POV: Ravenna
After the meeting with Lysander, I'm exhausted.
Not physically. Well, yes physically, but that's not the main thing. It's the emotional exhaustion that's destroying me. Finding out Mother was murdered. That she knew she was dying. That she chose to save me with her last moments.
That someone has been hunting gift-bearers for decades and I'm next on the list.
It's too much. All of it. Too much grief and rage and fear compressed into one impossible morning.
I need to lie down. Need to process. Need to breath.
I head toward my chambers. Saren follows at a discrete distance—doubled guards means I can't even grieve alone. Normally I'd be annoyed. Right now I'm too tired to care.
I turn the corner to my chambers and stop.
Theron is there. Standing against the wall opposite my door. Arms crossed. Waiting.
"How long have you been here?" I ask.
"Since you went into the meeting," he says simply.
"That was two hours ago."
"I know."
"You've been standing here for two hours?"
"Yes."
I want to be annoyed. Want to tell him he doesn't need to keep vigil outside my rooms like some kind of guardian. Want to maintain my independence and my walls and all the defenses I've built over twenty-one years.
But I'm so tired of walls.
"Come inside," I say.
He blinks. "What?"
"Inside. My chambers. Come inside." I unlock the door. "Unless you'd rather keep vigil in the hallway."
"Ravenna—" He glances at Saren. At the guards. "It's not proper."
"I don't CARE about proper." I push the door open. "I just found out my mother was murdered. That someone is hunting people like me. That I have a target on my back." My voice cracks. "I don't want to be alone right now. Please."
He follows me inside without another word.
The door closes behind us. Leaving us alone in my private chambers. Breaking every rule of propriety. Giving the court gossips ammunition for weeks.
I don't care. Can't care. Don't have the energy to care about anything except not falling apart.
I sit on the edge of my bed. He stands near the door. Unsure. Uncomfortable. Like he doesn't know what to do with himself.
"You can sit," I say. "I'm not going to bite."
"I don't want to presume—"
"Theron. SIT."
He sits. On the chair by my desk. As far from the bed as possible while still being in the room. Always so careful. Always so proper.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he says quietly. "About what Lysander said."
And somehow that simple request—not demanding I be okay, not offering platitudes, just asking what I'm thinling—breaks something in me.
The tears come. Fast and hard and ugly. Twenty-one years of guilt and grief and confusion suddenly making sense and it hurts.
"She knew," I sob. "She knew she was dying and she used her last moments to save me. To give me her gift. To make sure I'd survive even though she couldn't."
Theron is there in seconds. Sitting beside me on the bed. Not touching. Just present.
"And I spent twenty-one years thinking I killed her," I continue. "Thinking I was the reason she died. Thinking I was this burden that cost Father his wife and the kingdom its queen." The sobs are choking me now. "But she chose me. She chose to save me. Someone murdered her and she still chose ME."
"Of course she did," Theron says simply. "You're her daughter."
"But I didn't know. I've been carrying this guilt for years thinking—"
"I know." His voice is so gentle. "I know."
I lean against him without thinking. Just collapse sideways until my head hits his shoulder. He stiffens for a second. Then his arm comes around me. Careful. Reverent.
"Someone killed her," I whisper into his shirt. "Poisoned her. And they're still out there. Still operating. Still hunting people like me."
"Not just like you," Theron says. "They're hunting you specifically now. They saw your gift awaken. Saw the transformation. Saw you become exactly what they fear."
"So what do I do?" I ask. "Hide? Pretend I don't have the gift? Spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder?"
"No." His voice is hard now. Certain. "You become too dangerous to touch. Too powerful to eliminate. Too protected to reach."
"How?"
"You survive the hearing tomorrow. You stand beside me publicly and show the kingdom that you're strong, that you're fearless, that you're worthy." He pauses. "And then we find who killed your mother and we destroy them."
"We," I repeat.
"We," he confirms. "You're not alone in this, Ravenna. You have your father. Lysander. Hadrian. Morgana. Saren." His arm tightens slightly around me. "You have me. And I will stand between you and anyone who tries to hurt you."
"That's not your job."
"It's exactly my job. I'm your bonded mate. Protecting you is written into my soul." His voice softens. "But it's more than that now. More than just the bond. I would protect you even without Havoc. Even without the recognition. Because you're you and I—"
He stops. Swallows whatever he was about to say.
"You what?" I prompt.
"Nothing."
"Theron—"
"I care about you," he says. "More than I should. More than is probably wise given everything that's happening. But I do. And that means I'm not letting anyone hurt you. Not House Ashford. Not Lady Seris. Not whoever killed your mother. NO ONE."
I should probably argue. Should probably tell him he can't make promises like that. Should probably maintain some kind of emotional distance.
But I'm so tired of distance.
"Thank you," I whisper instead.
We sit in silence. Him holding me carefully like I might break. Me leaning against his solid steady strength. The bond hums between us—warm, alive, present.
"My mother told me to love you without fear," I say quietly. Not looking at him. "In the dream. When I was unconscious. She said you were worthy of me and I was worthy of you."
I feel him tense slightly. "And do you? Love me?"
"I don't know yet," I admit. "I think I'm falling in love with you. Maybe already have fallen. But everything is so comlicated right now. The hearing. The investigation. The threat. I can't—" My voice cracks. "I can't think about feelings when there's so much else happening."
"I understand," he says.
"Do you love me?" I ask. Because I need to know. Need to hear it when I'm awake and whole and able to process it.
Silence. Long enough that I think he won't answer.
Then: "Yes."
One word. Simple. True. Absolute.
"I love you," he continues. "Not because of the bond. Not because Solace chose Havoc. Not because you're a princess or because you have your mother's gift." His voice is rough now. Raw. "I love you because you're impossible and stubborn and sharp-tongued and brave. Because you sat beside me for three days while I was unconscious. Because you defended me against nobles and fought for this bond even when it would have been easier to walk away." He pauses. "Because you're you. And I want to spend the rest of my life learning everything there is to know about you."
I'm crying again. But different tears now. Not grief. Not rage. Something softer. Gentler.
"I don't know if I can be what you need," I whisper.
"You already are," he says simply.
I turn to look at him. His scarred face. Those amber eyes full of certainty and tenderness and love so obvious it hurts to see.
"Tomorrow everything might fall apart," I say.
"Then we'll face it together."
"Someone might try to kill me."
"They'll have to go through me first."
"The hearing might not go our way."
"Then we'll figure out another path."
"You're very confident for someone facing potential exile and murder charges."
A small smile. "I've survived five rejections that should have killed me. I've survived wars and battles and twenty-nine years of hell. I think I can survive one hearing."
"Even if House Ashford is demanding your head?"
"Even then."
His certainty is... comforting. Grounding. Like an anchor in storm.
I lean against him again. Close my eyes. Let the warmth of his presence and the bond wash over me.
"Stay," I whisper. "Just for a little while. Until I fall asleep."
"Ravenna, if anyone finds out I was in your chambers—"
"I don't care." And I don't. "Please. Just... stay."
He's silent for a moment. Then: "Okay."
I feel myself relaxing. The exhaustion pulling me under. The safety of his presence letting me finally rest.
His voice is the last thing I hear before sleep takes me:
"I'll keep you safe. I promise. Whatever it takes."
And somehow—despite the murder and the threats and the hearing tomorrow—I believe him.