To say Thane was surprised to hear Celeste had already made her way outside was an understatement. He had expected her to barricade herself inside the harem like a cornered fox, sulking and plotting her next escape. But no—his little firefly had ventured straight into the open air. Bold. Or reckless. Probably both.
The thought of catching her mid-plot, weeds still clutched in her defiant hands, brought a wicked curl to his lips. Work could wait. He pushed away from his desk, striding for the door—only to nearly collide with his mother.
"Mother," he muttered, stepping back with a groan.
Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Going somewhere, darling?"
"Just for air." His voice was bland, but impatience coiled under his skin. Whatever lecture she was about to unleash, he wanted it over quickly.
"Then perhaps I'll join you." She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm before he could object.
Of course she would. Thane clenched his jaw, but forced a smile.
They walked into the courtyard, fragrant with blossoms that spilled across the marble paths. Natira's gaze lingered not on the flowers but on him, her expression far too knowing. "She is quite lovely," she said at last.
"Who?" he asked, feigning ignorance.
Her swat stung more for its accuracy than force. "Celeste. Do not play coy with me."
He almost faltered. His mother never used a concubine's name. They were interchangeable ornaments to her—yet she had remembered Celeste. That alone told him everything: Natira approved. Relief loosened something in his chest. If his mother supported this match, half the battle was already won.
"Yes," Thane admitted quietly. "She is."
"You mean to court her, don't you?"
He met her eyes. "Yes."
Her sigh was soft but heavy with meaning. "Always with the righteous heart, my son. But understand this—making an Omega your Empress will paint a target on her back larger than any crown could. The powerful will come for her. They will try to rip her from you. Are you prepared for that storm?"
"I am." His voice held no hesitation. "She sets my blood racing. My senses sharpen around her. I cannot ignore it. I believe she was meant for me."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them. Then Natira kissed his cheek, motherly and resigned. "Then that is that." She released his arm and drifted away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
Thane stood among the roses, breathing in their bittersweet scent. He had brought Celeste here as a possession, but she was no possession. Not to him. Not anymore. She thought herself a prisoner in this jeweled cage. Perhaps it was time he showed her otherwise—that she was not confined but courted.
He followed the sound of low curses and found her hunched among a patch of wildflowers, tugging weeds with furious determination. Every rip of root was a battle cry, every muttered oath a victory.
Thane leaned against a pillar, silent for a moment, just watching. His firefly's spirit burned brighter than all the pampered beauties in his harem. Where others pouted and preened, she dug her nails into the dirt, waging war on stubborn vines as though they were her captors.
When one particularly thick weed resisted, she yanked with both hands, spat a curse that would have made his soldiers laugh, and toppled backward into the grass with a graceless huff.
A chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.
Her head snapped up, eyes flashing blue-green fire. "Enjoying the show, Your Highness?" she snapped, brushing soil from her palms.
"Immensely," he drawled, pushing off the pillar. "Though I must admit, I never expected my Omega to declare war on weeds."
"I'm not your anything." She rose to her feet, chin tilted high. "And these weeds don't lie, cheat, or enslave. They just grow where they're not wanted. Can't say the same for men."
Thane's grin widened at her audacity. Gods, she was magnificent. Every sharp edge of her only cut him deeper, binding him tighter.
"Perhaps," he said softly, stepping closer, "but even weeds can strangle a garden if left untended. Sometimes they must be pulled for the flowers to thrive."
Her eyes narrowed, suspicious. "And what am I supposed to be? The flower?"
He studied her in silence, letting the weight of his gaze settle on her mouth, her throat, the stubborn line of her shoulders. Then he reached out, brushing a smear of dirt from her cheek with the gentlest touch. She stiffened, but didn't pull away.
"No," he murmured. "You're the fire that keeps the whole damn garden alive."
Her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, before she spun away with a scoff. "Flattery won't make me forget I'm a prisoner here."
"Then let me prove you're not." His voice followed her, steady, certain. "Let me show you what life could be… if you stay by my side."
Celeste's laugh was brittle, her back still to him. "You can't cage fire, Emperor. It always finds a way to burn."
Thane's smile was slow, dangerous, reverent. "Then burn me, little firefly. I'll only shine brighter in your flames."