Later that night
I was in the library, my sanctuary of chaos, flipping through spellbooks and sharpening the dagger I kept in my boot, when the door creaked open.
Damian stepped inside. His coat was half-buttoned. His eyes, dark.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Couldn’t stop thinking about you charging into that Rift like a wrathful goddess.”
I snorted. “I had a point to prove.”
He approached me, something unreadable flickering behind his stormy gaze. “And what point was that?”
“That I’m not afraid anymore. Not of monsters. Not of court. Not even of my father.”
Damian stood in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint bruises along his neck from battle.
“You forgot something,” he murmured.
“Oh? What’s that?”
He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Not afraid of falling for me either.
