The king’s men were dragging rebels out of her tavern before Milly could even process what was happening. One moment she’d been wiping down the bar, humming to herself, and the next the Alpha King had marched in and given her an ultimatum—turn away the rebels or face the consequences. She’d refused. Now soldiers were grabbing customers by the arms, hauling them into the muddy courtyard.
Francis, her regular of three years, the closest thing to a friend this place allowed, caught her eye as they pulled him past. He shook his head once and pressed a finger to his lips. Don’t say anything. “Hands off my clients!
” Milly shouted, rounding the bar. The king, Kenton Kenrath, stood in the middle of her establishment like he owned it. His commander, a woman with three bars on her chest, was pointing at people. Him.
Her. Him. “This tavern sits on crown land,” Kenton announced. “We’ve sent letters by royal decree.
You’ve chosen to ignore them. ”
“This is neutral ground,” Milly said, breathing hard. “It’s been neutral for the entire war. ”
“The ground under this roof is mine,” he said.
“Unwritten rules you made up are not law. ”
She tried to reach Francis, but a soldier barred her path. Five years. Five years she’d spent building this place with her bare hands, every nail and board and drop of sweat.
It had been a haven, a place where anyone could rest safely. Now it was being torn apart in front of her. “If you’ve got proof this place is being used for anything else, show it,” she demanded. The king gestured toward the door.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d label you a sympathizer. ”
“I’m not a rebel. ”
“Which is why you’ll be spared. ”
He turned and marched out.
Milly rushed after him, boots slipping in the mud. The rebels had been forced to their knees in a rough line, Francis among them. The first torch touched the east wall. Flames clutched at the dry timber, climbing fast.
Heat pressed against her face. “No! ” she screamed. “You were warned,” Kenton said quietly.
The second wall ignited. Then the third. Milly stood there, frozen, watching her entire life burn. The sign above the door, hand-painted in her mother’s cobalt blue, split apart and fell.
She turned her gaze to the king. He met it without reproach. No regret in his face, just cold, calculated indifference. Then Francis darted forward.
“No! ” Milly screamed, because she knew what he was about to do. But it was too late. Through the smoke and chaos, he lunged and drove something small and bright into the king’s back.
Kenton grunted, twisted, and seized Francis by the throat. He wrenched the blade free with his other hand. For a heartbeat, Milly thought he would crush Francis’s windpipe right there in the mud. But then the king let him go, staggered backward, and dropped to one knee.
“The king has been harmed! ” someone screamed. Soldiers swarmed Francis, pinning him to the ground. He didn’t fight.
He just fixed Milly with a look, cheek pressed into the mud, and gave her a wink. He did not fear death. The knife dripped with a dark liquid, black as tar. Nightshade.
A slow poison, rare and expensive. Milly’s mother had been a healer. She knew what it was the moment she smelled it. “He’s been poisoned,” she said.
“Nightshade. ”
The commander’s head jerked up. “And how would you know? ”
“My mother was a healer.
He won’t make it through the night without proper care. ”
The king’s body went slack. The commander caught him, barely, easing him down into the mud. She stared at Milly, eyes blazing.
“He’s still your king. You have to do something. ”
“And your proper care, I suppose? ” the commander grunted.
Milly looked at the burning ruins of her tavern. She thought of Francis, chained and beaten. If he was all that was left of this place, at least symbolically, she had to save him. “Name your price, healer,” the commander said.
“Francis’s freedom. ”
“I can’t promise you that. But the king’s an honest man. If you save his life, he’ll listen to what you have to say.
”
Milly knelt in the mud beside the king and pressed two fingers to his throat. His pulse was feeble. “All right,” she said. “I’ll do it.
”
They loaded him into a rough-hewn peasant cart, rattling over uneven roads toward the camp. Milly worked on him as they traveled, pressing the edges of the wound, drawing out the black fluid that seeped from the puncture. The commander sat with the king’s head in her lap, watching Milly’s every move, one hand always on her sword. And as Milly worked, something strange unfurled in her chest.
A delicate warmth that settled beneath her ribs, spreading outward like heat from a hearth. She shoved it aside. The only thing that mattered was keeping the king alive so she could save Francis. At the camp, she treated him through the afternoon and evening, listing herbs and supplies, checking his temperature, watching for seizures.
The camp healer, a young man who looked like he still belonged in school, took over for a few hours so she could rest. When she returned that evening, the king was awake. He grabbed her hand as she examined his wound. Those warm brown eyes struggled to focus on her.
“You’re the woman from the bar,” he said. “What are you doing? ”
“Baking a cake,” Milly said without looking up. He was silent, as if seriously considering her claim.
“You’ve been poisoned,” she supplied helpfully. “Poisoned? ”
She nodded. “Unfamiliar with the concept?
”
“No. I got that much. ”
He watched her for a long moment, unnerving her. When he sat up with a grunt, she put her hand on his leg to still him.
“Don’t move. There’s still poison in your system. You need to remain calm. ”
He cleared his throat.
“The tavern. It was a necessary measure. ”
Milly said nothing. “I will see to it you are compensated when the campaign allows.
”
She met his eyes. “That won’t be necessary. ”
“Then what do you want? ”
“If you’re hell-bent on compensation, I ask only for the life of the man who poisoned you.
Spare him. ”
“I cannot do that. He’s a rebel. A traitor to the crown.
He deliberately tried to kill me. ”
“Out of misplaced loyalty for me,” Milly said, her voice rising. “Because you burned down my tavern. ”
“If I let this man off scot-free, I’m giving license to all would-be assassins to take a pot at me.
”
Milly made an ugly sound. “I’m done for today. Move as much as you want. Hopefully the poison will spread faster that way.
”
She made for the tent entrance, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist. “If you want to be angry, be angry,” Kenton said. “You can yell if you want to. ”
It stunned her.
But if he asked for it, she would deny him it. “Your fever will spike tonight,” she said, twisting her wrist free. “Get one of the other healers to deal with it. ”
She ducked out of the tent and did not look back.
Outside, a realization struck her. It wasn’t just for Francis that she was helping the king. It was out of spite. She would not let him escape what he’d done by simply dying.
He was going to live, and he was going to look at her every day and live with it. Then she thought of that warmth in her chest, and she kicked a stone hard enough to send it skittering into the dark. The nightshade was responding to treatment, but slower than she’d expected. Each afternoon the fever broke, and each night it returned, climbing higher.
Milly built a dosage schedule around the rhythm. Three days passed in silence between them. He just watched her as she worked. Their second conversation began with him splitting the quiet.
“You’re still here. ”
“Looks like the poison hasn’t affected your eyesight,” she replied. “Then I will do my best to speak as seldom as possible,” he conceded. After a pause, he added, “Is there anything I can do to speed up the process?
”
“Proper motivation would help. ”
“The life of your king isn’t sufficient? ”
She gave him a withering look, and his mouth twitched. “You’re still hoping I’ll spare your rebel friend?
” he guessed. “Just because he happens to be from beyond the border does not make him a rebel. Most people don’t care about your war and don’t want to be part of it. We have more interest in living than killing.
”
“I understand you feel that way,” he said, and he sounded sincere. “But I don’t have the luxury to feel that way. ”
Milly rolled her eyes. “Peace isn’t a luxury.
Neither is mercy. ”
Then he told her about the six months of tracking rebel communications through the border zone. Messages passed through the Crossroads. Operatives sheltered there.
Supply routes were coordinated under her roof. “Yeah, so people talked,” Milly said flatly. “That’s what happens in taverns. ”
“Coordinated,” he corrected, patient and measured.
“Rebel soldiers arriving on specific nights. Leaving before dawn. The same faces, the same routes. ”
The words wormed into her mind despite herself.
No. She refused to let him rewrite what the Crossroads had been. “My tavern was neutral ground,” she snapped. “Your own troops were discussing their plans too, I’m sure.
My tavern was a haven for everyone. ”
“I sent letters,” he said, trying a different tack. “Ordering me to close my doors to half my customers. ”
“Warning you.
That if you continue to allow—”
“I didn’t allow anything. I served beer. That was all. ”
“You refused to choose a side,” he accused.
“Because there shouldn’t have to be sides! Not in every corner of this kingdom. Some places should be allowed to just exist without your war crawling into them. ”
He was quiet for a moment.
“I made the call I would have made for any such asset in the border zone. I stand by the calculation, even if I regret the cost. ”
Milly put down the scissors. “Do you believe telling me the math makes it better?
”
“Seeing the full picture always helps come to a logical conclusion. ”
“So the full picture is supposed to make me agree with you? Or make me understand that my disagreement doesn’t matter? ”
He flinched.
“I’m not just a number that can be paid off. And I won’t be thanking you for explaining my own loss to me. ”
“I was only trying to help you understand,” he said quietly. “Which is not the same as asking you to forgive.
”
The sincerity in his voice only made it worse. She didn’t want his understanding. She wanted her tavern back. She wanted Francis free.
“Neither matters,” she growled, redressing his wound with quick, practiced movements. “Millie. ”
Her eyes snapped to his. It was the first time he’d called her by her name.
“You’re not just a number,” he said, not unkindly. He took her hand, large and calloused and surprisingly gentle. The warmth bloomed again in her chest, at such odds with the anger that erupted right beneath it. For a split second, she felt the urge to lean into that touch.
Then reality crashed back. She snarled and snapped her hand back. “Don’t touch me. ”
She turned away, gathering her supplies hurriedly.
“How do I fix it? ” he asked. She stopped. Did not look back.
“I told you. Spare Francis. ”
Then she left, and she sent a camp healer with written instructions that evening instead of returning. But his words kept circling back, unwelcome and persistent.
Specific nights. Same routes. Coordinated. She thought of Francis.
Had she been willfully blind or just naive? At dawn, she went back. Something felt wrong the moment she ducked through the tent flap. The air was too hot, too close.
The king was unconscious, feverish, breathing shallow and uneven. The young camp healer looked up, relief flooding his face. “His fever spiked an hour ago. I did what you wrote, but—”
“Go,” Milly said.
She dropped to her knees beside the cot, pressing her hands to his forehead. Burning far hotter than it should have been. She dipped a cloth in cool water and began to work, wiping down his face, his neck, his chest. “You shouldn’t have left,” she told herself.
“You knew he needed monitoring. ”
His head turned slightly, a low sound catching in his throat. She worked through the fever, her anger still coiled tight beneath her ribs, but layered over it now was something sharper and more immediate. Guilt.
And beneath that, quieter but impossible to ignore, worry. As she pressed two fingers to his wrist to count his pulse, she felt it again—that strange pull. As if there were an invisible cord linking her to him, threading through her chest and settling, burning and insistent beneath her ribs. She released his wrist.
Instantly, he gasped in a wet, rattling breath, back arching. She pressed her fingers back to his pulse, and the pull returned, the warmth bloomed, and his breathing steadied. She stared at her hand, then at him. Her pulse raced.
His eyes fluttered open, wild and unseeing, lost somewhere between fever and consciousness. “Your Majesty,” she murmured, uncertain. His fingers wrapped around hers with surprising strength. Then his lips pressed against her knuckles.
Heat flooded through Milly, sharp and startling. Then he turned her hand over, mouth finding the pulse point at her wrist, lingering there. “Stay,” he breathed, the word barely audible, but carrying the weight of a plea. Her thoughts scattered.
He’s delirious. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But her body didn’t seem to care about logic. She pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, and he leaned into her touch, a small, involuntary sound catching in his throat.
It was the sound of a man who had not let anyone take care of him in a very long time. She hated it. Hated the way that sound made her feel. Hated the way her hand lingered a second longer than necessary against his jaw.
“Stop it,” she told herself firmly. “He burned down your home. ”
But her hand stayed where it was. The fever broke in the gray hour before dawn.
His breathing evened, the trembling stopped, and his eyes opened, clearer than they’d been in hours. Milly was still sitting beside him, her hand resting on his wrist. “You stayed,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You asked me to,” she said, pulling her hand back quickly.
Then he told her about his father. Dead three years ago, mid-campaign. He was twenty-six, left with a war and no plan and a council full of men twice his age who expected him to know what he was doing. Grief washed over Milly like a wave—bone-deep and exhausting, and it wasn’t hers.
She could feel him, not just the warmth of his skin, but the roiling emotions beneath. Self-loathing. Regret. The weight of two hundred men slaughtered in a valley because he trusted the wrong people.
“I didn’t know what I was doing,” he said. “But I just kept going. Kept making decisions. ”
“Why are you telling me this?
” she asked quietly. “I don’t know,” he admitted. And she felt the truth of it. He fell asleep a few minutes later.
Milly sat beside him for a long time, her hand still resting on his wrist, feeling the steady beat of his pulse and the echo of emotions that weren’t quite hers. “I want to see Francis,” she said eventually. He nodded. “You’ve earned that much.
”
The stockade sat at the edge of camp. Francis was chained by the wrists and ankles, his clothes torn and muddy, his face swollen on one side. They’d beaten him, often by the looks of it. “Gods, Francis, what have they done to you?
” Milly started to tend to his eyebrow while the commander’s back was turned. He looked up and, despite the bruises and the chains and the guards watching, he smiled. That same lopsided smile he’d given her a thousand times across the bar. “You’re in one piece,” he said, sighing with relief.
“You shouldn’t have done it,” she said quietly. “Stabbing the king. What were you thinking? ”
“I couldn’t just sit there and watch while he burned down your home.
”
Her throat tightened. He understood what it had meant to her. “It didn’t bring the Crossroads back,” she said. “All it did was land you here.
”
“There are some things you just can’t walk away from quietly. ”
He meant her. He’d done this for her. “I’m trying to negotiate your freedom,” she said.
“I’ve been treating the king. Saving his life. In exchange for yours. ”
“If you do manage to negotiate my freedom, I want you to come with me,” Francis said.
“We’ll rebuild in a safer place beyond the border. Somewhere the king’s reach doesn’t extend. ”
She considered it. A fresh start.
Somewhere far from burned taverns and impossible kings and strange pulls she couldn’t explain. She had nowhere else to go. The Crossroads was ash. Her savings with it.
“I’ve got contacts there,” Francis said. “People who owe me. You’d be safe, I promise. ”
Safe.
The word wrapped around her like a blanket. Later that afternoon, she returned to Kenton’s tent to check on his wound. He was sitting up, propped against pillows, looking stronger than he had in days. His dark hair was still damp, and he’d changed into a clean shirt that hung open at the collar.
When he saw her, he smiled. His whole face transformed, the hard edges softening, those brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “You look wonderful,” Milly said quickly, too quickly. “I mean, you look better.
I’ll check on you later. ”
She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. “Milly. ”
Just her name.
Just that. But the way he said it made her chest tighten. “I should go. You need rest.
”
“Wait. There’s something I need to tell you. ”
“I also need to ask you something,” she said quickly, before she could lose her nerve. She forced herself to turn around.
“Let Francis go. Please. Once you’ve recovered fully, just let him go. ”
The softness vanished from his face.
His expression closed like a door slamming shut. “I can’t. Not until the war is over. Not while he’s still a threat.
”
“He’s not a threat. He’s a man who made a stupid decision out of misplaced loyalty. ”
“He’s a rebel,” Kenton said flatly. Milly froze.
“No. He’s from beyond the border, yes, but that doesn’t make him—”
“He is. We’ve known for months. ”
“You’re lying.
You think everyone who doesn’t fight for you is a rebel. You thought I was one, too. ”
“I never thought you were a rebel,” Kenton said, his voice quiet but firm. He took a step toward her.
“I thought your tavern was being used by them. Which it was. Primarily by your friend, Francis. ”
Milly shook her head violently.
“He came to the Crossroads to drink, to rest, to—”
“To pass messages. To coordinate supply routes. We documented it, Milly. For six months.
He holds the rank of coordinator in the Compact’s intelligence network. He used your neutrality as cover. ”
“He wouldn’t do that. ”
“I’m sorry.
But that’s the truth. ”
She drew herself to full height, lifting her chin defiantly even as her heart hammered against her ribs. Then the pull flared, sudden and overwhelming. Not just warmth now, but heat, liquid and insistent, pooling low in her belly.
She saw the exact moment Kenton felt it too. His eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating. His breathing hitched. “Milly,” he said, his voice rough and low.
“Don’t,” she whispered, but it came out breathless and unconvincing. But he was already moving, and so was she. His hand cupped her face, her fingers twisted in his shirt, and their mouths met in the space between them. The kiss was not gentle.
It was desperate, fierce, all the anger and confusion and want she’d been burying for days rising to the surface in a rush. His lips were hot and demanding, and she matched him with equal intensity. Then reality crashed back. She shoved him away with both hands, stumbling backward.
“No. No, I—”
“Milly. ” Kenton reached for her, his eyes dark and intense. “Don’t touch me.
” She backed toward the tent entrance, her heart pounding. “I need to—I have to go. ”
“You feel it, don’t you? The pull.
You’ve been feeling it since the first time you touched me. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. ”
“You’re my mate. ”
A terrible silence hung between them.
“I’m what? ”
“The bond between us. It’s a mating bond. It happens between shifters and their fated partners.
You feel the pull because we’re bound. Destined. ”
“No. That’s not possible.
That doesn’t happen to humans. ”
“It’s rare. But not impossible. ”
“You’re lying.
This is just another way to control me, to take away my choice. ”
“I would never take away your choice. I swear to you, on my crown, on my life, I will not force you into anything. The bond exists.
I can’t change that. But what we do about it is still your choice. ”
She couldn’t think. The taste of him was still on her lips.
She ducked out of the tent into the cold afternoon air. She went straight to the stockade, vision blurred with unshed tears. She found Francis exactly where she’d left him, chained and bruised, and she dropped to her knees in the mud in front of him. “Tell me the truth,” she said, her voice shaking.
“Are you a rebel? Did you use my tavern? Did you use me? ”
His expression closed, and she knew.
He shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry. ”
“You’re sorry? I never wanted to stand against the king.
I just wanted to be neutral. You knew that, and you used me anyway. ”
“Neutrality wasn’t an option. It never was.
You’re more than naive if you ever thought it was a choice. ”
Milly recoiled as if she’d been struck. Naive. The word echoed in her head, mixing with Kenton’s “asset” and “calculation.
” Everyone had used her. The rebels. The crown. Even the people she’d thought were friends.
She ran. She didn’t leave her tent for two days. The king was almost recovered. Her work was done.
But the truth was harder to face. Francis was a rebel. The Crossroads had never been the neutral ground she’d believed it to be. And she was bound to the man who’d burned it all down.
She could leave, of course. No one was holding her. But to where? Before the Crossroads, she and her mother had been traveling healers, moving from settlement to settlement.
The war had taken everything from her. Her mother died in a stranger’s barn, festering from a wound that should have been minor. Milly had bought the failing tavern and rebuilt it board by board, scrubbed blood and ash from the floors until her hands bled. She’d given people a place to breathe.
But had her idealism made her naive? Someone cleared their throat at the tent flap. Hilda ducked inside. “Thought you should know.
The king commuted the execution order. Your friend Francis won’t hang. He’ll remain a prisoner until the war ends, but he’ll live. ”
Milly stared at her.
“Why? ”
“You’d have to ask him that. Though I can tell you his council wasn’t pleased. ”
That warmth tugged at her heart.
He’d listened. He’d actually listened. By the third day, she’d made her decision to leave. The king was recovering.
Her work was done. Staying here, near him, near that pull she couldn’t explain and didn’t want, would be impossible. She packed her kit, flung it over her shoulder, and stepped out of the tent. No one stopped her.
She passed the last row of tents, the sentry posts coming into view. The tug in her chest was starting to ache. She took a step forward. A hand clamped over her mouth.
An arm locked around her waist, dragging her sideways into the trees. She tried to scream, but the sound was muffled. She drove her elbow back hard, felt it connect with ribs, heard a grunt of pain. But the grip held fast.
Another figure stepped out of the trees ahead of her. A woman, scarred and sharp-eyed, wearing the rough leathers of a border fighter. A rebel. “Milli Voss,” the woman said.
“You’re coming with us. ”
She woke to rough voices and the smell of damp earth. Her head throbbed. Her hands were bound tightly behind her back.
She was sitting against a tree, and when she tried to move, a wave of dizziness washed over her. “My name is Romaine,” the scarred woman said, crouching in front of her. “You’re going to help us get Francis back. ”
“You’re going to exchange me for him,” Milly said.
“Smart girl. Among other demands. Safe passage to the border, supplies, a formal ceasefire for the northern territories. ”
“He won’t agree to that.
”
“He will if he wants you back alive. ”
They dragged her into a clearing half a mile from the camp and forced her to her knees. Archers positioned in the trees. Fighters along the tree line.
Then they waited. Somewhere deep down in her gut, she felt him coming before she saw him. Kenton stepped out of the trees, still pale, moving stiffly. Hilda walked at his shoulder.
And between them, hands bound but seemingly unharmed, was Francis. Kenton’s eyes found Milly’s across the distance, and something fierce and protective blazed in them. The bond surged in her chest. “Your Majesty,” Romaine called out.
“How good of you to come in person. ”
“Release her,” Kenton said. “And we’ll talk. ”
“First, let’s discuss terms.
We want Francis released, safe passage to the border for all of us, supplies, food, medicine, weapons, and a formal ceasefire in the northern territories for six months. ”
“Not happening,” Kenton said flatly. Romaine gestured, and one of the rebels grabbed Milly by the hair, yanking her head back. A knife appeared at her throat.
“Let’s try this again. ”
“I heard you the first time,” Kenton interrupted. His eyes hadn’t left Milly’s. “You don’t negotiate by putting a blade to someone’s throat.
That’s not negotiation. That’s blackmail. ”
“You burn villages. Execute prisoners.
You spend years grinding us into the mud, and you want to talk about playing dirty? ”
“I want to talk about ending this war,” Kenton said, taking a cautious step forward. “But not like this. ”
The knife pressed harder.
Milly felt the cold edge of it, the sting as it broke skin. Kenton’s nostrils flared, and he took another violent step forward before Hilda grabbed his shoulder. Romaine’s eyes narrowed, flicking from the king to Milly and back. “What have we here?
Has the ickle wickle king found himself a pet? ” She ran the knife in aimless circles down Milly’s neck, taking in her flushed cheeks, her heightened breathing. “She wouldn’t be your mate, would she? ”
Romaine let that sit for a few seconds before she burst out laughing.
“I wondered why you came yourself instead of sending someone expendable. ”
“Let her go,” Kenton said, and there was a tremor in his voice, barely controlled fury. “And I’ll give you Francis. No other conditions.
Just let her go. ”
“And the rest of our demands? ”
“We can discuss them. After you release her.
”
Francis spoke up. “Romaine, let her go. She’s not part of this. ”
“She became part of this the moment the king decided she mattered to him.
”
“She’s a civilian. You want to spill innocent blood, too? ”
In that moment, Kenton made his move. “I’ll negotiate.
A real negotiation. For a peace treaty, not a ceasefire. A treaty. Representatives from both sides, neutral ground, terms that both of us can live with.
” He paused. “But only if you let Millie go. Right now. ”
The clearing went silent.
“You can’t be serious,” Romaine said. “We bleed each other dry for what? Pride? Territory that’s been scorched beyond recognition?
” He looked at Francis. “You wanted the borderlands to be safe. I want the kingdom to be whole. Maybe there’s a way to give us both what we need.
”
Francis looked stunned. Then he nodded slowly. “I’ll back that. A real treaty.
My people will listen if I tell them it’s worth it. ”
Romaine looked between them, then down at Milly. “Fine. ” She gestured, and the knife pulled back.
“Send Francis over, and she’s yours. ”
Kenton nodded to Hilda, who cut Francis’s bonds and gave him a shove forward. Francis walked across the clearing slowly, hands raised. Milly was hauled to her feet, her bonds sliced, and she started to cross as well.
She caught Francis’s eyes, and he gave her a wink. Then she glanced across at Kenton, who was fixing her with an intensely worried expression. Their eyes locked, and she lost herself in those soft brown eyes. The bond sang between them.
And then, just as she was about to reach him, one of the rebels—a young man she hadn’t noticed before—lunged forward with a blade aimed at Kenton’s back. “No! ” Milly screamed. She threw herself forward, shoving the king aside just as the attacker’s blade came down.
Pain exploded across her side. She heard shouting, felt hands grabbing her, felt the world tilt sideways. Then Kenton’s arms were around her, catching her as she fell. His voice was in her ear, desperate.
“Millie. Millie, stay with me. ”
But the edges of her vision were already going dark. The last thing she felt was the bond blazing bright and fierce between them, pulling her down into the dark.
She woke to lamplight and the smell of clean linen. Her side ached, a deep throbbing pain that sharpened when she tried to move. “Don’t move,” Kenton said, his voice low and careful. She was back in the camp, in a tent she didn’t recognize.
Kenton sat beside her, his shirt rumpled, stained with what looked like blood. Her blood. “What happened? ” she asked.
“You saved my life. Again. I thought—I thought you were going to die. ”
“Nightshade isn’t dangerous to humans.
”
“A bad wound is. Infected. Dirty. Milly, you could have died.
”
The fear in his voice made her chest tighten. She studied his face, the way he couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Thank you for coming to save me. ”
“How could I not?
You’re my mate. I would have burned the world down to get you back. ”
Her heart stuttered. The bond hummed between them, warm and insistent.
“I don’t expect you to feel the same,” he added quickly. “I know I can’t ask you to accept it just because it exists. But that doesn’t change what you are to me. ”
“What happened with the rebels?
” she asked, changing the subject before she could do something stupid like cry. “Francis and I are working on negotiations. Representatives from both sides. Neutral ground.
Mediators. ”
Milly stared at him. “You and Francis, working together? ” She almost laughed.
The man who’d burned down her tavern and the man who’d stabbed him with a poisoned blade, sitting down together to negotiate peace. “I meant it when I said I wanted to end this war. And it seems your friend meant it too. ”
“He’s not really my friend anymore,” Milly murmured.
“That’s not the impression I’ve got of him. Since he’s been awake, he speaks of little but your kindness at the crossroads. Not to mention standing up for you when that rebel had a knife at your throat. ”
Milly thought about Francis.
About the betrayal and the years of lies. But in the end, he’d still tried to protect her. “You should rest,” Kenton said, starting to stand. “Wait,” Milly said, her hand shooting out to catch his wrist.
He froze. “Stay. ”
He sat back down, slowly, carefully. “I felt you coming,” she admitted.
“Before I saw you at the exchange. I felt the bond pulling, telling me you were close. ”
She reached for his hand properly, threading her fingers through his. “The bond gets stronger when we’re near each other,” Kenton said quietly.
“Especially in moments of high emotion. ”
“When I was walking toward you, and our eyes met, I felt it. I’ve been feeling it since I first laid my hands on you. And I didn’t even like you back then.
I kind of hated you. ”
Kenton’s breath caught. “I’m still angry about the crossroads,” she said, because she needed him to know all of it. “I know.
”
“But I know that when I saw that blade coming toward you, the idea of you dying—” Her voice cracked. Kenton leaned forward, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “You burned down my home,” she said. “You’re stubborn and ruthless, and you make terrible decisions when you think you’re being practical.
” She watched his mouth twitch. “But you also know how to admit when you’re wrong. Rare in a man. You spared Francis.
You came for me. ”
She pressed his hand to her chest where the bond hummed and sang between them. “I don’t know what having a mate means exactly. But I do know what I feel for you.
”
Kenton stared at her, hope breaking across his face like sunrise. “And what do you feel? ”
She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small smile tugging at her lips. “I feel like you’re an idiot if you even need to ask.
” Then her voice went soft. “And I also feel like I love you. ”
For a moment, Kenton went perfectly still. Then his face crumpled, all the careful control he’d been maintaining shattering.
“Millie,” he breathed. She closed the last of the distance between them and kissed him. This kiss was different from the first. Gentle.
Intentional. A choice they were both making with open eyes. “I love you, too,” he whispered against her lips. “Good,” Milly said, her thumb brushing along his cheekbone.
“Because you owe me a tavern. And I’m not letting you off the hook so easily. ”
Kenton laughed, a real laugh, bright and unguarded. “I’ll build you a dozen taverns if you want them.
”
“Just one will do. But it better have west-facing windows. ”
“For the sunsets,” he agreed. And when he kissed her again, slow and sweet and full of promise, she let herself fall completely into it.
Into him. Into this impossible bond. Into a future she’d never imagined but suddenly couldn’t wait to build.
