Silence stretches between us, thick and volatile. The bond hums low, uneasy, like it knows what’s coming before I do. Zeidan steps closer. Just enough that the space between us collapses, and suddenly the air feels warmer, tighter. His presence presses against my senses, a steady, dangerous gravity. I can feel his restraint like a physical thing, coiled tight beneath his skin.
He reaches out, slow enough that I could pull away. I don’t.
His fingers tip my chin up, firm but careful, forcing my gaze to meet his. His eyes are darker than usual, threaded with shadow, intent sharpened to something that makes my breath hitch despite myself.
“I want the power of both lands,” he says.
The honesty hits like a blow to the chest. For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe.
The bond reacts instantly, heat flaring, tension snapping tight, my magic answering his words with a pulse that skitters across my skin like lightning looking for ground. Fury floods me, sharp and burning, and I know he feels it because his grip tightens just slightly, not to restrain, but to brace.
I try to step back. He doesn’t let me.
“So that’s it,” I say, my voice shaking despite my effort to steady it. “You used me.”
Something flashes across his face then, too fast to name, too honest to fully hide. Regret, maybe. Or irritation at himself for feeling it.
“I made an offer,” he says quietly. “You accepted it. I partnered with you.”
“You bound yourself to me to gain access to Nytheria.”
“I bound myself to you to prevent two realms from collapsing separately,” he says evenly. “Together, they are stronger. Together, they are untouchable.”
“You didn’t ask,” I snap.
“You wouldn’t have agreed.”
That infuriates me because it’s true.
“So that’s it?” I demand. “You save what I love, and in return I hand it over?”
His expression goes cold. “You don’t hand it over. You share it.”
The word slams into me.
“Share,” I repeat carefully.
“Yes.”
My anger falters, just slightly.
“Are you really willing to share?” I ask. “Or do you think that eventually you’ll dominate it? Absorb it? Control it?”
He doesn’t answer immediately because he doesn’t know. Then he exhales.
“I am willing to share,” he says, and this time there is no edge. No performance. “You are strong. You are capable. And you are not easily bent. You would make a powerful ally.”
Ally. Not pawn. Not asset. Ally.
“As long as,” he continues quietly, “you work toward the same goals I do.”
“And those are?”
“Stability. Power. Survival. Strength that cannot be fractured by petty councils or ancient grudges.”
My pulse slows.
“You don’t want to rule Nytheria,” I say carefully.