Claimed By Fire And Crown

Chapter 6

He moved the second I did.

Not fast enough to look like a lunge, not slow enough to give me space. His hand came out just as I tried to slip past him, catching my wrist before I could get clear, his grip tightening in a way that wasn’t frantic or rough—just certain.

I twisted instinctively, trying to pull free, my shoulder turning as I angled my body to break his hold, but he didn’t give. The movement only brought me closer, the space between us collapsing until I had to tilt my head back slightly to keep him in view.

“Don’t,” he said, the word low and steady, like he’d already decided I wouldn’t get another chance.

My free hand came up without thinking, pushing hard against his chest. It didn’t move him. Not even a little. The contact sent a jolt up my arm instead, like I’d misjudged something fundamental about him, and I pulled back quickly, my breath catching as frustration flared sharp in my chest.

“Let go,” I said, more force behind it this time, even as I shifted again, testing the angle of his grip.

He didn’t react to the demand. His eyes moved over my face instead, slower now, more deliberate, like he was confirming something he already suspected.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he said.

Something cold settled under my ribs.

“I wasn’t staying,” I shot back, my voice tightening despite my effort to keep it even.

His mouth tilted slightly, not quite a smile. “You don’t get to choose that.”

The words hit harder than they should have, something about the certainty in them scraping wrong against everything in me that refused to give in. My fingers curled as I tried to pull my wrist free again, shifting my weight and twisting my arm sharply.

This time, his grip adjusted.

Stronger.

Still controlled.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he added, stepping closer without breaking eye contact.

The space disappeared completely.

I could feel it now—his presence, heavy and wrong, pressing in from all sides in a way that made it hard to think straight. It wasn’t just physical. It crawled under my skin, sharp and invasive, setting every instinct I had on edge.

Not like before.

Not like the bar.

This didn’t pull.

It pinned.

“I’m not going with you,” I said, even as my voice dropped, my body already shifting again, looking for another opening that wasn’t there.

His gaze flicked briefly to my wrist where he held me, then back to my face. “You don’t have a choice.”

I opened my mouth to answer—

And froze.

The air changed.

It didn’t happen gradually. It hit all at once, a sharp shift that cut straight through the alley, pushing against everything else until the space felt too small to hold it. The pressure that had been coming from him—heavy, suffocating—stuttered for the first time since he’d stepped in front of me.

His grip tightened.

Not on me.

In reaction.

“What—” he started, his head turning slightly toward the alley entrance.

I felt it then.

Not the same as before.

Stronger.

Cleaner.

The heat came back, sudden and sharp, rising under my skin in a way that made my breath catch as something deep inside me reacted without permission. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t panic.

It was recognition.

My gaze shifted past him.

Toward the opening.

He was already there.

I hadn’t heard him move. Hadn’t caught the sound of footsteps or the shift of gravel. One second the alley had been blocked by one man—

The next, there were two.

Rhaegar stood just inside the entrance, his posture still, his gaze fixed on the man holding my wrist like nothing else in the world existed. He didn’t look rushed. He didn’t look concerned.

If anything, he looked… irritated.

The kind of quiet irritation that didn’t need to raise its voice to be understood.

The man in front of me straightened slightly, his grip loosening just enough that I felt it. Not release—never that—but hesitation.

“You’re in the wrong place,” he said, not looking away from the figure behind him.

Rhaegar didn’t answer right away.

He stepped forward instead, slow and deliberate, his boots barely making a sound against the ground. The space seemed to shift with him, the narrow alley suddenly feeling even tighter, the air heavier in a way that made it hard to breathe.

“Let her go.”

The words weren’t loud.

They didn’t need to be.

Something in my chest tightened as they settled in, the tone cutting through the tension like it had been waiting for this moment. It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a warning.

It was a decision.

The man’s grip on my wrist faltered for half a second, his fingers tightening again like he was reconsidering. His head turned just enough to glance over his shoulder, his expression sharpening as he took Rhaegar in properly.

“You don’t know what you’re stepping into,” he said, his voice lower now, edged with something that hadn’t been there before.

Rhaegar didn’t slow.

“Let her go,” he repeated, his gaze dropping briefly to where my wrist was still held before lifting again.

The man exhaled through his nose, something almost like a laugh slipping out under his breath. “She’s mine.”

The words hit wrong.

Something in me reacted before I could stop it, a sharp twist low in my chest that had nothing to do with fear.

Rhaegar’s expression didn’t change.

But something else did.

Subtle.

Controlled.

Dangerous.

“No,” he said quietly. “She isn’t.”

The alley fell silent.

For a second, nothing moved.

Then—

The grip on my wrist loosened.

Just enough.

I didn’t wait.

I pulled back hard, twisting out of his hold and stumbling a step away before catching myself, my breath coming faster as I put distance between us. My arm throbbed faintly where he’d held me, but I ignored it, my attention snapping back to both of them as the space shifted again.

Neither man looked at me.

Not fully.

Their focus stayed on each other.

And somehow, that felt worse.