Chapter 27 #2
Imani took in the shared sitting area, a single writing desk bridging the divide, and a bed large enough to dominate the floor plan without feeling performative.
The staff had arranged the room to project unity while preserving their separate spheres.
Draped silks softened high ceilings, and tall, sheer-veiled windows caught the fading light.
Arrangements of white blooms mirrored the ceremonial arches, their fragrance filling the room.
She liked it immensely, but the moment they were alone, the court's noise dulled to a distant hum, leaving an awkward silence in its wake.
The binding magic still hummed unseen, thrumming in her chest with an intimate, unnerving closeness.
Despite the ancient magic now lashing them together, she hardly knew the man standing across the room.
And now, there was no distance left to hide behind.
Ellisar didn’t rush to speak as he watched her set down the bouquet and unlace the ribbons in her hair.
“Does it feel different from Kiran?” he asked finally, his voice so low it barely rippled the quiet.
“Yes,” she said, playing with one of the ribbons. “But not the way I expected.”
His mouth curved into a faint, wry line. “Good.”
She arched a brow. “That’s not what most people would say.”
“No,” he agreed, stepping a fraction closer—not enough to breach her space, but enough to alter its gravity. “Most people want a bond to feel inevitable. It’s easier to swallow when you convince yourself you never had a choice. But I’ve never believed in that.”
Imani held his stare with one of her own. “Why not?”
“Because inevitability removes responsibility.” He spoke the words as if they were a long-held creed. “If it’s fate, it isn’t a decision. It isn’t something you have to defend when it becomes inconvenient. Or difficult. Or costly.”
Imani wrapped her arms around her waist and turned toward the window, desperate for a respite from the sudden, surging intensity in her chest. Did he feel it too? This terrifying vulnerability?
Ellisar positioned himself within her view so she couldn’t miss him. “Anyone can worship a mark. Anyone can bow to what the stars declare as their destiny.” A short pause. “Few people truly choose their path with awareness.”
The words struck closer to the bone than she had expected.
“Is that what this is to you?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “A choice you’re standing behind?”
Ellisar’s dark eyes didn’t waver. “Yes.”
Her throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. She’d never considered that a calculated political choice could feel so much like safety. She had never felt safe a day in her life, or at least that she could remember. “And if it becomes costly?” she asked.
“It already is.” He didn’t blink. “That doesn’t change the decision.”
An ache bloomed in her chest. It was an entirely alien sensation.
Where her heartmate bond with Kiran was a frantic, clawing instinct—a manipulative gravity that pulled and claimed and never asked permission to exist—this was something else entirely.
What stood before her now was a fortress she had walked into, held together by mutual will rather than brute force.
“I don’t know if I can give you that in return,” she whispered, the admission tasting like ash. “Not in the same way.”
Ellisar dragged a hand through his silver hair, a rare crack in his composure.
“I know.”
“You know what?” she pressed.
“I know you still love him.”
Her entire body stiffened, but Ellisar merely shrugged. “There is no point pretending otherwise.”
She licked her lips. “That… that doesn’t bother you?”
“I never said that.” His jaw flexed. “I dislike it considerably,” he continued.
“I dislike that part of you answers him before you have decided whether you want it to. I dislike knowing that if he walked into this room, I would feel the change in you before you said his name.” His mouth thinned. “And I dislike him.”
Despite everything, a small, incredulous laugh escaped her. “That last part I gathered.”
“I thought I had been subtle.”
“I don’t think most people are subtle when it comes to hating Kiran.”
“Hmm. Unfortunate.” His small smile fell. “But none of that makes your feelings a crime.” Ellisar stepped closer, stopping before the closeness became too invasive. “I am not going to punish you because you loved someone before you chose me.”
“It isn’t before,” she said, hating how vulnerable she sounded, expecting him to recoil.
Ellisar tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”
The room tilted as she nearly leaned into his hand.
“I still love him,” she rasped.
His nostrils flared, but he didn’t move away. “And I told you it’s okay.”
“You keep saying that…” she trailed off.
“Because you keep expecting the answer to change.”
Imani looked away, feeling unbearably exposed. Perhaps some part of her had been wanting his anger or frustration.
“I knew what Kiran was to you before I agreed to this. I knew the bond existed. I knew you hated him, and I knew hatred was not the only thing holding you to him.” He paused. “I chose you knowing that.”
Her head snapped back up. “And if part of me always answers him?”
Ellisar rubbed a hand across his jaw, thinking.
Imani held her breath.
“Then part of you always answers him,” he said, finally.
His expression hardened slightly as he added, “That does not mean I will stand aside while he harms you. It does not mean I will tolerate him threatening this realm. And if he comes for you as though you are something he can collect, he and I will have a problem.”
“That sounds like jealousy.”
“It is jealousy.” Ellisar gave a small shrug. “I am capable of jealousy without making it your punishment.”