“And distancing yourself was?” I snap back.
The room vibrates faintly as magic responds to the escalation. I feel the edges of my own power rising, not violently, but defensively.
“You can’t dismantle us because you are afraid,” he says.
I laugh once, brittle. “Afraid?”
“Yes.”
His gaze pins me in place.
“You are terrified of needing me.”
The truth of it slices clean.
My hands curl into the blanket. “Of course I am,” I admit, anger dissolving into something more dangerous. “You saw what my council did. You heard Vira. If I lean too far toward you, they call me compromised. If you lean toward me, your Matrons call you unstable. Every time I feel the bond deepen, I wonder which realm will punish us first.”
His expression shifts, not softening, but focusing.
“I don’t want to need you,” I continue, the words spilling now that they’ve begun. “I don’t want my magic to stabilize only when you’re near. I don’t want to look for you in every room before I decide whether I can breathe.”
Silence swells between us.
“And yet?” he asks quietly.
My throat tightens.
“And yet I do.”
There it is. Ugly. Honest. The bond pulses, not violently now, but intensely aware. He steps closer, not looming, not retreating. Just present.
“You think I am not afraid?” he asks.
I blink.
“You think this is easier for me?” His voice drops lower. “You tried to sever something that I have finally stopped fighting.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“You were.”
He exhales slowly, regaining control inch by inch.
“I distanced myself because Velcryn is preparing to strip my title,” he says. “Because if they move against me, they will use you as leverage. I was trying to reduce your exposure.”
The words steal the air from my lungs.
“They what?”
“I overheard them,” he says. “Procedure. Succession mathematics. Whether I remain fit to rule if my loyalty divides.”
Cold settles into my spine.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
The irony stings. We stand there, two people who tried to save each other by cutting away the thing holding us together.