The silence stretches. Sharpens.
Finally, she spins and stalks from the room without another word.
I climbthe stairs slower than necessary, letting my fingers trail against the worn stone wall. Each step brings me closer to my room—and the anticipation curling in my chest feels dangerously close to hope.
He'll be there. He always is now.
The thought warms something inside me that shouldn't exist. This is a contract. A transaction. He appears because I commanded delays and disruptions, because his bound service requires proximity to fulfill my orders.
The fruit last night was just... practical. Keeping me functional. Nothing more.
Except it wasn't bread or water. It was starfruit and pomegranate, things I've only seen at market stalls I could never afford. The juice had run down my chin and he'd watched with those gold-flecked eyes like my pleasure meant something.
Stop it.
Growing attached will only bring disappointment. He's here for a job. When the year expires, he'll collect whatever price the contract demands and disappear back into shadow like he was never real at all.
I push open my door.
He's already there.
Azrathiel stands beside the window, backlit by moonlight that catches the glowing red of skin. The chains covering his skin pulse faintly—dimmer than when we first met, I realize. As if our bond is somehow wearing them down.
"I sensed you were coming." His voice rumbles low, matter-of-fact.
Relief floods through me so sharply it's almost painful. "The invitations arrived. Vaelra sent out announcements days ago without telling me. She's locked me into a public spectacle."
"Then I will destroy him." No hesitation. No question. "Bram Hethryn will suffer an accident. Tragic. Irreversible."
"No." I shake my head, sinking onto the edge of my bed. "Killing him makes me look guilty. Makes this household look dangerous. I need the marriage undone publicly—in a way that doesn't destroy my reputation. This village was my father's home. I want it to stay mine."
He studies me for a long moment. Gold flickers in those impossible eyes.
"As you command." He turns toward the wall. "I'll return tomorrow?—"
"Wait."
He stops.
My hands twist in my lap. "I sleep better when you're in the room."
The confession hangs between us, vulnerable and raw.
Azrathiel turns back slowly. Something shifts in his expression—something I can't name.
"Then I stay."
"I need to change." The words come out shakier than intended. "Turn around."
Azrathiel pivots without argument, facing the window with his hands clasped behind his back. The moonlight silhouettes his frame—tall, impossibly still.
I unlace my dress with fumbling fingers, hyperaware of every rustle of fabric in the quiet room. The worn material slides down my shoulders, pools at my feet. Cool air prickles across my skin.
Stop thinking about it. He's not even looking.
I reach for my nightgown, pulling the soft linen up over my hips, my waist. The fabric catches slightly and I tug it higher, working it over my breasts?—
And catch sight of the window.