Chapter 16 - Keira
KEIRA
Istand in the doorway of Amisra's bedroom, one hand braced against the frame like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
The room is dark save for the moonlight filtering through gauze curtains, casting everything in shades of silver and shadow. Not quite sunrise. That liminal space between night and morning where the world feels suspended, waiting for something to shift.
I watched him carry her inside hours ago.
Watched as Valas gathered Amisra against his chest like she weighed nothing, her tear-stained face pressed to his shoulder, her small fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt.
The tenderness in the gesture had gutted me even as I forced myself to stay back, to give them the space they needed.
He'd laid down beside her in the narrow bed, curling his tall frame around her small one. Soothed her with soft words I couldn't quite hear from the hallway, ran his fingers through her tangled hair until her breathing evened out. Until she finally, finally fell asleep.
I'd given them that. Given them the privacy to grieve together, to find whatever comfort they could in each other's presence.
Because they needed it. Because Amisra deserves to know she's not alone, that Uncle Val isn't going anywhere, that someone still loves her even though her world has been torn apart.
But standing here watching them—watching the rise and fall of their breathing, the way Valas's arm is still wrapped protectively around the child even in sleep—something twists sharp and painful beneath my ribs.
I can't do this.
Can't give in the way Amisra did. Can't trust him, can't let my guard down, can't just... forget what he is to me now.
He owns me.
The reality of it sits like a stone in my chest. No matter how kind he's been, no matter how much I want to believe the careful distance he's maintained means something, the legal truth is inescapable. I'm his property. He could demand anything from me and I'd have no choice but to comply.
The contract gives him power over every aspect of my life. Where I go. What I do. Who I see. Whether I stay or leave or breathe without permission.
How am I supposed to just... get over that?
How am I supposed to look at him and not see the cage his ownership represents, even if he never actually uses it?
I told myself I wouldn't let this happen. Told myself I'd keep my walls up, that I'd protect my heart from getting tangled up in impossible situations. That I'd never be stupid enough to fall for a dark elf who could own me.
And yet here I am.
Feeling like my chest is splitting open every time I see him. Every time I hear his voice through the door when he asks—never demands, always asks—if I'm alright. If I need anything. If we can please just talk.
I hate how much I want to say yes.
Movement draws my attention back to the bed. Valas shifts, his breathing changing from the slow rhythm of sleep to something sharper, more ragged. His fingers twitch against the blanket. Magic sparks at his fingertips—brief flashes of violet light that illuminate his knuckles before fading.
A nightmare.
I should leave. Should go back to my room and pretend I wasn't standing here watching him sleep like some kind of—
He jerks hard enough that Amisra stirs. A soft whimper escapes her and my feet are moving before I can think better of it.
I cross the room in near-silence, my hand reaching for his shoulder on instinct. The same instinct that used to guide me when children in my care had bad dreams, when they needed someone to pull them back from whatever darkness they'd fallen into.
"Valas." I keep my voice low, gentle. My palm settles against the curve of his shoulder and I feel the tension coiled through him, the way his muscles are locked tight with whatever he's seeing behind his closed eyes. "Hey. Wake up."
His eyes snap open—violet irises catching the moonlight, unfocused and wild for a heartbeat before clarity filters back in. He takes a sharp breath, then another, his gaze finding mine in the dimness.
For a moment we just stare at each other. I'm acutely aware of my hand still resting on his shoulder, of how close I'm standing to the bed, of the fact that this is the first time I've willingly touched him since learning about the contract.
Then he carefully extracts himself from Amisra's embrace, sliding out of the bed with practiced care. She doesn't wake, just curls into the warm space he left behind and keeps sleeping.
He gestures toward the door.
I follow him into the hallway, pulling Amisra's door closed until only a crack remains. Enough to hear if she calls out but giving us privacy for whatever this conversation is about to become.
The hallway feels smaller with both of us in it.
Valas stands close enough that I could reach out and touch him again if I wanted to.
Close enough that I can see the exhaustion carved into his features, the grief still raw in his eyes, the way his hands shake slightly before he clasps them behind his back.
"I never wanted this." The words rush out before I can turn away, before I can retreat back to the safety of distance and walls.
He looks like he's barely holding himself together.
"The contract, Keira. I never wanted to own you.
I didn't even know Daryn had structured his will that way until the k'sheng read it.
He told me he needed me to take care of Amisra and he wanted you to stay.
But I didn't realize he made it that way. I swear to you, I had no idea."
I want to believe him. Gods, I want to. But wanting and trusting are different things, and I've learned the hard way not to confuse the two.
"It doesn't matter if you wanted it." My voice comes out quieter than I intended, but steady. "You have it now. You own me."
I've thought about it so much. About how Daryn begged me to understand. Now, I get why he asked that.
I do understand why he did it. But that doesn't change how I feel right now.
"No." He shakes his head, something fierce sparking in his expression.
"I don't care what some piece of parchment says.
I don't care about titles or legal ownership or any of that political garbage the k'sheng spouts.
If you want to walk away from me—if you want to leave this house, leave Pyrthos, go wherever you please—you can.
And I will never punish you for it. Do you understand? Never."
The intensity in his voice makes my breath catch. He takes a step closer and I don't move back, even though every instinct screams at me to protect myself.
"I took months to get to know you." His hands lift like he wants to reach for me, then drop back to his sides like he doesn't trust himself to touch.
"Months of being careful, of going slow, of making sure you never felt forced or pressured or obligated.
Because I didn't want your compliance. I wanted you.
I wanted you to choose this—choose us—because you actually wanted it, not because you had no other option. "
"Valas—"
"Can't you see that?" There's desperation threading through his words now, cracking the careful control he usually maintains.
"Can't you see that I don't give a damn about contracts or ownership or power?
All I want is to have you by my side. All I want is to keep Amisra safe and figure out how to build something good from this wreckage Daryn left us with.
Contract or not, you have a room here. You have a place with that little girl. You have—"
He breaks off, running a hand through his hair, making the already disheveled strands stand in new directions. The gesture is so familiar it hurts. I've watched him do it a hundred times when he's frustrated or overwhelmed or trying to solve a problem that won't yield to logic.
"You have me," he finishes quietly. "If you want me. But only if you actually want me, Keira. Not because some document says you belong to me."
The words settle between us like stones dropping into still water. Ripples spreading outward, disturbing the careful distance I've been maintaining.
I can see the truth of what he's saying written across his face. The grief and exhaustion and raw honesty that he's never been good at hiding from me. He means it. Every word.
And that terrifies me more than the contract ever could.
Because if I believe him—if I let myself trust that he's different, that he actually sees me as a person worth choosing—then I'm vulnerable in ways I swore I'd never be again.
I'm opening myself up to being hurt, to being disappointed, to discovering that even good intentions can turn poisonous when power dynamics get involved.
But standing here in the pre-dawn darkness, watching him come apart in front of me, I can't quite hold onto the anger that's been keeping me safe these past four days.
"I just need... time." The admission feels like peeling back armor, exposing soft flesh underneath. "I need time to process this. To figure out how to—"
"I know." He cuts me off gently, his expression softening into something that looks almost like relief. "I've always given you time, haven't I? Since the day we met. Since the first conversation in the kitchen when you were so determined to keep me at arm's length."
A ghost of a smile touches his mouth, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it.
"I'll give you all the time you need," he continues. "Take weeks. Take months. Take however long it takes for you to feel safe again. I'm not going anywhere."
He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice drops lower, rougher.
"Just please... don't shut me out completely. Don't lock yourself away in that room and refuse to even speak to me. I can handle you being angry. I can handle you not trusting me yet. But I can't—"
His voice cracks and he has to stop, has to take a breath and collect himself before finishing.
"I can't lose you too. Not after Daryn. I can't."
The confession breaks something inside me. Some last bit of resistance that's been holding firm against the pull I feel toward him.
Because he's right. He has always given me time. Has never pushed, never demanded, never used his position or his magic or his considerable presence to coerce me into anything. Even now, owning my contract, he's asking. Giving me choice where the law says I have none.
And I've been shutting him out. Punishing him for Daryn's decision. Making him suffer alone with his grief because I was too afraid to trust what we'd been building.
Slowly—so slowly I can feel the weight of the decision in every muscle—I nod.
"Okay," I whisper. "I won't... I won't shut you out."