The great square seemed to unspool in slow motion around Lora, the thunder of voices surging into every narrow alleyway and meandering street, while torchlight drifted upward and outward like glowing embers caught in a gentle wind. Though the drums had fallen silent moments before, their final thud still reverberated in her chest, as if her own heartbeat had borrowed the echo and refused to let it go. Dust swirled in the warm air, mingling with the acrid tang of sweat and torch smoke, and somewhere beyond the crowd a cart’s wooden wheel squeaked its plaintive goodbye.

She remained rooted precisely where Kai had left her, her flaming-red throat still raw from the marking, every pulse sending small ripples of pain beneath her skin. The silk gown she wore clung stubbornly to her arms and back, heavy with perspiration and the faint coppery taste of dried blood, hugging curves she barely recognized as her own. Around her, the other chosen girls were shepherded away like reluctant birds by attendants in crisp uniforms, but none would venture close enough to offer consolation or share a whisper. Lora’s body had suddenly become consecrated ground—untouchable, claimed, already adrift on someone else’s tide.

On the raised dais, Kai stood a quiet monument of control, conferring in low tones with his closest men. His tall frame, draped once more in the white fur mantle that gleamed against his dark tunic, looked as if it belonged to a statue carved from midnight itself. The blood that had flitted across his lips moments ago was carefully wiped away, leaving him spotless, regal, untarnished—an image of Dawn reborn, poised and unflinching despite the centuries he had just upended.

And then, without warning, she felt it: another gaze. It did not press with Kai’s urgent certainty, nor did it hum with the precise order of his stare. Instead it slithered along her skin like a curious breeze, slipping beneath damp silk, curling in the hollow of her stomach until her breath stuttered and caught. A presence both distant and achingly close, stirring something far older than fear.

She turned, almost of her own accord, to find him waiting at the far edge of the platform. Rael stood there in half-shadow, his dark cloak swallowing the torchlight around him, as though every flicker of flame was reluctant to reach his form. Strands of ebony hair fell loose around his face, framing lips that curved into a half-smile—sharp, secretive, as if he alone held a punchline she would live or die to hear.

It was his eyes, though, that stilled her breath entirely. Beneath the twin moons’ glow they shimmered with an unnameable alloy of light and dark—neither gold nor silver but something far more elusive, catching and holding her gaze as if she were spun glass. There was no promise of protection in them, no hint of mercy or law to soften their shine. Instead she found a raw, almost feral hunger, the kind that thrilled and terrified in equal measure.

Her knees threatened to buckle, and the ache at her throat shifted, as though responding to this new summons rather than Kai’s binding touch. Instinctively she pressed a trembling hand to the branded mark, as though she could still its ache with her palm. At her side, Ayrella materialized as if grown from shadow itself, her own face pinched with sudden alarm. She grasped Lora’s arm in a grip sharp enough to sting.

“Do not look at him,” Ayrella hissed, voice low enough to catch only Lora’s ear. “Turn away before he draws you in.”

Lora tore her gaze loose, but the memory of those alloyed eyes pressed against her ribs, faint but unyielding, and she found herself whispering unintentionally, “Why?” Her voice felt as rough as gravel sliding beneath her tongue.

“Because he does not look as others do,” Ayrella replied, eyes narrowing. “And if you let him catch you too often, you’ll forget who branded you first.”

Lora parted her lips, but no clever retort came. Instead her throat flared with more than pain: with reluctant fascination, with confusing longing. She had never wanted Kai’s claim, yet here it was, anchoring her breath, drawing her pulse into its precise rhythm. But Rael’s gaze—this unbidden, dangerous pull—was nothing like a chain. It was a snare, subtle and thrilling, and she could already feel the threads tightening.

The attendants, their robes pale and fluttering, began herding the remaining girls toward the temple gates, voices clipped and businesslike. Beyond the arches of the square she could just make out the sturdy ironbound carriage waiting patiently, its doors carved with runic wards that gleamed softly under torchlight. That carriage was meant to ferry her to Elysor, under Kai’s unwavering guard, to assume duties she had neither sought nor fathomed.

At last Kai descended the wide steps, each measured stride betraying the poise of a man who believed himself master of city, crowd, and captive alike. He closed the distance between them in three long paces and placed a cool, deliberate hand at the small of her back, guiding her forward with the air of someone handling a prized artifact. Beneath his touch, her mark throbbed violently, as though attempting to fuse her flesh to his will, an intimate warning she had no choice but to obey.

She flinched on instinct, and he glanced down, eyes sharp as steel. “You feel the bond,” he observed, voice low and unwavering.

Lora sealed her lips against any confession, refusing him the satisfaction of her awe, her confusion—her fear. Kai’s hand did not falter; with the confidence of a conqueror he shepherded her toward the waiting carriage, shoulders squared, cloak trailing like a banner behind him.

Yet, just before the iron door swung shut, Lora stole one last look behind. Rael had not budged, not even a hair’s breadth, still standing in those fading shadows with a cloak that whispered secrets of its own. His gaze was fastened on her, unblinking and relentless, as if the whole world had withdrawn except for this single point of connection. For a wild, weightless heartbeat the roar of the city fell away, and nothing existed save that dark, electrifying focus.

Then the door slammed. Darkness swallowed her as the carriage lurched forward, its wheels grinding against the cobblestones in a final farewell. Torches and drums receded behind her, but even as the hum of the city dimmed, she knew—down in some unexpected place beneath her ribs—Rael’s eyes traveled with her into the night, pressing against her wound until it felt less like Kai’s alone and more like the beginning of something else entirely.