“Heartcut.”
“We do it together,” he said.
I marked both our names.
“Palm and Heart Link.”
“Your cut in her palm,” I said. “Hers in yours. My palm over her chest. Hers over mine. Meet in the middle.”
He wrote it out in the margin next to —four cuts, two hearts, one vow.
“Claiming act,” I said.
“You take her first in the Atrium,” he replied.
“You finish it when the room goes dark,” I told him.
“Private completion.”
“Law says we finish in her. Ours says she feels both.”
No argument.
“Lock-In,” I said. “She won’t leave for a week.”
“She won’t want to,” Luca replied, but his eyes were already onTraining His Pet.
We both knew the law by memory. I leaned forward. “We taking a line each, or both of us on every one?”
He considered it. “If we split them, she’ll learn the difference between us faster. Know whose hand’s on her and what it means.”
“And if we do them together,” I countered, “she learns there’s no daylight between us. That whatever one says, the other enforces.”
His mouth curved slightly. “Both on every line, then. Double weight. Double reinforcement.”
“Fine,” I said, marking it in the margin. “First day, obedience and expectation. Second, public formality versus private possession. Third, emotional loyalty. Fourth, surrender. Last three, dynasty customs — we layer it until she’s living them without thought.”
“She’ll fight,” Luca said, not as warning but as promise.
“She’ll submit,” I answered, not as hope but as fact.
“Collar,” I said, turning the page.
Most Dynasty’s kept collars traditional, as wedding rings. Crows preferred necklaces. Rings were an option, and we weren’t limited to one choice.
“We need it redesigned, the first one doesn’t suit her now.”
Luca nodded once. “Jeweler comes here. She gets measured in our house.”
“Good,” I said. “Crow crest within the design. Lock hidden at the back. Only we take it off.”
He leaned back. “I want the click when it locks.”
“So she knows,”
We both sat with that for a second. The sound of it. The weight of it. It made my blood rush, just thinking about it.
“She’ll have two,” I said finally. “One for the world. Formal. Heavy. They see it and know who she belongs to. Then one for us. Everyday. Lighter. Something that rests against her skin when no one else is looking.”
