Ariaxa’s body shook—not from cold, but from something molten and terrifying pooling low in her spine.
Kaedan’s breath still ghosted over her throat when she whispered it.
A single word.
Soft. Fragile.
Dangerous.
“Don’t.”
Everything inside him halted.
Kaedan went completely still, like prey hearing a bowstring draw.
Slowly—painfully slowly—he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.
What he saw there made him inhale sharply, like someone had slammed a spear through his ribs.
Desire.
Fear.
Confusion.
Longing.
Defiance.
And beneath all of it… something she didn’t yet understand.
He whispered, almost hoarse, “Ariaxa…”
She looked away, trembling. “You told me to say it.”
He exhaled like he’d been drowning. Then, with a sharp movement meant to keep himself from destroying something, he reached for a length of silver silk from beside the bed.
“Give me your hands,” he murmured.
Her pulse hammered.
She hesitated.
His voice darkened—dangerous, but not cruel. “I won’t hurt you.”
That shouldn’t have reassured her.
It did.
Ariaxa lifted her wrists.
Kaedan wrapped the silk around them slowly, wrapping with a gentleness at odds with the raw hunger in his gaze. He tied the knot loosely, testing its give—binding her not for punishment…
…but for control.
His own.
When he finished, he sat beside her on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His shoulders rose and fell in deep, unsteady breaths.
He wasn’t calming himself.
He was restraining himself.
“Your choice,” he said quietly. “What do I do with you?”
The room crackled with heat.
Ariaxa swallowed hard. “Choice?” she whispered. “Since when do you give me a choice?”
Kaedan’s lips twitched bitterly. “Since I realized I don’t know what to do with you unless you tell me.”
Her breath hitched.
The Emperor of Vharon—monster, tyrant, destroyer of empires—was unraveling in front of her.
Because of her.
He turned his head slightly, studying her tied wrists… then her trembling legs… then her face.
“Tell me,” he murmured, voice dipping low, dark, intimate, “what you fear I’ll do.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Give me away.”
Something flickered in him. Something violent and visceral.
He froze.
Ariaxa’s voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t give me to anyone else.”
It wasn’t a command.
It wasn’t even a plea.
It was a confession.
And it hit Kaedan like a blade to the gut.
He inhaled sharply—sharper than when he’d been wounded in battle. His fingers curled slowly, shaking, as if holding back the urge to reach for her.
His voice was ragged when it came.
“Never.”
The word dropped between them like a vow older than the kingdom.
“Never,” he repeated, firmer now, darker. “Even if the Triarchs demanded it. Even if the nobles begged for it. Even if this empire burned to ash.”
His jaw clenched. His eyes lowered to her mouth. His breath shuddered.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And no one touches what’s mine.”
Ariaxa felt heat strike through her so violently she swayed.
Kaedan noticed.
He looked away—violently, almost like the sight of her was too much. He pushed off the bed so fast the silk knot at her wrists shifted.
He stood with his back to her, breathing hard.
“Kaedan…” she whispered.
His hand braced against the wall, fingers trembling.
“You don’t understand,” he said through clenched teeth. “If I stay near you right now—if I touch you again—I will not be able to stop.”
Her pulse thundered painfully.
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t trust her voice.
Kaedan swallowed hard, still facing away from her. His shoulders were tight with a tension he couldn’t mask.
He forced out, “I need—distance.”
But even he knew it was a lie.
He didn’t want distance.
He wanted her tied to that bed, calling his name until sunrise.
And that terrified him more than any enemy on the battlefield.
“Sleep,” he said, though his voice shook. “I will post guards outside the door. You are safe.”
She whispered, “From others?”
His silence told her everything.
He wasn’t guarding her from others.
He was guarding her…
from himself.
Kaedan strode to the door, running a shaking hand through his hair.
His chest rose sharply.
Fell.
Rose again.
He opened the door—
And froze.
Riven stood there.
He wasn’t even pretending to be casual. His stance was rigid. His eyes were locked not on Kaedan—but on the bed behind him.
On Ariaxa.
On her bound wrists.
Her flushed cheeks.
The blanket slipping from her shoulders.
Riven’s jaw tightened.
His eyes darkened.
Possessive.
Not servant.
Not guard.
Not loyal soldier.
Something far more dangerous.
Kaedan narrowed his eyes. “You heard.”
Riven didn’t deny it.
He didn’t bow.
He didn’t avert his gaze.
He simply said, voice low and edged like a blade—
“I hear everything that concerns her.”
Kaedan’s eyes flashed crimson.
A silent, lethal warning passed between them.
Ariaxa held her breath.
Riven didn’t look away.
Not once.