Let me love you the right way,” he says against my ear, teeth scraping the lobe. “Slow and deep, until you’re so fucking filled with me you won’t know where I begin and you end. But that’s nothing new, is it? We’ve always been connected like that. Body and soul.”

Calloused hands flip me onto my stomach. He positions himself over my thighs, palms kneading the muscles of my ass.

Lips explore my shoulders, discovering each mark and scar. When he reaches the old training wound on my shoulder blade, he pauses.

“I love this one,” he says quietly. “Proof you can take everything I give you.”

I reach back, fingers finding the sharp line of his jaw to pull him down. Our mouths meet, and I taste myself on his lips from earlier.

His tongue pushes into my mouth while his cock slides through my wetness, the thick length of him gliding against my clit with each slow thrust of his hips. One hand grips my hip bone, thumb pressing deep into the hollow there.

He devours my mouth, tongue stroking mine while he continues that maddening slide against me. His free hand travels up my spine, fingers splaying across the back of my neck to hold me in place for his kiss.

When we break apart, his teeth catch my bottom lip, tugging before letting go.

“The others will be looking for you soon,” I gasp. “Your duties—”

“My duty is to you.” He positions the head of his cock at my entrance. “First and foremost. Everything else can fucking wait.”

The blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance, and I hold my breath. He pushes forward slowly - just the tip stretching me open.

“Xaden,” I gasp, fingers clawing at the sheets. After last night, I’m still tender, every nerve ending hypersensitive.

“Fuck,” he breathes and another inch slides in, the burn is exquisite. My body fights the intrusion even as it craves more. He pauses, letting me adjust, his hands steady on my hips.

“Still sore?” His voice is strained with the effort of going slow.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe.

He pushes deeper, inch by devastating inch, until I feel him everywhere - stretching me, filling me so completely I can’t tell where I end and he begins. When his hips finally press against my ass, we both release shaky exhales.

“Gods, Xaden.” I reach back blindly, nails finding his thigh and digging in. “You feel so good inside me.”

The angle with my legs trapped beneath his makes everything tighter. I push back against him, trying to take him deeper.

“Stay still,” he commands, but I roll my hips anyway.

“Make me,” I challenge, turning my head to catch his eye.

Weight drops against my back as he leans down, chest crushing into my spine. His breathing turns wicked.

His arm circles my throat, settling me into the crook of his elbow. The thick muscle cradles my neck, and I can feel his pulse beating against my skin.

My heartbeat pounds against his forearm. Every nerve screams with the awareness that I’m trapped, but my pussy clenches around him.

“You want me to make you?” His words burn against my ear as he pulls almost completely out. Then he drives back in, the impact rattling my bones and ripping a cry from my throat. “Fine.”

His arm flexes, cutting off air for three heartbeats. Oxygen disappears and my vision grays at the edges before he releases the pressure. The rush of air back into my lungs makes me gasp and arch against him.

“Let’s see how cocky you are when you can’t even remember your own name.”

I try to move, to get leverage, but his hold pins me completely. My body betrays me by growing wetter around his cock.

I bite back a cry as he starts fucking me with purpose - no mercy, no gentleness, just Xaden taking what’s his. The arm across my throat keeps me trapped while he sets a relentless pace.

“Still feeling mouthy?” His voice turns rough in my ear, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. “Or are you finally going to shut up and take it like a good girl?”

My nails dig crescents into the mattress. The position leaves me completely helpless, pinned under his weight while he proves exactly who controls this.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters against my neck.

His free hand clamps around my jaw, fingers biting into my cheek as he yanks my head back. Our mouths collide - hungry, demanding - while he keeps that relentless pace.

When he breaks the kiss, fingers twist in my hair, jerking my head to the side. His other hand drops to my stomach, palm flattening against the soft skin just below my navel. When he presses down, I feel him from both sides - his cock deep inside me and his hand compressing from above.

“You feel me here?” The pressure increases, and suddenly I’m aware of every ridge, every vein of his length. The sensation is overwhelming - like he’s filling every empty space in my body. “Right here in your fucking stomach?”

I can’t breathe. Can’t think. The dual pressure creates something I’ve never felt before - like he’s touching parts of me that shouldn’t be reachable. My pussy clenches involuntarily around him.

“Answer me,” he demands, pressing harder.

“Yes,” I choke out, the word barely a whisper. “Gods Xaden, I can feel you everywhere.”

His hips snap again, maintaining that devastating pressure. Each thrust becomes amplified, the sensation so intense my thighs start shaking. I can feel him so clearly through my own skin that it’s like being fucked from the inside out.

“That’s it,” he mutters, watching my face contort with the intensity. “Feel how deep I am. Feel how I own every inch of you.”

“Fuck, look at you.” His voice turns rough with something like awe. “You never break, do you? Just keep taking everything I give you. Taking every inch like you were made for me.”

Heat builds low in my belly, my walls starting to clench around him. My breathing turns shallow, ragged, as pleasure coils tighter with each stroke.

“Xaden,” I gasp, nails biting into the mattress. “I’m about to—”

“No.” His hips stop moving completely, leaving me desperately empty despite being filled. “You wait for me.”

A sound of pure frustration tears from my throat. He holds perfectly still inside me, and I can feel my orgasm hovering just out of reach - so close I could scream.

I try to move, to rock back against him, to get any friction at all. But his grip on my hips is iron, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

“Please,” I whisper, hating how broken I sound.

“Please what?” His voice is calm, controlled, while I’m falling apart beneath him.

“You know what.” My voice cracks with need.

“Say it.”

I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. He doesn’t get to have complete control - not always. I can outlast this, can show him that I’m just as strong as he is.

“I need…” I start, then stop. Defiance wars with desperation.

“You need what, Astrea?” He shifts slightly, just enough to remind me how deep his cock is, how completely he’s playing me.

The small movement sends sparks through me, but I bite back the plea that wants to escape. I won’t break first. I won’t let him win this battle of wills.

But my body betrays me, clenching around him, and what’s left of my stubborn resolve starts to crumble.

“Bastard,” I pant, voice shaking with need.

“That’s right.” There’s dark satisfaction in his tone. “Your bastard. And you come when I decide you’re ready, not before.”

The hand on my stomach lowers, fingers pressing against my clit in circles. The sensation makes me jerk against him.

“Beg me for it, Astrea.”

“Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking on the word. “Please, Xaden. I need you to let me come.”

Because it’s him. Because I’ve never been able to deny him anything, and I never will. The fight drains out of me completely, leaving only desperate need.

“That’s better.” Smugness creeps into his voice as he starts moving again. Slow at first, deliberate strokes that steal my breath. “See how easy that was?”

Fingers circle my clit harder, the pressure bringing me close to the edge. Each stroke drags against my walls, the friction sending shockwaves through my pussy, the trapped position of my legs making everything unbearably tight.

“Gods you’re so tight, Astrea. That’s it,” he mutters against my neck, teeth scraping skin. “Take every fucking inch.”

My breath comes in sharp bursts as his pace quickens. The spot he hits inside me makes my vision blur, muscles clenching around him.

“Xaden,” I gasp, nails biting into the mattress. “I’m so close—”

A sharp knock echoes through the door.

“Xaden.” Garrick’s voice cuts through the wood, flat and thoroughly unimpressed. “You’re late. Again.”

My entire body locks up. Every muscle turns to stone as the reality hits - Garrick heard me. Heard the sound I just made, raw and desperate and completely fucking obvious.

My lungs forget how to work. Heat floods my face while my pussy betrays me by clenching around Xaden’s cock.

Xaden yanks my hair, forcing my head back so he can see the horror written across my features. His mouth curves into something predatory when he takes in my expression.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough with possession. “Embarrassed and getting wetter by the second.”

He’s right and he knows it. The knowledge that someone heard me come undone makes me tighten around his cock even as I want to disappear.

No slowing. No stopping. His cock drives deeper, each thrust forcing sounds from my throat that carry straight through the door. Garrick will hear every gasp, every broken cry, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

My body doesn’t know whether to recoil from the exposure or arch into it.

“Everyone’s just early,” he calls back, voice perfectly controlled despite being buried inside me.

“The council’s been waiting twenty minutes.” Garrick’s exasperation bleeds through the door. “The others are asking questions.”

Xaden leans down, lips brushing my ear while he keeps that relentless rhythm. “Want him to hear you fall apart?” he whispers. “Want him to know exactly what’s keeping me so fucking busy?”

The thought sends heat coursing through my veins. Part of me craves it - everyone knowing exactly what he does to me, how completely I belong to him.

But before words can form, both hands clamp down on my hips. Fingers dig into bone as he uses the leverage to drive deeper, faster. The new angle hits something inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.

A raw cry tears from my throat, echoing off the stone walls.

Panic floods through me. My hands shoot up to clamp over my mouth, but calloused fingers snatch my wrists before I can muffle another sound. One large hand pins both my arms behind my back, trapping me completely while the other grips my hip again.

The position arches my spine, opens my pussy wider for his relentless thrusts. Each stroke drives the breath from my lungs in sharp gasps I can’t control.

“That’s it,” he mutters against my ear, voice rough with possession. “Let him hear exactly how good I make you feel.”

Silence stretches from the other side of the door. Long enough that I wonder if Garrick left.

Then. “Gods-fucking-damn it, Xaden.”

Another pause, longer this time. The sound of a palm slapping against wood - probably his forehead hitting the door.

“I’m telling the others you’re… handling urgent business. Get your ass down there when you’re done.”

Boots stomp away down the corridor, each step sharp with annoyance.

I feel Xaden’s grin against my neck before his teeth sink into the curve, marking me. “Think he got the message?”

“You might as well…” I gasp, words shattered by his thrusts. “Do this in front of them all.”

A low laugh vibrates against my throat. “Don’t give me fucking ideas.” His grip bruises my wrists. “I’d keep you like this all day if I could, but apparently I have a rebellion to run.”

The image - him taking me where everyone could see, claiming me so publicly - makes my muscles clench around him.

“Then finish it,” I pant, voice completely wrecked.

“Gladly.”

Both hands slam back to my hips, using them as leverage to pound his cock into me. The new force drives him so deep I feel him in my throat. Each impact sends shockwaves up my spine.

My back arches involuntarily. The coil in my belly winds tighter, muscles starting to shake.

“Fuck, Xaden—I can’t—”

“You can.” His breathing turns harsh, desperate. “Come on my cock, Astrea. Right fucking now.”

The command breaks something inside me. My body seizes, every muscle locking as I cum. I scream his name, the sound raw and breathy.

He follows immediately, his hot cum spilling deep while my body milks him. The sound he makes - part curse, part worship - echoes off the stone walls.

We stay locked together, shaking. Sweat drips from his chest onto my back.

“Fuck me,” he pants against my shoulder.

“I think I just did,” I wheeze.

His laugh shakes us both. “Smart ass. I’ll find all kinds of ways to put that mouth to better use later.”

His chest heaves against my back while my thighs continue to shake.

“That was worth missing a council meeting for,” he mutters into my hair.

“Just one meeting?”

“Fine. Worth missing the entire fucking war for.”

Voices echo from the corridor outside - distant but growing closer. The reminder hits that we’re not alone in this fortress, that people are looking for him, waiting for us.

“They’re going to come looking again,” I say.

His arm tightens around me. “Let them wait.”

But we both know he doesn’t mean it. Duty always wins in the end.

He withdraws, and the emptiness makes me want to drag him back. But the voices outside grow louder - more insistent.

“Fuck.” He sits up, raking hands through his hair. “We need to move before Garrick comes back with a battering ram.”

I flip onto my back, wincing as sore muscles remind me exactly how thoroughly he wrecked me. Part of me wants to stay sprawled here, let everyone see what he does to me.

“Can’t we just lock the door and pretend we’re dead?”

“Tempting.” His mouth quirks. “But apparently I have a rebellion to run.”

“Apparently.” I stretch, deliberately slow, watching his eyes track the movement. “Such a burden, being indispensable.”

“Says the woman who could level this entire fortress if she wanted to.”

He stands, extending his hand. “Come on, we need to shower. Quick and efficient.”

“Quick and efficient sounds terrible,” I say, but take his hand anyway.

He lifts my knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there. “If we had time, it wouldn’t be either of those things. But right now we need to wash up before someone comes looking again.”

The bathroom adjoins his chambers - stone walls and a simple shower fixture. Water cascades down as he turns the handle, steam beginning to rise.

We step under together. Heat pounds against sore muscles.

“Turn around,” he says, voice quiet now.

I turn, and his hands settle on my shoulders, soap slicking between his palms and my skin. He cleans away sweat and the scent of sex, fingers avoiding the bruises he left.

“Sore?” he asks, touching a bite mark on my neck.

“I’ll live.” I lean back against his chest. “Besides, I earned every one of them.”

His hands still for a second before moving down my spine. This quiet attention feels different - him taking care of me without expectation, without heat driving us.

“The council’s going to be pissed,” he says.

“We can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep distracting you from—”

“Fuck that.” His hands grip my shoulders. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the only thing keeping me sane in this goddamn war. Without you, I’d have burned this whole place down months ago. So don’t you dare suggest that what we have is somehow hurting the cause. You are the cause, Astrea. Everything I do is for you. You, above everything. Then the marked ones. Then everyone else depending on me. That’s the order, and it’s never changing.”

The way he says it - no hesitation, no doubt - makes something shift in my chest. He means every word. I rank above everything else in his world, and he’s not apologizing for it.

“Xaden—”

“No arguments.” He spins me back around, hands working soap through my hair. “We get clean, get dressed, and deal with whatever clusterfuck is waiting downstairs. Together.”

“Together,” I agree.

We wash quickly after that. When he hands me a towel, his thumb drags across my wrist - brief but deliberate.

“Ready?” he asks.

“No. But let’s go anyway.”

We dry off quickly, water still dripping from my hair as we move back to his room. No time left for lingering.

He throws me one of his shirts while yanking on leather pants. The fabric swallows my frame, but it carries his scent.

“How do I look?” I ask, wringing water from my hair.

“Thoroughly fucked,” he says, then stops mid-motion while buckling his belt. “Shit. Everyone’s going to know exactly what we were doing.”

“Oh, now you care?” I laugh. “You just made me scream loud enough for half the fortress to hear, but suddenly you’re worried about appearances?”

His eyes darken. “Careful, Astrea. Keep reminding me why I fell in love with that smart mouth of yours, and I’ll bend you over the council table in front of all of them.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Don’t test me. We’re already late.”

He pulls on his jacket, every movement sharp and sure. The shift happens fast - tender hands that just washed my hair now buckle weapons into place.

When he reaches for the door handle, he stops.

“Whatever they say down there, whatever bullshit they throw at us - I don’t give a fuck what any of them think. You and me? That’s what matters.”

“I know. But they need their leader focused.”

“I am focused. On you, on us, on winning this fucking war so we can have a future together.” His mouth hardens. “And they’re lucky that my path to keeping you safe happens to mean they all get to live peacefully too.”

I straighten. “Then let’s go show them what their leader looks like when he’s fighting for what matters.”

“There she fucking is.” His grin turns sharp.

He opens the door. We step into the corridor together. Angry voices rise from the first floor - Assembly members who’ve been waiting while their leader was otherwise occupied.

Our fingers lace together in an open act of devotion.

We walk toward the stairs that lead down to the Assembly Chamber, to those ornate doors, to the throne built for him and the people who need his leadership.

Time to face the war.

Chapter Text

Just before we reach the Assembly Chamber doors, I stop and press my lips to Astrea’s forehead. Quick, but deliberate. Let everyone see exactly where my priorities lie.

“Ready?” I murmur against her skin.

“Go be their leader,” she says, stepping back.

The Assembly Chamber doors yawn open ahead of us, and the clusterfuck I’ve been avoiding hits my ears. Voices snap back and forth - some whining about schedules, others demanding explanations.

We walk in, and I spot Garrick leaning against the corner table, apple halfway to his mouth.

I dart forward, snatch the fruit from his hand, and launch it into the air. It spins twice before I catch it and take a deliberate bite, juice running down my chin.

I drag my thumb across the juice and lick it clean, making sure Garrick sees every second of it.

“Appreciate it,” I say, chewing loud enough for half the room to hear. “Built up quite the appetite this morning.”

Garrick stares at his empty hand, then at me. “You absolute bastard.”

“Something wrong?” I take another bite, savoring his annoyance.

“Wrong? No, nothing’s wrong. Just wondering if you’re planning to explain why the sun decided to have a fucking seizure at three in the morning.”

Bodhi snorts from across the room. “Pretty sure we all know exactly what caused that little light show.”

“Oh, we definitely know,” Imogen chimes in, grinning like the devil. “Question is whether anyone’s going to admit it.”

Felix leans forward from his seat, face serious. “Actually, that’s concerning. The venin might be evolving their abilities. If they can manipulate celestial events now—”

Imogen snorts so hard she nearly chokes. “That’s not it, Felix.”

“Then what?” Ulices demands, looking between all of us. “Because something made the sun burn like that, and it sure as hell wasn’t natural.”

I shrug, taking another deliberate bite. “Sun does weird shit sometimes. Climate’s fucked.”

“Climate.” Garrick deadpans. “Right.”

I finish the apple and toss the core into a waste bin across the room.

“If you’re all done speculating about celestial events,” I say, voice cutting through the chatter, “we can start this meeting.”

The room falls silent.

I stride toward the dais at the far end of the chamber, past the massive map of the continent, but stop before the throne. That thing’s for formal occasions, not strategy sessions.

“Astrea,” I call, gesturing her forward. “You’ll want to meet the people you haven’t been introduced to yet.”

She approaches, wet hair bright against my shirt that swallows her whole. Fuck, she looks good in my clothes. Mine. The urge to bend her over this table and remind everyone exactly who she belongs to hits hard, but we’ve got a war to run.

I point around the room. “Felix Gerault, one of our most powerful riders. Ulices Ferris, co-commander of the revolution’s army.” I pause, watching her face. “And Brennan Aisereigh, our mender. He’s the one who patched you up when you first arrived.”

Astrea freezes. Her stare fixes on Brennan, and her jaw locks tight.

There it is. That razor-sharp brain slicing through bullshit like it always does. She’s putting together what everyone else in this room already knows but can’t say out loud.

She doesn’t speak, but the slight tilt of her head screams recognition.

Brennan shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with Astrea’s scrutiny, but he doesn’t break.

“Now that introductions are handled,” I say, settling into a chair at the head of the table, “let me formally present Astrea to this council.” I look around the room, meeting each gaze. “Astrea Ysoria is here as my partner in all things. She has my complete trust and confidence, and anything discussed in this room can be discussed in front of her.”

Felix shoots to his feet. “Absolutely not. She’s the daughter of General Ysoria - the man who signed the execution orders for the rebellion.”

“Her father ordered the deaths of our families,” Ulices says coldly. “And you want her privy to our intelligence?”

“She could be feeding information back to Navarre,” another voice adds.

The room erupts in arguments, but Astrea doesn’t even seem to hear them. Her stare remains locked on Brennan, and I can see her putting the pieces together. Her hands clench into fists at her sides.

That’s him. That’s Brennan Sorrengail. Violet’s brother.

Yes.

The brother she thinks is dead. The brother she cries about. Her breathing turns shallow. I held her while she sobbed about not being able to save him. I know what it’s like to lose someone and never know if they suffered, if they were afraid. And he’s sitting right there.

I watch her knuckles turn white.

I would cut off my own arm to have one more day with my mother. One conversation. And you’re letting Violet think he’s gone when she could have him back?

“Astrea stays,” I say firmly.

That’s not love, Xaden. That’s cruelty.

My loyalty is to you, not to Violet.

Well mine lies with her. The words sear through our bond. I nearly died on the parapet trying to save her. She’s my sister in everything but blood, and you’re torturing her for no reason.

There are reasons—

Bullshit reasons.

The council keeps tearing into each other around us. “—can’t trust her with operational details—”

“—daughter of the man who killed our parents—”

“—security risk we can’t afford—”

She deserves to know her brother is alive, Xaden.

It’s not that simple. If word gets out—

You mean if it gets back to her mother? To Navarre? You think Violet would betray her own brother?

My jaw locks. She’s cornering me, and we both know it.

Information spreads. Brennan and everyone else here stays breathing if everyone thinks he’s dead.

So Violet’s pain means nothing? Her grief is acceptable collateral damage for your strategy?

The voices around us spiral louder, more vicious, but all I can focus on is the way Astrea’s breathing has changed.

That’s not what I—

Astrea launches to her feet, both palms crashing down on the wooden surface hard enough to make everything on it jump.

“Enough.” Her voice cleaves through every argument happening. “I’m done with all of you discussing me like I’m not in this room.”

Dead silence blankets the room. Every eye locks on her as she transforms into something that ignites my blood. This woman commands dragons, could incinerate kingdoms at will.

My woman unleashed. Pride slams through my chest watching her obliterate every argument without lifting a finger. This fire, this power, this absolute refusal to yield - exactly why I’d burn the world down for her.

“You want to discuss my father?” Her voice could rally armies. She drives her finger into the table hard enough to splinter wood. “Fine. The name Ysoria died with him. That man means nothing to me.” Stepping back, she moves toward the corner while council members shrink away. “But I’m Helena Thalvar’s daughter - one of Tyrrendor’s strongest bloodlines. Tyrrendor flows through me.”

She surveys the corner table, then selects a brass paperweight, weighing it in her palm.

“I’m the most powerful rider of this generation - two dragons bonded, three signets manifested.” The brass ignites red-hot in her grip. Her jaw clenches as molten metal sears her palm - pain she endures without flinching. Metal liquefies, streaming between her fingers to the floor. Sunlight intensifies through the windows while glass fractures in spider-web patterns. “I could obliterate this fortress. End your lives and this revolution right here. The Riorson Fortress survived war, but not the sun.”

Her palm opens. Blisters vanish as mending floods through burned skin. She kneels, touches the molten puddle - brass reshapes, cools, reforms. Standing, she places the restored paperweight precisely where she found it.

Then she locks eyes with me. Blood trickles from her nose as she concentrates, pain creasing her features.

Around us, chaos erupts. Felix screams as he feels his skin burning, throws himself to the floor. Ulices chokes on smoke that fills his lungs, clawing at his throat. Others scramble for exits as they feel walls collapsing around them, crushing weight on their backs. The heat sears their faces, the light blinds them, debris cuts their skin.

But I see her. Only her. The illusion doesn’t touch me.

“Stop!” Felix gasps, voice raw from inhaling fire. “Please!”

She releases the illusion. The room snaps back to normal, but blood still drips from her nose. She swipes it away with the back of her hand.

I watch her wield destruction and creation in one breath. The woman I love commands the power to end worlds, the compassion to heal them.

“So before any of you question my loyalty again, remember what you’ve just witnessed. I am the most powerful rider of this generation, with two dragons and three signets at my command. You will treat me accordingly.”

Silence grips the room. Everyone recovers from what they just witnessed. Felix hauls himself off the floor, sweat coating his face.

“Nice theatrics,” he rasps. “But power tricks don’t erase facts. She’s still a security risk.”

“Intelligence discussed here kills people,” Ulices declares, dragging himself upright. “Her bloodline—”

Stone scrapes as I explode upward. The sound slices through their protests.

“We’re done here. Astrea stays. Anyone objecting can get the fuck out.” Back into my seat, I lean back with deliberate indifference, scratching absentmindedly at the stubble growing in. “Now, what couldn’t wait?”

Garrick’s mouth curves - bastard’s enjoying this. Bodhi and Imogen observe but stay silent.

Felix readies another argument, but Ulices waves him down. “This isn’t finished.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Ulices unfurls a parchment across the table. Red marks dot the continental map.

“Viscount Tecarus,” he announces. “He’ll let us use his luminary.”

I scan the markings. “In Krovla?”

“Refuses to move it. Plus he wants three squadrons stationed there.”

“What’s a luminary?” Astrea asks.

Several council members shift in their seats. Felix’s jaw tightens as he rolls his eyes.

My chair scrapes against stone as I lean forward, pinning Felix with my stare. “Something to say, Felix?”

Color drains from his face. He straightens like someone just shoved a rod up his ass. “No.”

“Good.” I turn to Astrea, my voice softening. “A weapons forging device. Concentrates dragon fire to smelt the special alloy we need for venin-killing weapons. We need it to finish our forge here.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilating as the pieces click. Her fingers unconsciously drift toward where she keeps the dagger I gave her.

“Makes sense he won’t move it,” Brennan says. “No ward stones in Poromiel. They’re exposed.”

Felix clears his throat twice before speaking. “Three squadrons is a lot of firepower tied up in one place.”

“Alternative is raiding Basgiath’s luminary,” Brennan offers. “Navarre’s behind ward stones. They have protection Poromiel doesn’t.”

Heat builds in my chest. “Absolutely not. Navarre strips that luminary, their outpost weapons go to shit. Civilians die.”

“We should vote on it,” Felix declares. “All in favor of taking Navarre’s luminary?”

Three hands rise. I cross my arms, muscles bunching under my shirt.

“Motion fails,” Ulices announces, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Going without isn’t an option,” I say flatly. “We need those weapons.”

“Recruitment,” Ulices announces, sweeping the map aside. “Venin are evolving faster than we anticipated. Wyvern grow stronger daily. Six months from now, they’ll overpower us completely.”

“Riders are dying faster than we can replace them,” Felix adds. “Time’s running out.”

“Bring back marked cadets from Basgiath,” Garrick suggests. “New year starts in a few days - some of us will return to Basgiath then to bring them back.”

Felix nods, then locks onto Astrea. “She stays here. Too dangerous to send her back to Basgiath.”

“Are you kidding me?” Astrea’s knuckles whiten as she grips the table edge. “I just finished telling you idiots to stop discussing me like I’m not sitting right here.”

“This is strategic—” Felix starts.

“This is bullshit.” She rises from her chair, and for the second time today, I watch every man in the room lean back instinctively. “You want to control my life? Ask me first.”

Felix’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “One wrong word to Sorrengail or Aetos—”

“Won’t happen.” I bite off each word. “She finishes her education.”

“And if she betrays us?”

I tear my shirt open, buttons scattering across the table. Her scar carved into my chest and ribs catches the light - the mark I cut for her six years ago. “Then I bleed for it. I took responsibility for her when I carved her name into my skin. If she fucks us over, that’s on me.”

My gaze moves to Garrick, Imogen, Bodhi. “Same responsibility I took for some of you in this room. Same as the other one hundred and seven scars on my back.”

I drop back into my chair, shirt destroyed, chest bare. Her scar aches in the cool air.

Ulices clears his throat. “Dain Aetos presents a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” My voice hardens.

“Your theory about his signet extending beyond touch,” Felix explains. “Aetos might access memories without direct contact.”

“Athebyne proved shields fail against him sometimes,” Bodhi states. “He extracted intelligence about the weapons run.”

Felix leans forward. “Send Astrea back, and Aetos could pull every detail from her mind. Plans, locations, names.”

“Proximity alone makes her dangerous,” Ulices declares.

“Intelligence got leaked because someone shared too much.” Felix’s mouth twists. “Liam never could keep—”

My fist slams into the table. Wood splinters under the impact.

“Finish that sentence.” The words carry violence in them. “I dare you.”

Felix jerks backward, color draining from his face.

“Liam died protecting this cause.” My hands clench until knuckles crack. Blood pounds in my temples. “Question his loyalty again, and we’ll have a different kind of conversation.”

The threat hangs in the air, and nobody’s stupid enough to test it.

My eyes find the empty chair - third from the left, where Liam always planted himself. Close enough to watch my back, angled toward the door. Ready to move if shit went sideways.

The chair mocks me now. Empty fucking space where my best friend should be sitting, probably rolling his eyes at this whole clusterfuck and making some smart-ass comment about Felix’s attitude.

My throat constricts. The muscles in my jaw lock tight.

I can’t do this. I can’t sit here staring at where he should be, thinking about how he’d handle Felix’s bullshit or what joke he’d crack to cut the tension. I can’t afford to live in this grief. People need me focused, present, making the hard choices that keep everyone else alive.

But fuck, I miss him.

And then he’s there.

Liam sits in his chair, sprawled back with that lopsided smile. Blonde hair sticks up like he just rolled out of bed. Same blue eyes that caught everything. He wears the leather jacket he died in, but the blood’s gone, wounds healed. Just my best friend, exactly like the last time we argued in this room.

“Quit grinding your teeth before you crack a molar,” he says.

Pine and peppermint hit me - that soap Sloane shipped him secretly. The smell fucking destroys me, like taking a blade to the chest.

Nobody else sees him. Ulices shuffles papers. Felix mutters about security. But Liam sits right there, real as anything, watching me with those sharp eyes.

“Dramatic chest reveal?” He nods at my torn shirt. “Bold choice. Very theatrical. I approve.”

Shit. This can’t be happening.

I can’t fucking move. Can’t do shit except stare at him sitting there like he didn’t die on me.

“You look like someone just kicked you in the balls,” Liam says, mouth quirking up. “Which, considering it’s me, makes sense.”

My hands shake. Actually fucking shake.

“Nobody else can see me, in case you’re wondering.” He settles back in his chair like he owns the place. “Just you. And watching you defend my honor? Appreciate that, by the way. Felix looked ready to piss himself.”

“You’re dead.” The words scrape out of my throat.

“Yeah, well, death’s overrated.” He shrugs. “Besides, someone needs to keep your dramatic ass in line. Though I have to admit, the timing on that shirt thing was perfect.”

My vision blurs. I blink hard, trying to clear it.

“You died protecting us.”

“And you’ve blamed yourself every day since. Stop being an idiot, Xaden. I made my choice. And I’d do it again.”

“Shit,” I whisper.

“Yeah.” Liam’s voice goes quiet. “Look, I know this is fucked up. But you needed to see me.”

My throat locks up.

I look at Astrea. There’s blood under her nose, but she’s watching me steady. No questions. No bullshit confusion. She just fucking knew what I needed and made it happen with her signet.

You okay?

No. But this helps.

I know. That’s why I did it. Her words go softer. I love you, Xaden. Even when I’m furious with you. Even when you lie to me about things that matter. But through all that anger, I’ll never leave you to carry anything alone. Your pain is mine. Your grief is mine. Give me everything - all the broken pieces, all the weight. Let me hold it with you.

She’s keeping me from falling apart without even touching me. Our bond pulses between us, and I can feel her strength holding me up when I can’t hold myself up. Nobody’s ever done that before. Nobody’s ever looked at me and just known what I needed without me having to rip myself open first. She sees all my broken shit and still chooses to stay. Still chooses to catch me when I’m about to break.

“I miss you,” I finally get out to Liam.

“I know. But you don’t get to follow me, Xaden. You’ve got work to do.”

My hands won’t stop shaking.

“You’re good at this, you know,” Liam says, gesturing around the room. “Leading. Making the hard calls. Stop pretending you’re not.”

I try to speak, but my throat won’t work.

“And her?” He jerks his chin toward Astrea. “She just bled from her nose to give you this moment, even though you lied to her about Brennan. That’s not ordinary, Xaden.”

“I don’t know how—”

“Bullshit. You’ve been doing fine without me.” Liam’s voice gets quieter. “Better than fine. You kept everyone alive. You built this revolution. You found someone who loves you enough to share your damage.”

The pine and peppermint scent begins to thin.

“Liam—”

“Tell Sloane I said hey, would you? When you see her.” His edges start going translucent, like smoke dissolving. “And quit dragging my corpse around. I chose to die for you. Don’t make it meaningless by wasting your life on guilt.”

He’s disappearing.

“Wait—”

But there’s only empty air now. The chair stares back at me, hollow and accusing.

I stare at the empty chair, head spinning. What the fuck just happened cuts deeper than any blade, but somehow I can breathe again.

Thank you.

You don’t have to thank me for loving you. But we’re still talking about Brennan later.

Even now, she’s not backing down. Fuck, I love this woman.

I slam my palms on the table and stand. “Meeting’s over.”

“What?” Felix jerks back. “But weren’t you just discussing the—”

“Nothing’s getting done here,” I bite out. “We’re done. Everyone out.”

Ulices stares at me. “Xaden, you were just talking about squadron deployment—”

“Out,” I repeat.

The council scrambles to collect their shit, confusion written all over their faces. They think I was here the whole time. They think I was participating in their discussion while I was talking to Liam.

Astrea held two different illusions simultaneously. Made them see me engaged in the meeting while letting me have my moment with him.

I catch her eye. Blood crusted under her nose, exhaustion written in every line of her face, but she doesn’t look away.

She did that for me. Nearly bled herself dry to give me what I needed.

Once the room empties, I stride to where she stands. My hands shake as I cup her face, thumbs wiping away the dried blood under her nose. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch from my touch after catching me in another lie.

“You gave him back to me,” I say, voice raw. “Let me say goodbye to Liam.”

Her eyes lock with mine, steel-steady. “You needed it.”

“You held two fucking illusions. Nearly killed yourself to give me closure.” My forehead presses against hers, and I slide my fingers through her finally dried hair, feeling the natural waves that have formed. That pearlescent hair that looks like moonlight, and fuck, I love everything about her. “And you’re still going to crucify me over Brennan, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

Her chin juts up in defiance, but her hands find my bare chest where my shirt hangs open. I watch her gaze shift to my lips, then snap back to my eyes. Those golden amber eyes that cut right through my bullshit every single time. Her fingertips map the scars along my ribs, and my breath catches in my throat.

“You stubborn, impossible woman,” I whisper, tilting her chin up with my thumb until our lips nearly touch. Her eyelids lower, then lift again to pin me with that stare. “You just saved my sanity and you’re already sharpening your knives for the next fight.”

“Someone has to keep you honest.” The words ghost across my mouth.

I lean closer, watching her pupils dilate as I eliminate the last inch between us. Her palms press flat against my chest, fingers exploring the ridges of muscle.

“You drive me out of my godsdamn mind,” I murmur, lips barely grazing hers with each word. My eyes fix on her mouth, then return to capture her gaze. “Never give me an inch. Never let me get away with anything. Push back on every decision I make.”

Her fingers climb higher along my chest. “And?”

“And I’m completely in love with you.” I cradle her face, thumbs skimming her cheekbones as I hold her captive with my stare. “You are the bane of my existence and the only thing I can’t live without. Every time you dig your heels in and refuse to bend, I fall harder for you.”

“Mmm,” she hums, and her hands fist in the remnants of my shirt, pulling me down until our mouths crash together.

The doors slam open behind us.

“Gods almighty,” Garrick bellows. “Not on the table where we eat!”

I break the kiss but keep Astrea pressed against me. “I dismissed everyone.”

“We’re not everyone,” Bodhi says, walking in with Imogen behind him.

Garrick waves his hands at us. “I’m not explaining to Felix why there are bodily fluids on his precious meeting table.”

“Might be worth it for the entertainment value,” Imogen drawls. “Think his heart could handle another solar event?”

“You’re all assholes,” I mutter.

Bodhi stops walking. Picks up the brass paperweight from where Astrea placed it back on the table. Turns it over in his hands, studying the perfect surface that was molten metal minutes ago.

“A year ago, I would’ve put a blade through your heart without blinking,” he says to Astrea.

She doesn’t flinch. “After the clearing, I wanted to return the favor.”

“But you nearly died in Resson keeping us all breathing.” He sets the paperweight down carefully. “Could’ve let the venin finish what they started. Would’ve been easier for you.”

Garrick crosses his arms. “Liam died believing you were worth saving. That carries weight with us.”

“And what you just did to this council?” Imogen’s eyes gleam. “Making them crawl after that power display? That was art.”

Bodhi nods toward the paperweight. “You don’t just have power. You have control. And you use both to protect what matters to you.”

“That’s what we respect,” Garrick adds. “Loyalty. Even when it costs you.”

They’re not offering friendship. They’re acknowledging her as an equal. Someone who’s earned her place through blood and sacrifice.

I move behind her, sliding my arms around her neck from behind. My chest presses against her back, and she melts into me.

“The council doesn’t trust you,” Bodhi says. “But we do.”

“We stand with you,” Garrick adds. “Even if you’re almost as terrifying as him.” He nods toward me.

Astrea’s shoulders drop. She turns in my arms, steps toward them with her arms spread wide.

Imogen’s hand shoots out. “No.”

Astrea freezes.

“We don’t do group hugs.”

Astrea ignores her completely. Grabs Bodhi and yanks him close. Then Garrick, wrapping her arms around both of them.

“Aww, you guys,” she says, voice thick with emotion.

Garrick catches my eye over her head, grinning like an idiot. Holds out his hand toward me. “Come here, sugar bear.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I bite out.

Imogen crosses her arms. Her foot taps against the stone floor. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then she steps forward and throws her arms around all of them.

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters into Astrea’s shoulder.

“Too late now,” Bodhi says, voice warm despite his words.

Fuck me.

Ten years old. Her small hand slipping into mine after she found out my mother left. I’ll always be there, she’d whispered. That’s when I knew she was mine. I spent every day since keeping her far away from this war, my bullshit, the people who’d put targets on her back just for breathing the same air as me. I wanted her safe. Far and safe from it all. And I kept her away from this exact moment because I knew once she was in, I’d never let her go.

My family. My woman. Together.

Stubborn little nightmare just destroyed every strategy I ever had.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Chapter Text

“Rest,” Xaden says, pressing a kiss to my forehead before heading toward the door. “I’ve got business to handle with the squadrons.”

I watch him go, then close the door behind him and look around the space. Our room. Not his room that I’m borrowing, not a temporary arrangement until things settle. Ours.

The thought should make me smile, but exhaustion floods my limbs. I reach the desk before my body refuses to cooperate further. The chair catches me, and I slump forward, elbows striking wood.

My skull pounds where the dual illusions tore through neural pathways never meant to channel two signets simultaneously. I split my consciousness, ran both pieces at once. The strain burns behind my eyes.

You have exceeded safe limits. Tairn’s disapproval thunders through our bond. No rider has wielded three signets before. We must learn your body’s boundaries before they destroy you.

I rake my fingers through the hair at my temples, both sides, pressing against the ache that pulses there. My stare fixes on the wooden surface, tracing every scratch and grain mark. My head turns, chin settling into my palm while my fingers cover my mouth.

I’m losing myself, Tairn. In this war. In this power. I don’t know who I am anymore.

I will not allow it. His voice rumbles with millennia of certainty. You are mine to protect, and I have waited five years to lose you to nothing—not war, not power, not your own determination to destroy yourself for others.

But what if I—

No. His voice cuts through my question with finality. I have waited five years for the rider I required. Not any rider—you. Others sought my bond. I refused them all. You possess the strength to wield three signets, the will to protect what matters, and the fire to match my own. Should you fall, I will follow. There will be no other bond after yours.

Then I must live. The words settle through our bond with quiet determination. Must be who I need to be. For you, for Loinnir, for Xaden—for everyone.

You will live. Tairn’s response carries the force of a decree. And you will stop bleeding from your nose like some first-year cadet who cannot control her signet. It is unseemly.

I am a first-year cadet.

The new year begins in two days. You are a second-year. Act accordingly.

Goodbye, Tairn.

I roll my eyes at his gruff dismissal, but the silence that follows settles heavy around me.

Twenty-one years old. How much trauma can one person absorb before something snaps?

My parents—not just dead, but destroyed. My father murdered my mother. Kept that truth buried until his final breath on his deathbed, taking it to his grave without confession, without apology, without asking forgiveness before Malek claimed his soul. My mother died loyal to Tyrrendor, to Fen, sacrificing herself to save her dragon while the man she trusted drove a blade through her heart. Everything I believed about love, about family, about trust—incinerated.

Last year with Xaden—believing he despised me. Watching him freeze me out with calculated cruelty, his face a mask of indifference every time I entered a room. He shredded my heart methodically, day after day, pushing me away from this war, from him, from everything that could kill me. I loved him while he pretended I was nothing.

The venin crawling out of nightmares into reality. Actual monsters draining life from everything they touch. All the marked ones carrying that truth like a poison, pretending normalcy while it consumed them from the inside.

Liam bleeding out to keep me breathing. His life traded for mine when I should have been strong enough to save us both. The guilt gnaws at my bones every time I see his empty chair, hear Garrick’s laugh without Liam’s answering snort.

And now this. Xaden still lying about things that could heal people. Still choosing tactical advantage over Violet’s right to know her brother breathes. Still believing some truths are too dangerous, even for the woman he claims to love.

Brennan Sorrengail sits in council meetings while his sister grieves a ghost.

My mind rejects it all. The trauma accumulates faster than I can process it, building pressure behind my skull until something has to give.

The world expects me to keep moving.

In two days, I return to Basgiath and swallow every truth that could save lives. Watch first-years die on Conscription Day while knowing their deaths serve a lie. Sit next to Violet at meals, fork food into my mouth, nod at her jokes about Professor Kaori’s impossible standards. All while her brother’s heartbeat echoes one floor below.

Dain will touch her. Pull memories from her mind. Search for secrets about me, about us, about everything that could get people killed. And I’ll watch it happen because stopping him reveals too much.

Normal breaks me.

My stomach empties itself most mornings now. Food tastes like dirt. Sleep comes in fragments between nightmares where my father’s hands drip my mother’s blood, where Liam chokes on his own breath, where Xaden’s eyes turn cold and distant again.

The trauma lives in my bones. Settles in my joints like arthritis, makes my hands shake when I think no one’s watching. My body carries grief it can’t process, secrets it can’t speak, power it can’t contain.

Twenty-one years old and I’m already breaking apart.

But dragons need their riders. Wars need their soldiers. Revolutions need their weapons.

And Violet needs her sister to be whole enough to keep her alive.

So I’ll paste myself back together with duty and necessity. Smile until my face aches. Lie until my throat burns. Pretend my heart isn’t hemorrhaging every time I breathe.

Because everyone else’s survival depends on my performance.

But then I think of Xaden.

His mouth claiming mine in shadowed alcoves between classes, desperate kisses stolen when no one watched. His hands trembled the first time I whispered that I loved him back, like he couldn’t believe the words existed. We’d finally stopped pretending we were anything other than inevitable.

That night he snuck us into the kitchens, flour dusting his black hair as he watched me knead dough with reverent eyes. Golden light from the hearth turned his skin bronze, and for one perfect hour, war belonged to other people.

Our children live in the curve of his smile. Dark-haired daughters with his stubborn chin and my careful hands. Sons who inherit his tactical mind and my healing heart. A kitchen filled with laughter instead of strategy sessions, windows overlooking gardens instead of battlefields.

He breathes when my lungs fail. The shadow that shapes my light. I burn as his sun, he pulls as my moon—forever reaching across impossible space, never touching but always completing the same celestial dance. His darkness carves my brightness into something recognizable. My light transforms his shadows into art.

When I shatter, we realign. Find our orbit again. Two celestial bodies that circle each other, burning in perfect opposition.

He anchors my light. I illuminate his darkness. This is what I stay whole for—our quiet kitchen, our impossible future, our love that rewrites the laws of sun and moon.

Even when his choices wound me, he remains the darkness that teaches my light how to shine.

And Tairn. Loinnir. The wings that lift me when gravity becomes too much. They didn’t just choose me—they waited. Refused every other rider who sought their bond because something in their ancient hearts recognized mine. Tairn, gruff and unwavering, who would rather die than bond another. Loinnir, fierce and maternal, who holds five years of grief and hope in perfect balance.

They guard my mind when it threatens to shatter. Fill the silence when loneliness cuts too deep.

Violet. My sister in everything but blood, who grabbed my hand on that first day and never let go. Who sees past my father’s name to who I choose to become. Mira, sharp-tongued and protective, who claims me as family despite having every reason not to. Even Lilith, cold and calculating, but who sometimes looks at me with what might be pride.

Rhiannon’s unwavering loyalty. Ridoc’s terrible jokes that somehow crack through my darkest moments. Sawyer’s steady presence. Garrick’s easy warmth. Bodhi’s quiet understanding. Imogen’s hard-won respect. Even Liam’s memory, which lives in their shared glances and the way they still set a place for him.

This matters more than trauma. More than secrets. More than war or power or the weight crushing my chest.

Love surrounds me. People who would bleed for me, who expect the same in return. Who hold my pieces steady while they heal. Who remind me that Astrea Ysoria exists beyond her father’s sins, beyond her signets, beyond her usefulness to anyone’s cause.

They see me. The girl who dreams of kitchens and quiet mornings. Who heals because she can’t bear to watch things stay broken.

This is what I stay whole for.

A knock interrupts my thoughts. Soft, but insistent.

“Astrea?” Bodhi’s voice drifts through the door. “You okay in there?”

I wipe my face quickly, checking for any fresh blood under my nose. “Come in.”

The door opens, and Bodhi steps inside with a plate of bread and what looks like stew. His gaze locks on the dried blood beneath my nose.

“Thought you might need food,” he says, setting the plate on the desk. “When’s the last time you ate?”

I can’t remember. “This morning, maybe?”

“That’s what I figured.” He drags the other chair closer. “And the blood?”

I touch the tender skin beneath my nostrils. “Pushed my signet too hard.”

“Hard enough to make you bleed?” Bodhi frowns. “That’s not normal.”

The bread smells like home—yeast and warmth and comfort I forgot existed. My stomach twists with hunger that cuts through everything else.

“Nothing about me is normal anymore,” I say, tearing off a piece of bread.

Bodhi watches me tear apart the bread like I’m trying to destroy it. “What’s eating you?”

“Everything.” I shove a piece in my mouth. Chew. Swallow. “Absolutely everything.”

He waits. The way he always has since we were kids—patient, steady, letting me work up to whatever’s breaking me apart.

“He’s still lying to me,” I finally say.

“Xaden?”

“Who else?” The bread turns to paste in my mouth. “About things that matter. About people who matter.”

Bodhi rubs his jaw. “He’s good at that.”

“I’m so tired, Bodhi.” My voice cracks. “So fucking tired of carrying secrets that aren’t mine.”

“Then don’t.”

I look up at him. “What?”

“Don’t carry them. Give them back.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Though knowing you, you were already planning to do exactly that. You never let him get away with shit, even when we were kids.”

“So what’s really eating you?” Bodhi tilts his head. “Because I know you can handle Xaden. You’re the only one who can go toe to toe with him without backing down. In the best way.”

The smile dies. I set the bread down, appetite gone. “What I learned today… it’s heavy, Bodhi. Really fucking heavy.”

He waits.

“Violet.” My voice drops. “I feel so sorry for her. There’s something she deserves to know, something that would change everything for her. And I want to tell her. Gods, I want to tell her everything. But doing that risks this whole operation.”

Bodhi’s expression shifts. Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Brennan.”

“Her brother’s alive, and she doesn’t know. She grieves him every day.”

Bodhi runs a hand through his hair, exhales slowly. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Look.” He leans back in his chair. “Xaden mentioned he’d help figure out a way for you to tell her without risking everything.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“The shielding. He’s already thinking about it—strengthening yours and Violet’s so Aetos can’t pull the memories even if he tries.” Bodhi meets my eyes. “He knows you’re going to tell her. Question is whether you do it safely or not.”

My heart pounds. “He said that?”

“Not in so many words. But yeah. He’s already working on how to make it possible.”

Relief floods through me. The pressure that’s been building since the council meeting finally eases.

He understands me. Even when he lies, even when his choices break my heart, he anticipates exactly what I’ll do. He knew I couldn’t watch Violet grieve while her brother breathes. Knew I’d choose her pain over strategic advantage every time.

And instead of fighting me, instead of trying to convince me I’m wrong, he’s already working on solutions. How to protect her, protect the operation, protect everyone.

He stood by me in that meeting. Never let anyone question my place at his side. Presented me as his equal in everything, even when dismissing me would have been easier.

“He’s trying to find a way,” I whisper.

“Of course he is.” Bodhi leans forward. “You think he would choose strategy over keeping you? Over making sure you can live with yourself?”

I stare at the bread crumbs scattered across the desk. All this time I thought he was choosing the revolution over me. But maybe he’s been trying to honor both.

“I’ve been so angry with him.”

“Good. He needed you to be angry. It means he can’t get careless with your trust.”

“How are you feeling?” Bodhi asks. “Really. After bleeding like that, your body needs rest.”

“Tired. Drained. But better now that I’ve eaten something.” I flex my fingers, testing for the tremor that comes after overusing my signets. It’s still there, but faint. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” He stands, grabs the empty plate. “Get some sleep.”

“Bodhi?” I catch his arm. “Thank you. For everything. For checking on me, for listening, for understanding.”

He nods once. “Don’t need to thank me for giving a shit about you.”

“Oh, and fair warning—Xaden will probably be stationed somewhere else now that he’s graduated. But they stuck me with babysitting duty.” His mouth quirks. “So get used to my charming personality.”

“Wonderful,” I deadpan.

“I know, right?” Bodhi heads for the door, then stops. “You know, I’ve never seen him this happy. Not even with Catriona,” he adds quietly, more to himself than to me.

“With who?” I ask, but I barely catch the name. Probably just someone from his family in Aretia.

Bodhi’s face goes carefully blank, realizing he spoke aloud. “Nothing. Just—”

The door opens, and Xaden steps inside. His eyes take in the scene—Bodhi frozen by the door, me sitting at the desk.

“If I didn’t trust Astrea, I’d be more concerned,” Xaden says, voice flat. “Should I be?”

“Trust me,” Bodhi mutters. “You’ve got bigger problems.”

Bodhi glances between us, then heads for the door. “I’ll leave you two to… whatever this is about to become.” He pauses with his hand on the handle. “And Xaden? Good luck.”

The door closes behind him.

Xaden moves toward me, stopping when he’s close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “You talked to him about Brennan.”

“I did.”

“And he told you I’m already working on a solution.”

“He did.” I cross my arms. “Were you planning to tell me that, or just let me think you were choosing the revolution over my conscience?”

He reaches out, takes my crossed hands in his, and brings them to his mouth. Presses a soft kiss to my knuckles, then keeps my hand there, tapping my fingers against his lips until I let him unfold my arms.

“I was trying to figure out how to make it safe first. Before I gave you hope.”

“I don’t need you to protect me from hope, Xaden. I need you to trust me with the truth.”

“I know.” He continues the gentle tapping of my fingers against his mouth, his breath warm against my skin. “Still figuring out how to be with you without keeping you locked away from everything.”

The tenderness of the gesture, the honesty in his voice—it disarms me. “It’s going to take practice.”

“Yeah.” He lowers our hands but doesn’t let go. “I have something I want to show you. Something that might help with the practice part.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, studying his face.

“I mean I’m not good at this shit.” He exhales slowly. “Relationships. Trust. Being honest about things that matter. But I’m trying. For you.”

“Xaden.” I reach up, frame his face with my free hand. “I’ve always felt loved by you. Once you stopped pushing me away to protect me.”

His eyes hold mine.

“My mother’s flight jacket that you had altered to fit me perfectly. The dagger you gave me before Resson. How you carried me to the healers when Jack nearly killed Violet and me. The way you killed those riders who tried to murder me after I bonded two dragons.” My voice softens. “Making me your equal in that council room today. Never letting anyone dismiss me or question my intelligence.”

“Because you’re brilliant. And brave. And stubborn as hell.”

“I know what I mean to you because you’ve proven it. Not with words, but with choices.” I meet his gaze directly. “You don’t have to be perfect at talking about feelings, Xaden. You just have to keep choosing me.”

He turns his head, presses a kiss to my palm. “Every fucking day. For the rest of whatever life I have left. You’re not just who I choose, sunshine. You’re the only choice that matters.”

“Then show me what you want to show me.”

He takes my hand, intertwining our fingers, and leads me from the room. We walk through corridors I haven’t explored yet, deeper into the fortress. The stone here feels older, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. Tapestries hang along the walls, depicting battles I don’t recognize, dragons I’ve never seen. How did they restore all of this so quickly after the rebellion? After everything burned?

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Somewhere I should have brought you the moment you arrived.” His thumb traces across my knuckles. “Your mother stayed here before they left for their final battle. I had Brennan restore it exactly as she left it.”

My steps falter. “What?”

He stops, turns to face me. “I wanted you to see where she lived. Who she was here, in this place that loved her.”

My chest constricts. “Xaden…”

“She wasn’t just the woman who died, Astrea. She was Helena Thalvar. One of our strongest riders, fiercest fighters. She and my father grew up together until Basgiath split them—riders versus infantry.” His voice drops. “But she never stopped loving Tyrrendor. Never stopped fighting for what was right.”

The words lodge in my throat. Our parents. Childhood friends torn apart by the same system that tried to destroy us.

He leads me to a heavy wooden door carved with intricate patterns. He turns the handle and pushes it open.

The room stops me cold. Not because it’s grand, but because it pulses with life. My mother’s presence saturates every surface.

A writing desk faces the window, parchment spread across its surface. Ink stains the wood where her quill dripped. Books tower on the nightstand, pages marked with pressed flowers. Riding boots lie where she dropped them, leather still holding the shape of her feet.

And on the bed—a dress.

Cream fabric flows across the coverlet in waves of delicate cotton and lace. The bodice curves to embrace a woman’s figure, the skirt billows in soft layers, with pearl buttons climbing the front and sleeves designed to rest gently off the shoulders. Beautiful and gentle, like the woman who wore it.

“It was hers,” Xaden says. “I had it altered to fit you. Like the flight jacket.”

My fingers find the pearl buttons, and something breaks open in my chest. She touched these same buttons. Chose this dress. Lived in this room.

“You keep doing this,” I whisper.

“What?”

“Giving me pieces of her.” I can’t look away from the dress. “The flight jacket. Now this.”

Xaden moves closer. “You don’t want it?”

“I want all of it.” My voice cracks. “I want every piece of her you can give me.”

The silence stretches between us. I sink onto the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the dress, and the scent of lavender rises from the fabric. The same lavender she must have loved, preserved in the weave after all these years.

“There are trunks,” Xaden says. “Full of her things. Clothes, jewelry, letters she wrote but never sent. I started having them altered for you, then stopped.” He sits beside me. “Figured you should decide what you want changed and what stays exactly as she left it.”

“Put on the dress,” Xaden says softly.

I look down at his shirt that still swallows me whole, the sleeves rolled up past my wrists. “Help me?”

He rises slowly, moves close enough that I feel the heat from his skin. His fingers find the top button at my throat.

“You have her eyes,” he says quietly, amber flecked with the barest hint of green. The first button comes free. His knuckles brush my collarbone as he moves to the second, then the third. Each touch deliberate, unhurried. I’m the one undressing, but the way he watches me, the careful control in his movements—it feels like he’s the one exposing himself.

“I was ten when I decided I loved you,” he continues, working the fourth button. “Eleven when I knew I’d marry you someday. Twelve when I realized I might not live long enough to tell you.” The shirt falls open. “Thirteen when I promised myself I’d survive whatever they threw at me just so I could.”

He pushes the fabric from my shoulders, lets it fall.

“Sit.”

I settle on the edge of the bed. He kneels, pulls off my boots one at a time, then looks up at me as his hands find the laces of my pants.

“Stand.”

I rise, and he draws the fabric down my hips. My fingers slip through his hair as he follows the pants down my legs. When I step free, one of his hands curves around my ass while the other steadies my hip. He looks up at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.

“This house,” he says, voice rough. “Where my father grew up. Where your mother lived for a day but left her spirit for a lifetime. Where we grew up loving each other from opposite sides of an impossible divide.” He presses soft kisses to my thighs. “Where we’ll build whatever comes next.”

He stands, reaches for the dress with the same careful attention he’s shown everything else. “Arms up.”

I lift my arms, watching the way his dark hair brushes his brows as he concentrates. He guides the fabric over my head, and the dress settles against my skin. His hands find the pearl buttons at the bottom, work their way up with deliberate slowness.

The afternoon light turns his skin bronze, and I trace the sharp line of his jaw with my eyes. How did I get so lucky?

When he reaches my shoulders, he pauses. Leans down to press his mouth to the constellation of freckles there.

“It’s like the gods took a paintbrush to you,” he murmurs against my skin. “Cruel bastards knew I’d never be able to resist.”

My fingers find his hair, finally giving in to the urge to brush it back from his forehead. “Good thing I don’t want you to resist.”

His hands continue with the buttons, each touch making my skin hum. When he steps behind me to gather my hair, I lean back against his chest.

“I hope our children get your eyes,” he says, voice low. “Your hair. That stubborn streak that makes you fight for what’s right even when it’s impossible.”

“I want them to have your hair,” I whisper. “My eyes. Your strength and my healing hands. The best of both of us.”

He turns me to face him, hands framing my face. We stare at each other, and I see our entire future reflected in his gaze.

“Perfect,” he breathes.

“We both are,” I say softly. “Together.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, still caught in his gaze. “For all of this. For her room, the dress, for giving me pieces of her.”

“We’re not finished.” His mouth curves into something dangerous.

Shadows pour from his hands, thick and absolute. They wrap around my eyes and suddenly the world vanishes. Not darkness—complete absence. My breath catches. I reach out instinctively, grasping for something solid.

His hand captures mine. “I’m right here.”

My balance wavers without sight. Every sound amplifies—my heartbeat, his breathing, the whisper of fabric against my bare legs as the dress moves with each step. I squeeze his fingers, anchoring myself to his touch.

He moves, and I stumble after him. Each step feels treacherous. The smooth stone beneath my feet shifts and changes as we walk. I can’t tell where walls are, how wide the corridor is, if anything might trip me.

At the stairs, I stop. “Xaden, I can’t—”

He sweeps me up without warning, one arm behind my back, the other beneath my knees. The dress rides up slightly, and I feel exposed, vulnerable. My hands fly to his shoulders, gripping tight.

“I won’t let you fall.”

We descend, and I press closer to him, overwhelmed by how helpless this feels. The echo of our movement changes, becomes different.

“Looking good, Astrea!” Garrick’s voice bounces off walls I can’t see.

“Can’t see anything!” I call back, voice higher than normal.

The air shifts, becomes open and wild. The scent of pine and mountain wind fills my lungs—exactly like childhood summers here, but I still can’t see any of it.

“Xaden, please—”

“Almost there.”

We keep moving, and stone becomes soft earth beneath my feet. Grass springs against my bare calves, blades cool where the dress hem brushes my skin. The smell of living things surrounds me—moss, wildflowers, earth dark with mountain rain.

Thunder builds ahead, not distant storm but falling water. The air grows thick with mist, and droplets gather on my arms, my face. I taste mountain snow melted into something pure.

“I can hear it,” I say.

The roar pounds through my chest now, vibrates through Xaden’s ribs as he holds me. Cool spray settles on the dress fabric, making it cling. Wind moves differently here, churned by whatever creates that constant rumble.

Xaden stops. Sets me down on soft grass, hands firm on my waist.

“You ready?”

The shadows vanish.

Light sears my vision. I flinch, blink hard, then force my eyes open as the world reassembles. Emerald meadow spreads beneath my feet. Mountain peaks thrust into cloudless sky.

Then I see the source of that thunder.

Water plunges from stone heights, a white column that crashes into a lake so transparent I see fish darting through depths. Where the waterfall meets water, mist rises in great clouds, and sunlight fractures through spray into dancing color.

A blanket spreads beside the shore, weighted with baskets and bottles of wine.

I stare. Blink. Stare again.

“You…” I turn to face him, mouth falling open. “You did this? You planned something this… romantic?”

“Of course I did.” He crosses his arms. “You questioning my ability to take care of what’s mine?”

“I think you usually take care of me by eliminating threats and making sure I’m protected.” I gesture at the waterfall, the perfectly arranged picnic. “This is… different.”

“Different how?”

“Gentle. I didn’t know you had this in you.”

Something shifts in his expression. “I asked Imogen for help,” he admits quietly. “She was fucking useless.”

I blink at him. “You asked Imogen? For romantic advice?”

“Made sense at the time.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “She told me to figure it out myself.”

“So when you said you had squadron business to handle…”

“I was dealing with squadron shit. That part was real. The rest was making sure you got this before we go back to that hell.”

The quiet uncertainty in his voice undoes me. Xaden Riorson, who orchestrates wars and eliminates threats without blinking, spent hours arranging wildflowers and wine because he thought I needed one afternoon where death and dragons and revolutions didn’t matter.

I step forward and kiss him. My mouth finds his, and I push up on my toes to reach him better. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him down to me as I press my body against his. I can taste mint on his lips, feel the catch in his breath as I deepen the kiss.

When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard.

“You’re more romantic than you think,” I whisper against his mouth.

His hands find my waist, fingers splaying across the fabric. “No one else needs to know.”

He takes my hand and leads me to the blanket. Fresh strawberries and blackberries fill one basket, alongside thick slices of bread and aged cheese. Two bottles of wine rest in the grass, and there’s even honey cakes that smell like the ones from my childhood.

And propped against a basket, a worn leather book.

“What’s this?” I ask, settling onto the blanket.

He picks up the book, runs his thumb over the cover. “The History of Tyrrendor. Thought you might want to read about this place. About what your mother fought for.”

I bite into a strawberry, let the sweetness flood my mouth while I study this version of him—his shoulders loose, jaw unclenched, the perpetual readiness for battle finally absent. Sunlight pools across my cheekbones, and fine spray from the waterfall settles on my bare arms where the dress leaves them exposed.

“Tell me about the five years,” I say, accepting the wine glass he offers. “After they dragged us away from each other.”

His expression shifts to something sadder. “After they decided children should pay for their parents’ wars?”

“The two years in Tirvainne with Duke Lindell and Liam.” I pause, let his name settle between us. “He told me about that once, when we were on library duty together. Then the years at Basgiath before I got there.” I sip the wine. “What was it like?”

He stares out at the water for a long moment. “I went looking for you. I knew you were living with the Sorrengails.”

“How?”

“I made it my business to know.” His mouth quirks slightly. “Took some hits I didn’t need to take. Ended up in the healers quadrant more than once, hoping you’d be there.”

“Did you?”

“Once. My first year at Basgiath.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Your hair was shorter then. It only came to your shoulder blades.”

I touch my hair instinctively, the waves that now fall past my waist. “I cut it after the rebellion. All the way to my shoulders. Hair holds memory. I wanted it gone.”

“You looked younger. But your eyes…” He shakes his head. “Fuck, Astrea. Your eyes had already seen too much.”

“What else do you remember?”

His jaw works. “Some first-year had broken his wrist. You were wrapping it, being gentle with him. And all I could think about was wanting to rebreak whatever bone he had cracked just for getting to have you touch him.” He looks at me directly. “I wanted you to tend to me instead.”

“Why didn’t you ever approach me?”

“Because I needed to stay away. Because getting close to you would have gotten us both killed.” His voice drops. “Because I wanted to hate you. I tried to convince myself that you had chosen their side, that you were lost to me. But I couldn’t make myself believe it.”

I drain more wine than I probably should, feel the liquid burn slightly as it goes down. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The waterfall fills the quiet, and I watch droplets catch sunlight as they fall.

“There was so much we both did wrong,” I finally say, voice quieter now. “Then. Now. All of it.”

He nods, and I see recognition in his expression. We both know the cost of the choices we made—the distance we maintained, the pain we caused trying to protect each other.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “There was.”

I reach for another strawberry, let the moment settle. The wine has loosened something in my chest, made everything feel softer around the edges.

“What would you want to be?” I ask, biting into the fruit. “If you weren’t the heir to Tyrrendor. If life was simple for us.”

He’s quiet for a moment, considering. “A smith.”

“Why?”

“I’ve always been good with my hands. Weapons make sense to me.” He looks out at the water. “Steel doesn’t lie. It either holds or it breaks.”

“In our next life, I’ll be a baker and you’ll be a smith,” I say, smiling at the thought.

“You’re meant for more than that.”

“I don’t want more than that.” I meet his eyes. “I want simple. I want normal.”

The afternoon unfolds like something from a dream. We trade questions between bites of sharp cheese and warm bread, between strawberries that burst sweet on our tongues and wine that makes everything shimmer at the edges.

“What’s your favorite color?” I ask, and he looks surprised by the simplicity.

“Black. Obviously.”

“Mine’s the color of sunrise. That soft pink before the sun breaks free.”

“What scares you most?” he asks, more serious now.

“Becoming my father.” The admission sits heavy between us. “What about you?”

“Failing everyone who depends on me.”

We learn who we’ve become in the years apart—he reads strategy books for pleasure now, finds patterns soothing. I tell him I hum while I work, that patients say it calms them. He admits the marked ones look to him for answers he doesn’t always have. I confess that I still flinch when people raise their voices, that authority figures make my shoulders tense.

“Do you ever wonder what we’d be like if we’d never been separated?” I ask.

“Every day. But separated or not, I was always going to be yours.”

Birds weave melodies through the mountain air, and at one point, an unfamiliar shadow passes overhead—a massive dragon I don’t recognize.

“That’s one of ours,” Xaden says, watching the retreating form. “They use the valley beyond the peaks.”

The wine loosens something in my chest, gives me courage to close the distance between us. I shift backward until I’m settled against him, my spine aligned with his chest, nestled between his legs. His arms circle me without hesitation, and his chin finds the crown of my head. This is what peace feels like, I think. This stolen afternoon where we’re not riders or revolutionaries or weapons, just Xaden and Astrea discovering who we’ve become while water falls and birds sing overhead.

“Read to me,” I murmur, reaching for the leather-bound book.

“Not happening.”

I twist in his arms to look at him. “No?”

“I don’t read aloud.”

“You made me read aloud in your war study. My favorite fairytale book, remember?”

His mouth curves into that infuriating smirk. “Can’t say I do.”

“Really? You can’t remember locking the door with your shadows?”

He scratches at his stubble, squinting off toward the waterfall like he’s searching his memory. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Making me read while you kissed my neck?”

One shoulder lifts in a casual shrug. “Nope.”

“Your hands under my shirt while I tried to get through the story about the princess?”

His mouth twists down in perfect innocence, but his eyes are definitely dancing now. I feel him hardening beneath me as I recall the memory. “Still nothing.”

“You threw my book across the room and put me on your war table.”

“That does sound like something I’d do,” he muses, scratching his jaw again. His cock is definitely hard now, pressing against me through the fabric. “But I’m drawing a blank.”

I shift slightly against him, and his breath hitches. “Funny. Your body seems to remember perfectly.”

“Ah.” He nods like he’s just had a revelation, then nuzzles into my neck. “Now I remember. You were very loud.”

“I was not loud.”

“You definitely were.” His breath warms my skin. “Half the fortress heard you screaming my name.”

“I did not scream.”

“You absolutely screamed. It was impressive.”

“Xaden Riorson, you are the most infuriating man alive.”

“And you’re still going to read to me.”

I twist in his arms and slam the book against his chest. “No. You’re going to read to me after that performance.”

“Not happening.”

“You read, or I call Tairn. Who would love an excuse to incinerate you.”

He goes still beneath me, calculating. His thumb traces the book’s spine while he considers his limited options.

“You’re ruthless.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Fine.” He takes the book, and his smile turns predatory. “But you owe me for this. And I always collect.”

He opens to the first page and begins reading in that deep voice I love. “The History of Tyrrendor, as recorded by the scribes of House Riorson…” His voice rumbles through his chest where my back rests against him, vibrations traveling up my spine like warmth spreading through water.

I let my eyes drift shut, feeling the afternoon sun on my face while his words resurrect what this land once was. Our land. The thermal valley that cradled generations of Dubhmadinn hatchlings, black dragons emerging from eggs warmed by earth’s own fire. Amari’s temple rising from stone, its columns carved with runes that held power Navarre feared. How our ancestors mastered the tempering of runes until conquerors declared the practice forbidden. All that remained of our people - their language silenced, their songs forgotten, their festivals erased - were symbols cut deep into stone, defiant reminders of what could never be fully destroyed.

“Still awake?” he murmurs.

“Barely. Your voice could put anyone to sleep.”

“You’re not just anyone. You’re mine. That’s the difference.”

His voice continues weaving stories of our ancestors, but I can feel the heat building as afternoon stretches toward evening. Sweat beads along my hairline where the sun hits strongest.

He closes the book with a decisive snap. “I know a better way to spend our time.”

I blink up at him as he shifts me forward, away from his chest. “What are you doing?”

He stands, already reaching for the hem of his shirt. “Swimming.”

The fabric comes off over his head, and every coherent thought abandons me. Afternoon light catches the ridges of muscle across his chest, highlights the pale lines where blades have kissed skin and lost. My gaze traces the broad span of his shoulders, follows the V of his torso down to where dark hair trails beneath his waistband. Gods, how did I get this lucky? This man who could have anyone is mine.

He catches me looking and smirks. “See something you like?”

My cheeks burn. “Maybe.”

“Good.” He’s already working on his boots. “Are you going to join me?”

“I can’t swim in this,” I say, gesturing to the cream dress. “I’ll ruin it.”

“Then take it off.”

The casual command sends warmth spiraling through my chest. “Xaden—”

“Why would you want to swim in clothes anyway?” He kicks off his second boot, fingers already working his belt loose. “Seems counterproductive.”

Understanding slams into me. “You planned this.”

“Did I?” His belt hangs open, and that familiar smirk curves his mouth.

“The lake. The picnic right beside the water. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Maybe I just wanted to cool off.” His hands move to the fastenings of his pants.

“You’re terrible.”

“And you’re overdressed.” The fabric loosens under his fingers. “So what’s it going to be? Swim with me, or sit there and watch me swim?”

His belt slides free with a soft whisper of leather. Then his pants follow, and before I can process what’s happening, the fabric flies through the air toward me.

I catch them reflexively, the warm cotton still holding his scent. “Did you just throw your pants at me?”

“Your turn.” He stands there in nothing but his underwear, completely shameless, arms crossed like he’s waiting for a show.

I make a spinning motion with my finger. “Turn around.”

He sighs but complies, giving me his back. “I’ve seen you naked before. Multiple times.”

“This is punishment for refusing to read to me earlier.”

“I did read.”

“After I threatened you with Tairn.” I reach for the first button at my shoulder, working it free. “So now you get to wait while I take my time.”

“That’s torture, not punishment.”

“Good.”

I work the first button free with exaggerated care, then move to the second. The silence stretches until I can practically feel his impatience.

“This is taking forever,” he mutters.

“Maybe.” I slip the third button loose, then pause entirely. “Depends on how patient you are.”

“Astrea—”

“Eyes forward, Riorson.”

“Riorson?” There’s amusement in his voice. “What did I do to deserve the formal treatment?”

I catch the slight shift in his shoulders as he starts to turn. “I saw that.”

“Saw what?”

“You moved. You’re not supposed to move.” I deliberately slow down even more with the fourth button. “Now I have to teach you a lesson.”

“What kind of lesson?”

I re-button the one I just undid. The sharp exhale that escapes him makes me grin.

“You can’t just change the rules.”

“I can do whatever I want when you try to cheat.” I undo the button again, taking twice as long. “Patience, Riorson.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Make me.”

A beat of silence. Then his voice drops, commanding. “Get out of that dress. Now.”

“Or what?” But my fingers fly to the remaining buttons.

“Or I’m about to do exactly what you told me to.”

“Xaden, you wouldn’t—”

He turns, and the heat in his eyes stops my words cold. I yank the dress off, fabric hitting the blanket as he closes the distance between us.

“Wait, I’m not ready—”

His arms circle my waist, lifting me clear off the ground. I shriek with laughter as he spins us both toward the water, my legs kicking uselessly in the air.

The lake swallows us whole. Icy mountain water shocks every nerve, drives the air from my lungs. We sink beneath the surface in a tangle of limbs before kicking upward.

I break through gasping, water streaming from my hair. He surfaces beside me, so close our legs tangle beneath the water. Droplets cling to his lashes, roll down the sharp planes of his face. He shakes his head, dark hair scattering spray.

“There.” His mouth curves with satisfaction. “Much better.”

I float closer to him, water lapping between us. “Well, Rior—”

His mouth silences the name, lips warm against mine despite the cold lake surrounding us. When his tongue slides against mine, I taste mountain spring water, pure and startling. My fingers grip his shoulders as warmth floods downward from where our mouths connect. This kiss brands itself into memory—the way he holds my face steady, the soft sound he makes when I respond, how perfectly we fit together even suspended in icy water.

He breaks away, smiling against my lips. “Keep calling me Riorson, and I’ll give you that last name sooner than I anticipated.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling myself closer. “Riorson,” I whisper.

His mouth claims mine again, hungrier now, swallowing whatever sound I make in response.

Heat pours from my skin into the water surrounding us. We break apart from the kiss, both breathing hard, but I keep my legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked behind his back. My palms map the broad line of his shoulders while his hands cup my ass beneath the surface, fingers digging into flesh with growing urgency.

The lake temperature climbs steadily. Steam begins to rise where our bodies meet the water. Droplets roll down his face, and his dark eyes burn into mine with an intensity that makes my core clench.

“I’m heating the lake,” I whisper.

“I noticed.” His grip tightens, pulling me closer against him. “Don’t stop.”

The water shifts around us, mountain cold becoming bath-warm. My muscles surrender to the heat, shoulders dropping as tension dissolves from places I didn’t realize were knotted. His body melts into the warmth too, that constant readiness finally easing—except for where he swells against me.

I feel his cock grow thick where our bodies align, hardness pressing through wet fabric against my core. My hand slides between us, slipping beneath his waistband to wrap around his bare length. The sound he makes when I stroke him—rough, desperate—makes my pussy clench in response.

“Fuck, Astrea,” he breathes against my throat.

Steam rises in clouds around us, the lake becoming our private sanctuary. His hips surge into my grip, and I tighten my fingers, dragging my palm along his shaft until his breathing fractures.

His mouth finds my neck, pressing open kisses along the curve where it meets my shoulder. “What do you want?” he murmurs against my skin.

“You.”

He carries me through the water toward the shallower end, where his feet find purchase on the lake bottom. We’re still submerged to our chests, steam rising around us from the heated water.

We both reach for his waistband at once, yanking the soaked fabric down his hips. The underwear sinks into the lake’s depths, forgotten. My palm wraps around his bare length, and the groan that escapes him vibrates against my throat.

I position him at my entrance, then slide his tip along my folds instead of taking him in. The sensation makes us both shudder—him thick and ready, me slick and aching. When I circle my clit with the head of his cock, his hips buck involuntarily.

“Fuck,” he pants against my neck. “Is this what you want?”

I nod, breath coming in short bursts. “Please, Xaden.”

His hands steady my hips as he guides me down onto his cock, and I feel myself open for him, my body yielding inch by careful inch. The sensation steals my breath—a sweet ache that makes me bite my lip as I take more of him. He watches my face intently, reading every flicker of sensation that crosses my features, pausing when I need a moment to adjust.

The water supports my weight as I sink lower, taking him deeper, until our hips finally meet completely. We both go still, breathing hard, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation of being joined.

His hands settle on my waist beneath the water, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just above my hip bones. I can feel his pulse where we’re connected, or maybe it’s mine—impossible to tell where I end and he begins.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice soft with wonder.

I am. My whole body trembles from the intensity of having him inside me, from the way his dark eyes hold mine like I’m something sacred. His palms slide up my back, slow and reverent, mapping each vertebra through touch alone.

I lean forward to kiss him, gentle and unhurried. Our lips move together like we have all the time in the world, like this moment could last forever. When I shift slightly, adjusting my position, we both gasp at the sensation.

The heated water laps at our skin where we’re joined, adding another layer of warmth to the fire building between us.

When I finally begin to move, it’s barely a shift—just the slightest rise of my hips before sinking back down on him. The friction tears a sharp exhale from both of us, and his fingers dig into my waist. Every thick inch of him stretches me as I move, my walls clenching around his cock.

He presses kisses along the hollow of my throat while I establish a rhythm that climbs steadily. Each movement ripples through the heated water, steam climbing higher as pleasure feeds my signet’s fire.

“Astrea,” he breathes against my collarbone, voice raw.

My palms frame his face, thumbs mapping the sharp angles of his cheekbones as I rise and fall on his length. Now he thrusts up to meet me, hips surging to bury himself deeper when I sink down. Water cushions our movements, makes everything seamless.

His mouth blazes a path lower, claiming the curve of my breast. When his tongue flicks my nipple, I bow into him, a moan spilling from my lips. His other hand claims my neglected breast, thumb circling the peak until it hardens under his touch.

“I love the sounds you make,” he murmurs, then crushes his mouth to mine. Our tongues dance in the same cadence as our bodies, heat spiraling higher between us.

The pace builds gradually, each movement more urgent than the last. My breath comes shorter now, and I can feel heat coiling low in my belly. His hands map my body like he’s memorizing scripture, fingers finding every place that makes me arch into him.

“Eyes on me,” he commands when my lids grow heavy.

I force them open, locking onto his dark stare. What I see there makes my core clench around him—devotion and possession wound together, hunger tempered by love so fierce it could reshape mountains. He studies every shift in my expression as I ride him, adjusting his angle when I gasp, deepening his thrusts when I whimper.

“Gods, you’re so fucking handsome,” I breathe, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “How did I get this lucky?”

“This isn’t luck.” His voice roughens with possession. “This is you riding me in water you heated with your own fire. You think that’s an accident?”

His fingers finds my clit beneath the water, pressing circles that make my thighs shake. The sensation shoots through me, and my movements turn erratic as pleasure builds.

“Your fire doesn’t just heat the water,” he continues, eyes never leaving mine. “It burns through me. Makes me want to claim every inch of you until there’s no question who you belong to.”

I moan at his words, at the way he works my clit with perfect pressure.

“We were always going to end up here,” he murmurs, thrusting deeper. “You and me, connected like this. Fate doesn’t give you a choice when it comes to finding the other half of your soul.”

The lake temperature spikes, steam billowing so thick it shrouds us completely. We move together in our private sanctuary, nothing existing beyond the slide of skin and the sound of water lapping against our joined bodies.

“Show me what I do to you,” he commands, watching my face intently.

His fingers fist in my wet hair, dragging my mouth back to his. The kiss devours, like he’s trying to memorize my soul.

We stay mouth to mouth, lips barely parted, sharing the same breath as steam swirls around us. His hand presses against my back, pulling me so close our chests meld together. My fingers twist in his wet hair while my other hand digs into his shoulder.

We lock eyes, and the raw hunger there makes my core pulse around him. No words pass between us, just the electric current of our stares and the relentless rhythm of our bodies moving as one.

His lips ghost across mine before sliding to the corner of my mouth. He traces my jawline with his tongue, each stroke sending fire down my spine. When he reaches the sensitive spot beneath my ear, my breath hitches.

His mouth descends the column of my throat, teeth scraping against my pulse. His hand captures my breast, thumb circling my nipple before he pinches the peak between his fingers. The sharp sensation shoots straight to where we’re joined.

“Fuck,” I gasp, back arching as the dual sensations overwhelm me.

My walls flutter around his length, squeezing him as heat spirals tighter in my belly. Each thrust drives me higher, each touch of his fingers on my breast pushes me closer to shattering completely.

The tension coils tighter between us, every subtle shift of my hips drawing me toward something that feels like it could remake me entirely. His fingers dig into my waist, holding me steady as I move on him, and those dark eyes drink in every micro-expression that crosses my face—the flutter of my lashes, the part of my lips, the way my breath catches.

“Xaden,” I whisper, feeling myself teetering on the precipice of something vast.

His thumb traces perfect circles against my clit, and when he speaks, his voice carries that absolute authority that makes my core clench around him. “Stay with me. Let me watch you come apart.”

The buildup is devastating—heat spiraling tighter and tighter until my entire world narrows to the points where we’re connected. When it finally crests, my body goes rigid against his, every nerve firing as ecstasy floods through me. The lake temperature surges so violently that steam erupts around us, thick and blinding.

Through the white-hot haze of coming on his cock, I feel his body shudder beneath mine, his grip on me fierce and desperate as he finds his own orgasm, hot cum mixing with mine. My name falls from his lips like a prayer answered.

We remain locked together in the aftermath, skin flushed and slick with condensation, chests rising and falling in unison. The water has transformed into our own private thermal spring, steam creating an otherworldly sanctuary around our intertwined bodies.

“We’ve changed the entire ecosystem of this lake,” I murmur against his throat, tasting salt on his skin.

His laugh vibrates through both our bodies. “Good. Now it matches what you did to me.”

His palm cups the back of my head, fingers threading through my wet hair as he tilts my face up. “Look at me.”

I lift my head from his shoulder, blinking water from my lashes as I meet his dark stare.

“Fuck,” he breathes, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “You’re always beautiful. But like this…” His gaze traces every detail—the flush spreading down my throat, my lips swollen and red, the way my eyes hold his without wavering. “I want to remember this moment forever.”

His other hand settles at my waist, thumb stroking along my ribs.

“You’re staring again,” I whisper.

“Can you blame me?” His voice holds that familiar intensity. “Look at you.”

Heat creeps up my neck at the way he’s watching me, and his mouth curves in response.

“There’s that blush,” he murmurs. “The one I’ve been trying to earn since we were kids.”

The water begins to cool around us gradually, though it will be hours before it returns to mountain temperature. We stay intertwined, content to exist in this pocket of warmth we’ve created.

I brush the damp hair from his forehead, my knuckles trailing down his cheek. He turns into the touch, eyes drifting closed.

“No one’s ever…” He stops, that familiar tension creeping back into his jaw.

“What?” I keep my voice quiet, fingers still moving against his skin.

“Touched me like this. Like I’m not going to break you if you’re too gentle.” His eyes open, meeting mine. “Like I deserve soft hands instead of careful ones.”

“You do deserve it. Every gentle touch. Every moment of love.”

He stares at me for a long moment. “A year ago, I would have told you that was bullshit. That I was too damaged, had blood on my hands that would never wash clean.”

“What changed?”

“You.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “You keep loving the parts of me I thought were unlovable. Makes it harder to believe I’m as fucked up as I thought.”

His hand stills against my face, tension creeping back into his features. “But I’m not good, Astrea. I’m not someone you should love.” His voice hardens. “Maybe I was once. Before I had to learn that killing was just another way to keep people alive.”

I catch his wrist, holding his palm against my cheek. “You were fifteen.”

“Fifteen’s old enough.”

“Not old enough to carry 108 lives.” I shift closer, refusing to let him retreat. “They handed a boy an impossible choice and you’re blaming yourself for making it.”

“I still made it.”

“Because you had to.” The words crack as they leave me. “Every choice you hate yourself for—you made because the alternative was watching us die.”

He doesn’t respond, but I feel the tremor in his hand.

“You see blood when you look at these hands. I see protection. Safety. Fingers that arranged strawberries and carried wine.” I press my lips to his palm. “Hands that would have forged beautiful things, in a better life.”

He stares at me for a long moment, jaw working like he’s fighting something internal.

“You’re not going to stop, are you? Keep insisting I’m someone worth saving.”

“I’m not trying to save you. You’re not broken.”

“Bullshit.” But there’s less bite in it than usual.

“You fell in love with me knowing exactly who I am,” I say quietly. “Stubborn. Reckless. Someone who won’t back down when she believes in something.”

“Yeah, well. That stubbornness is going to be the death of me.”

“Or it’s going to convince you that maybe you’re not the monster you think you are.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, just studies my face in the fading steam. The water continues to cool around us, but neither of us moves to leave.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he finally admits. “How to believe I deserve what you’re offering.”

“Then don’t believe it yet. Just… don’t push me away while you figure it out.”

“I stopped pushing you away the night Violet called me out in the healers quadrant.” His voice drops. “But I keep fucking up anyway. Keep making choices that hurt you.”

“I’m still angry at you,” I say, holding his gaze. “You’re not off the hook for lying about Brennan. For deciding what I can and can’t handle without asking me.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch away from the truth.

“But making stupid decisions doesn’t make you evil. It makes you human.” I trace the line of his cheekbone. “A human I happen to be completely gone for, even when you drive me insane.”

“I don’t deserve that.”

“Maybe not. But you have it anyway.” My thumb brushes across his lips. “The question is whether you’re going to keep punishing yourself for being imperfect, or start trusting that I know what I’m choosing.”

He holds my gaze for a long moment, then that familiar smirk spreads across his face. “What if I like being a pain in your ass?”

“Xaden.”

“What? You said it yourself. I make stupid decisions. Drive you insane.” Amusement dances in his dark eyes. “Sounds like I’m doing my job perfectly.”

I scoop water in my palm and fling it at his face. “Unbelievable.”

“Completely believable. You’ve known me since we were kids.” His hand shoots out, capturing my wrist before I can launch another attack. He presses my palm to his lips. “This shouldn’t be a surprise.”

The lake has cooled enough that goosebumps prickle along my arms. My fingertips have begun to wrinkle and ridge from our extended time in the water.

“We should probably get out,” I say, examining the pruned skin. “Before I shrivel up completely.”

His gaze drops to my hands and he laughs. “Can’t have that. I like your fingers the way they are.”

His arms encircle me as we wade toward shore, steadying me against the slick lake bottom. Water recedes with each step until it barely laps at our ankles.

At the blanket’s edge, he lowers me onto the soft fabric before dropping down beside me. Sun beats against our wet skin, and I watch water bead and slide down the planes of his chest. Heat radiates from the rocks beneath us, warmed by hours of afternoon light.

“You know,” he says, arms folded behind his head as he lies back, “you could just use your signet to dry us off.”

I turn to study him—water trailing down his ribs, hair dark and slicked back. “And miss this? Not a chance.”

“This?”

“You. Wet. In the sun.” I trace a droplet as it rolls down his ribs. “I’m not using magic to end this view.”

His eyes lock on mine as he shifts onto his side, elbow braced against the blanket. “Keep looking at me like that and we’re not making it back to the fortress anytime soon.”

I laugh, trailing my finger along his collarbone. “Do you ever do anything just once?”

He stares at me for a beat. “You complaining?”

“Just making an observation. Every time we’re together, it’s never just once with you.”

“Because once isn’t enough.” His eyes hold mine. “Not when it’s you. Not when I can have you falling apart in my arms again and again.”

“So that’s a no on moderation.”

“Moderation’s for people who don’t know what they have.” His thumb traces my jaw. “I know exactly what I have with you.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and his mouth curves with satisfaction.

“There’s that blush again.”

I watch a bead of water trace down his ribs and follow it with my finger, then my lips. He goes still beneath me, every muscle taut as I taste lake water and salt on his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice strained.

“Learning you.” I press my mouth to the hollow beneath his collarbone, feel his pulse jump against my lips. “All those times you’ve had me falling apart, and I’ve never just… explored.”

My hands map the ridges of muscle across his stomach, and I feel him respond to my touch, body reacting even as he tries to stay controlled.

“Astrea.” My name comes out strangled.

“Shh.” I nip at his shoulder, then soothe the spot with my tongue. “Let me have this.”

The sun beats down on us, drying the lake water from our skin as I take my time discovering every place that makes his breathing hitch, every spot that makes his hands clench in the blanket beneath us.

I take his hands in mine, guiding them slowly up my sides. “Like this,” I whisper, showing him the pace I want. “Slow.”

His palms follow my lead, but I feel the tension in his muscles - the effort it takes him to hold back. When his fingers start to press harder, more urgently, I catch his wrists.

“Easy,” I breathe, slowing him down again. “We have time.”

His dark eyes lock on mine as I guide his touch, showing him exactly where to linger, how much pressure makes me gasp. The afternoon light turns his skin bronze beneath me, and I watch his face change as he learns what undoes me.

“Fuck, Astrea,” he says, voice strained with the effort of going slow. “You’re going to kill me.”

“No,” I lean down until our faces are inches apart. “I’m going to teach you what it feels like to savor something.”

His breathing turns ragged as I continue my lesson, and in his eyes I see something I’ve never witnessed before - Xaden Riorson completely at my mercy.

When I guide his hands to the exact spot that makes my breath hitch, something shifts in his expression. His jaw clenches with the effort of maintaining the pace I’ve set, and I feel the tremor in his fingers as he fights every instinct to take control.

“Right there,” I whisper, and his eyes darken as he watches me respond to his careful touch.

I can feel his cock hardening beneath me as I move, our naked bodies warm from the sun and still faintly damp from the lake. There’s something achingly vulnerable about this - skin to skin under the open sky, nothing hidden between us. The sun scorches my shoulders as I teach him this different kind of restraint, his gaze mapping every reaction I have.

“You’re learning,” I murmur against his ear, and feel him shudder beneath me.

“You’re a demanding teacher,” he manages, voice tight with control.

“The best kind.” I nip at his jawline. “And you’re an excellent student when you apply yourself.”

His laugh comes out strangled. “Fuck, Astrea. What are you doing to me?”

“Teaching you that some things are worth taking time with.”

When I position myself above him, taking just the tip of his cock inside me, every muscle in his body locks with restraint. I pause there, feeling how he stretches my walls, my body hypersensitive from our first joining in the lake. His breath comes in short bursts beneath me, warm against my skin.

“Breathe,” I whisper, studying his face.

His chest heaves beneath my palms as I sink down slowly, my body yielding to accommodate him inch by inch. Heightened nerves make me gasp as he fills me completely. My fingers capture his hands, pressing his palms against my breasts, demonstrating the feather-light touch I want instead of his usual intensity.

“Like this,” I breathe, circling his thumbs over my nipples until they harden.

My hands drag his lower, along my ribs, teaching him to discover each curve and hollow of my waist. His touch explores my hip bones, trails down my thighs, finds the sensitive spots that make me tremble.

“Feel everything,” I murmur, drawing his hands up to my throat where my pulse hammers against his fingertips.

“Fuck,” he exhales, fully buried inside me now, my walls gripping his cock.

Barely lifting, I settle back down, each movement precise and measured. His hands roam under my direction, learning every inch of skin with this patience I’m demanding from him.

I lift myself slowly, feeling every thick inch of his cock drag against my inner walls before sinking back down, my pussy stretching to accommodate his size each time. My thighs burn from controlling the pace, muscles straining to maintain this torturous rhythm. The wet slide of our joining makes obscene sounds that mix with our ragged breathing.

“You’re shaking,” he observes, voice rough as gravel.

“So are you,” I gasp, pressing his palm against my stomach where muscles flutter and clench. I’m so full of him I can barely think, my body still adjusting to his width even after taking him completely.

His mouth curves, predatory even in surrender. “Apparently I’m not the only one who doesn’t do things just once.”

My face burns as arousal coils tighter in my belly, my pussy rippling around his cock with each movement. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” His fingers find my clit, circling with the gentle pressure I taught him. “Seems like you’re just as greedy as I am.”

The touch tears a moan from my throat, makes my hips jerk in their rhythm. My body clenches around him so tightly he groans beneath me.

“Xaden—”

“That’s what I thought.” His other hand grips my hip, fingers digging into flesh. “My insatiable girl.”

The rhythm builds between us gradually, my careful control beginning to fracture as sensation overwhelms discipline. Sweat beads between my breasts as I rise and fall on him, feeling the drag of his cock against every sensitive nerve. Our skin grows slick where we touch, making every movement fluid and heated. My inner walls flutter and grip him with each movement, slick heat making the slide effortless yet overwhelming. My thighs burn from the sustained effort, muscles trembling as I fight to maintain this pace.

“Let me,” he breathes, his hands finding my hips with that familiar authority, but different now - seeking permission instead of simply taking.

I feel the shift in his grip, the way his fingers spread wide against my skin, anchoring me without forcing. Looking into his dark eyes, I see understanding there. He’s learned the lesson I was teaching.

“Show me,” I whisper, releasing the rigid control I’ve been maintaining.

His hands guide my movements, lifting me higher before helping me sink down deeper onto his cock, the angle sending sparks through my core. It’s still his intensity, his laser focus on my pleasure, but now it’s filtered through the patience I taught him. I feel every callus on his palms as they map my skin, every tremor in his muscles as he restrains his natural urge to dominate.

“Like this?” he asks, rolling his hips up to meet me in a way that hits exactly where I need him.

“Exactly like that,” I gasp, my head falling back as pleasure spirals tighter.

We move together now, his hands mapping my spine as I lean forward, our foreheads touching, breathing the same air. Every breath we share tastes like him, every heartbeat I feel against my chest matches my own rhythm. I can taste the salt on his lips when our mouths brush together.

My muscles start to coil tighter with each movement, heat spreading outward from where his cock fills me. Goosebumps rise along my arms despite the warmth, my skin flushed and hypersensitive to every touch. His fingers find the sensitive spot at the base of my spine, applying just enough pressure to make me arch into him.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes against my lips, then shifts his angle to hit exactly where I need him most.

I can sense his restraint fraying, see the tension in his jaw as he fights his own building release. But he adjusts his rhythm to match what makes me gasp, slows when I need time to adjust, speeds up when my breathing tells him I want more.

“Right there,” I whisper, and he maintains that exact pressure, that perfect angle. His other hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit and circling with the gentle precision I taught him earlier.

The combined sensations make my vision blur. Every thrust paired with the steady pressure of his fingers builds me higher, my pussy clenching around him as pressure builds so intense I can barely breathe.

“I’m close,” I gasp, my entire body trembling as the tension becomes almost unbearable.

“Let me feel you,” he murmurs, never stopping the perfect rhythm of his fingers.

When it hits, every muscle in my body seizes as my orgasm crashes through me. My spine arches impossibly, and his name rips from my throat raw and desperate. This isn’t just physical - it’s like every wall I’ve ever built crumbles at once, leaving me completely exposed. My pussy grips his cock in rhythmic pulses, drawing him deeper as the intensity rewrites every nerve ending.

His restraint disintegrates the moment he feels me clench around him. “Astrea,” he chokes out, hands fisting in my hair as he comes hard inside me. I feel his cock throb and pulse as he fills me, the warmth of his release spreading through me. His entire body goes rigid beneath mine as we share this moment of complete vulnerability.

We fracture together under the mountain sun, both of us utterly destroyed by what we’ve created between us. My muscles continue to flutter around him as we fight for air, sweat cooling on our skin in the afternoon breeze.

I melt forward onto his chest, our skin sticking together with sweat and exertion. His arms lock around me, holding me close as our hearts hammer against each other in wild, unsteady rhythms. Our breathing slowly begins to sync as we both struggle to return to ourselves.

“I can’t move,” I mumble against his collarbone, every muscle in my body wrung out.

“Good. I’m not letting you go anyway.”

The sun beats down on my back as we lie tangled together, his arms locked around me like I might disappear if he loosens his grip.