The silence stretched, charged and unbroken. Eva's breath came slow, her pulse drumming loud in her ears as she held his gaze. Lucarion did not move away, did not reclaim the distance he so often guarded. For a fleeting moment, she thought—perhaps—he might close it instead.
A discreet ahem cut the air behind them.
Both turned. At the edge of the range stood a young attendant, stiff-backed but visibly nervous under the weight of his intrusion. "Forgive me, Your Grace. I would not disturb you, but… Commander Kael has been waiting in your study for some time. He requests your presence."
Lucarion's jaw tightened, the faintest flicker of irritation shadowing his expression—not at the boy, but at himself. He exhaled slowly, eyes closing for a measured beat before turning back to Eva. "We've lingered longer than I intended."
Eva lowered the bow carefully, trying not to betray the strange tug of loss in her chest.
Lucarion's gaze lingered on her another moment before he said, "Tell Commander Kael I extend my apologies. I will be with him shortly."
The boy bowed and withdrew, relief palpable in his quick retreat.
Silence settled again, though the spell between them had shifted. Lucarion's composure returned in increments, but there was still an edge in his eyes when he looked at her. "The matter waiting in my study…" He paused, as though weighing whether to continue. "It pertains to you. If you wish, you may attend."
Eva blinked, caught off guard. "To me?"
His nod was slow, deliberate. "Yes. I would prefer you hear what is said firsthand, rather than by report."
The words stirred a flicker of unease—and curiosity. "What matter could possibly concern me?"
Lucarion didn't answer directly. His gaze had sharpened again, the softness of moments before replaced by something more measured. "You'll see soon enough."
That evasiveness only deepened the restless stir in her chest. Still, when he offered his arm again, she took it, her fingers brushing the sleeve more lightly than before. Together, they left the range, attendants bowing as they passed.
The corridors of the keep swallowed them back into shadowed stone. Each step echoed too loud, her thoughts racing ahead.
At the doors of his study, two guards snapped to attention. Lucarion pushed the doors open, gesturing her inside before him.
The chamber was warm with firelight, lined with shelves heavy with scrolls and maps. At the long table, Kael stood waiting, broad-shouldered, armor catching the light, impatience clear in the set of his jaw. His eyes flicked first to Lucarion, then to Eva, surprise narrowing them.
"Your Grace," he said, voice clipped. "I had not realized this meeting was to include… guests."
Lucarion entered, unbothered by the tone. "It does." He crossed to the head of the table, resting one hand on the wood.
Eva felt the weight of Kael's stare but held her ground. She drew herself up, spine straight, refusing to shrink beneath the weight of his scrutiny.
The commander hesitated, then inclined his head and began. "The matter is urgent. The negotiations with the werewolves are faltering. Their envoys grow more difficult by the day. What once seemed a path toward truce now threatens to collapse into bloodshed."
Eva listened in silence, her brow furrowed. The talk of treaties and werewolves weighed heavily, but none of it seemed to touch her directly. She glanced between them, waiting for the turn of the conversation that explained why she was here at all.
Lucarion's eyes shifted toward his commander, a silent signal passing between them. The moment stretched, and Eva felt suddenly small beneath the weight of their shared knowledge. Her pulse quickened. What aren't they saying?
Only then did Lucarion turn to her. His voice was measured, heavy. "Do you know where your missing mother and brother are, Eva?"
Her breath caught. The question felt like a blow. "No," she said quickly, though her throat tightened around the word. "I only know they vanished without trace."
Lucarion studied her, gaze sharp. "They are not vanished. They are with the werewolves."
The air seemed to drain from the room. Eva's hands curled at her sides. "With them?" Her voice rose despite her effort to steady it. "You mean they've been taken?"
"No," Lucarion interrupted, voice quiet but implacable. "Not forced. They are part of their ranks. By choice."
Eva froze, the words striking harder than any arrow she had loosed that morning. For a heartbeat she could only stare, her mind chasing itself in frantic circles.
Relief came first—sharp, dizzying. They were alive. Her chest loosened, the tight knot she hadn't even known she carried giving way.
Then the sting followed. Betrayal, small but cutting. If they lived, why hadn't they reached out? A word, a signal, anything to let her know.
She forced herself to reason it through. Of course they hadn't. A Spear had to be hidden, protected at all costs. Any connection could have endangered her. Still, the ache remained.
Her voice was quieter than she intended when she finally asked, "Are they well?"
Lucarion's gaze held hers. "They are more than well. Your mother is the mate of the Lycan King. And your brother—the mate of one of his daughters."
Her breath caught. Relief washed over her with such force her knees nearly weakened—alive, not only alive but thriving. She drew in a long, steadying breath, fighting to gather herself before her voice could betray her.
"I see," she said at last, even though the steadiness cost her. "I could be of help securing your truce."
Both men inclined their heads, an unspoken agreement passing between them. Yet the look in their eyes—cautious, assessing—told her there was more, something unsaid.
Eva's jaw tightened. "Enough with the cryptic pauses. If there's more, then speak plainly. I've no patience for this measured circling."
Lucarion cleared his throat, gaze steady. "You must understand—we cannot simply allow you to be reunited with your family. The attack during your transport from the border was driven by them. We cannot risk another Spear falling into their hands."
Her pulse surged hot, words escaping before she could temper them. "I would slit my own throat a thousand times before I allowed myself to be marked by those beasts."
Kael barked a laugh before catching himself, the sound low and rough as he tried to disguise it as a cough. "Gods' truth, she means it."
Lucarion's expression shifted subtly. A faint pause lingered, as if he had hoped she wouldn't speak the word marking with such venom.
His glance cut sharp as a blade toward his commander, silencing him instantly. Then his gaze returned to Eva, cool and unwavering. "The only safeguard against that outcome is proof that you have found your chosen one. The werewolves will not risk contradicting the God of War."
Eva's lips parted, the logic falling into place. "Then we are to be married before they arrive."
"Yes," Lucarion said, voice stripped to its essence. "That was the plan from the beginning. But circumstances require it sooner, to stave off their restlessness."
Her shoulders eased, just faintly. She had already agreed to this—why draw it out? Better to be done with it quickly. "Then I see no issue. Perhaps it's for the best."
Kael shifted, clearing his throat, eyes flicking meaningfully toward his prince.
Lucarion drew a slow breath, the silence taut before he spoke again. "There is more. The werewolves do not recognize marriages. They accept only one rite as binding." His pause was deliberate. "A marking."
Eva's stomach dropped. She had heard of the practice—fangs sunk into flesh, blood mingled, a bond written into the body itself. Brutal. Bestial. Her throat worked, but no words came at first.
She drew in a slow breath, attempting to steady herself. "I had hoped… that this was one of those myths, or some outdated practice you mentioned," she said at last, voice low, tinged with disbelief.
Lucarion's eyes followed her, noting the fleeting horror crossing her features. He stepped closer, measured and deliberate, his calm movements only heightened the tension sparking between them. "It is not as terrible as you imagine," he murmured, voice low, coaxing.
His fingers lifted a strand of hair that had fallen forward, tucking it carefully behind her ear, exposing the graceful curve of her neck. "If you wish," he added, low and quiet, "I can explain… how it occurs."
His thumb traced lightly from behind her ear down the gentle slope of her neck, deliberate and unyielding, pausing at the hollow above the clavicle, where he could feel the pulse of her life beneath his touch. His eyes followed the path of his thumb, flicking downward. Her breath caught, shallow and uneven, the air thick with the rhythm of her heartbeat matching his touch. She felt his warmth radiating close, the steady pressure grounding her even as a thrill ran along her nerves.
Their eyes locked—hers wide, searching; his half-lidded over wide-open pupils, predatory and intent. Each fraction of a second stretched taut, each heartbeat a muted drum of tension.
Click—the door closed softly behind them.