For a moment, I heard only the sound of our breathing.
Then movement.
Callis rose without dressing, crossed the floor naked and unafraid, and reached for my hand. Hetook it gently in both of his, then knelt. Looking up at me, his eyes wide and solemn, he said:
“I swear it. I will remain.”
The bond pulsed between us like a living heart.
And for a moment, I could almost believe it was joy.
Chapter
Ten
CALLIS
The bond didn’t feel like rope anymore.
It no longer pulled or pressed. It curled, soft and warm, like fingers around my wrist—not dragging me, not restraining me, just… holding. Tethered, yes. But willingly. Willingly.
I had not known freedom could feel like this.
Each night spent in Auren’s arms seemed to dissolve another layer of the silence I’d wrapped around myself for years. My body didn’t feel foreign anymore. My skin didn’t flush with shame at desire. I kissed him without fear. I reached for him. I held his gaze. And every time he let out that soft sound—half gasp, half prayer—something inside me unknotted.
The bond pulsed steadily now, never intrusive. A warmth behind the ribs. A sense of breath I hadn’t taken. I felt it most when he touched me absentmindedly, when our fingers brushed reaching for a page, when he pressed a peach into my hand at breakfast.
We didn’t talk about what had changed.
We didn’t need to.
It was near midday when he asked me to walk with him.
I had just finished sorting through a collection of shellbound tablets in his study. He came in quietly, took my hand, and led me wordlessly through the outer halls. No robes. Just loose tunics belted at the waist, and sandals that slapped faintly against warm stone as we walked.
The gardens shimmered under the noon light. Vines curled along white trellises, citrus trees cast small patches of shade, and the wind smelled of crushed mint and fig. I couldn’t tell if anyone watched us from the windows, and I didn’t care. He walked beside me slowly, almost lazily, like we had all the time in the world.
“How long,” I asked softly, “have you lived here?”
Auren tilted his head toward the palms, fingers brushing a leaf as we passed. “Since I was seventeen. My third temple. I thought I’d hate it.”
“And now?”
A small smile. “Now I can’t imagine leaving.”
We wandered beyond the southern pergola, past the path where the statues grew less ornate and the air heavier with greenery. Soon, the outer orchards opened before us—low trees bending under the weight of gold-blushed fruit.
“Peaches,” I said, brightening. “They’re nearly overripe.”
“Indeed.” He plucked one from a low branch and handed it to me.
I turned it in my hands, still warm from the sun, before biting into it. The skin split easily. The juice ran down my thumb. I licked it off absently.
When I looked up, Auren was staring.
His gaze lingered on the corner of my mouth.
He stepped closer.
