I was a forgery of a person, and they were applauding the craftsmanship.
I tried to keep my head bowed, but my eyes betrayed me, darting toward the cloaked figure at the end of the long table.
Talon sat robed in dark ceremonial silk. The fabric caught the stained light but offered him no warmth. His features were stone cold, his jaw set, and his eyes—a piercing, glowing blue—vibrated with a suppressed storm.
To the Council, he looked composed, a silent witness to the law. But I saw the fracture. I saw the bleeding edge of his hurt, and the sight of it filled me with a shame so thick it had my stomach turning.
I wanted to justify my actions, to scream that I was doing this to keep the executioner’s blade from his neck, but this was not the place for truth.
Keeper Sora stepped forward with the ledger. “Kaelia Vaser. The registration of your Lunthra has been recorded.”
She slid the parchment toward me. I stared at my name written beside Hera’s in a neat, clinical hand. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
“The High Court of Haelen recognizes the binding as lawful.”
A murmur of approval moved through the chamber. I bowed my head, my curls falling forward to hide the sudden, hot sting in my eyes.
“You are dismissed,” Lord Evander declared. “Go, and begin your life.”
I turned, descending from the dais.
The promise of open air beyond the court doors felt agonizingly close. Just a handful of measured steps and I would be free of the vaulted ceilings, the stained glass saints, and the weight of a hundred watchful eyes.
I would be free of the hurt in his eyes.
The marble floor reflected the pale sweep of my gown, wavering with each step. I focused on that, refusing to look at him.
Ten steps.
Nine.
“Who is it?”
The question was low, but it stopped the heartbeat of the room. My body went rigid. Heat bloomed between my shoulders, that familiar, electric awareness sharpening until my skin felt too tight.
I should have kept walking. I should have run.
But I turned.
Talon leaned forward slightly, thick forearms resting against the marble.
The illusion of calm fractured the moment I met his eyes. There was no anger there—that I could have fought. There was only hurt.
“Master Talon,” Lord Evander interjected, “the registry is sealed.”
Talon did not so much as glance in his direction. His gaze remained fixed on me.
“Who,” he repeated, each word delivered with a beat of silence, “did you bind yourself to?”
“Hera Opeas.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no surprise in them. He had known before I spoke.
“Does she strengthen your soul?” he asked quietly. “Does she make you whole?”
The question was a cruelty. He knew my reasons. He knew I had not chosen Hera for strength or love. He was putting me on the spot in front of the very people who would kill us both without a second thought.
“Yes,” I lied.