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The bond reveals the roiling chaos of emotion beneath my surface. Anger at Kelaros. Fear of the court’s growing influence. Guilt over leaving Elionn. And deeper, buried beneath denial, my regret in not staying in the fae realm long enough to discover whether this thing between the Silver fae and me could be real.

Heat floods my cheeks. “This is invasive.”

“It is intimate,” Theron corrects, his fingers spreading to brush the outer curve of my breasts. “There is a difference.”

My breath hitches. “Will it always be like this?”

“No. It strengthens in moments of need, when one soul reaches for another.” His hand moves higher, fingers curving around my throat. “It responds to intent.”

I lift my head, needing some reassurance of what I’ve found inside him. The movement brings us close enough for his breath to warm my lips. His pupils are blown wide, my reflection caught in their darkness.

“Theron.” His name falls from my lips unbidden.

His fingers tighten around my throat, growing possessive. “Amalia.”

I lean into his touch, and my lips brush his jaw, testing, exploring the boundary between comfort and desire.

He remains statue-still, though the bond reveals the effort it costs him. His pulse quickens, magic surging beneath his skin where it touches mine.

The moment stretches between us, taut as a bowstring. His head tilts by a fraction, bringing our lips closer, our breath mingling in the narrow space between us.

Want coils through me, an ache building beneath my skin, but not all of it belongs to me. I could close the distance. Could surrender to the pull of the sithean bond, to the warmth flooding through me at his proximity. His lips would carry the sweetness of berries and the spark of magic, promises neither of us can keep in the shadow of tomorrow’s dangers.

But whose desire is this? Mine? The bond’s? The court’s manipulation?

The thought breaks the spell. I pull back, my palm on his chest as I put space between us.

A flicker of confusion breaks through, quickly masked behind royal composure.

“I can’t,” I whisper, hating the tremor I can’t suppress. “I can’t tell what’s mine right now.”

Understanding replaces confusion, and his hand falls away from my throat, though he doesn’t release me completely. “You fear the bond compels you.”

“I fear everything compels me.” The admission costs me, each word pulled from a place I’ve kept guarded for years. “The court. The stone. I will not be caged again. I will not be made weak.”

“You have never been weak, Amalia Wolf,” he says with certainty. “Stubborn and reckless, yes. But never weak.”

A hint of amusement slips through. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Perhaps it was.” The stern Silver King gives way to the man beneath. “You saved my brother once. You’re willing to brave the rift again to save him a second time. Such loyalty deserves recognition.”

“It’s not loyalty.” My hand still rests on his robes, and I trace the silver embroidery. “It’s the contract. I finish what I start.”

“A lie.” His fingers tilt my chin up. “But I’ll allow it, for now.”

The stone pulses once more, gentler this time, warmth spreading from it. Theron’s magic still threads through me, Silver light tracing my veins and keeping the Opal at bay.

I draw strength from it, from him, though I’m too proud to admit how much I need this connection.

“Allow me to escort you to our quarters, where my wards will allow you to rest,” Theron says after a moment. “I still need to review the armory.”

“I can⁠—”

His finger cuts me off. “Do not make a King beg.”

Would he if I asked?

The stone answers with a flicker of magic, and I force myself to stop touching him. “Fine, Your Highness. Escort me to our chambers.”