"Some bonds are forged in fire, others in blood, but the rarest are the ones no blade, no throne, no Luna can sever."
The candle burned low on the desk, its wax bleeding down the iron holder in uneven rivers. I had stopped trying to write long ago, the quill abandoned beside parchment littered with half-thoughts and blotched ink. My thoughts were elsewhere on the Eastern Chambers, on Seraphine's demands, on the storm building in the heart of the kingdom, and when I turned toward the bed, the storm inside me quieted.
Juno lay stretched across the sheets, bare chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. The dim light caught on the strong lines of his jaw, the scars scattered across his skin marks of battles survived, victories earned. Even in sleep, he looked dangerous, the Beta of Blackthorne Security, a man who had seen war and walked through it unbroken. He was not mine to claim, not by oath, not by title but he was mine all the same.
