The tension crackled like lightning between them.
His breath warmed her skin, his presence both a balm and a storm. Seraphine didn’t know whether to run or to reach for him, unsure if the ache swelling in her chest was fear or something far more dangerous.
But the ache pulsed again, and this time, it whispered not fear—
—but longing.
The throne room was quiet, bathed in the silver light of the moon that spilled through the broken arches and tall stained windows, painting shadows on the cold marble floor.
It was a place made for power and judgment, but now it held only them—two souls on the precipice of something ancient and impossible.
Valen’s head rested gently on her lap, like it was the most sacred place he could find in all the realms. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow
