THIRTY-FIVE #3
This moment feels too fragile, so I try to lighten it. “Well, I don’t think my brother wants me back.” I shrug like this doesn’t matter. I’d rather be wherever Bishop is, but it still hurts. “And you did tell me your name, so …”
Things are getting serious.
His fingers sink into my hips, and he drags me a little closer. “Now, about that promise. If I lose control, if I lose myself …”
“I’ll find you.” Fear meets the anger still smoldering low inside me and hardens into resolve.
But he continues. “Stop me. You’re the only one who can.”
I pull back just enough to search his eyes, my hands still gripping him like anchors. But I’m no longer tethering him; I’m trying to keep myself from drowning. “I can’t. I won’t be able to.”
“You’re the only one who ever could.”
Sadness floods his eyes as if he’s speaking of a future that’s set in stone. His face settles into the hard lines that tell me he’s already made up his mind. “If it happens, end me. The world won’t survive my birthright if I ever give in again.”
I go completely still, my body trying to decide what to do with this warning.
“No.” I squeeze my eyes shut, like maybe when I open them, we’ll be lying in bed together and it will be morning and all of this will have been a dream. But when I open them, he’s still there. “I can’t.”
“You can.” His mouth twitches as if he’s aiming for a smile. But he misses the mark entirely. “I trained you, remember? You know all the mistakes I make.”
There’s nothing funny about it. I shake my head. “I’ve never won a fight with you.”
And deep down, somewhere that hurts, I know I won’t win this one. That I’d save him no matter the cost.
“Say my name. It will bring me to my knees,” he whispers, like the idea breaks his heart a little, too. “Only you can do it. Because you’re the one who found him … found me.”
He’s not giving me control. He’s trusting me.
Bishop reaches up and covers the hands still gripping his face. “Promise me.” His thumb strokes the back of my hand. “Please.”
It’s the please that kills me, and I don’t even try to stop the tears from falling. “I promise.”
He tilts his head and nods once. “Good girl.”
There’s no thank you. No hesitation. Just the terrible understanding that neither of us can deny the other.
Because this is what trust looks like in our world. Not vows whispered in candlelight. Not promises of forever. It’s a blade placed in your hand and the faith that you’ll know when to use it.
Bishop is trusting me with the thing he fears most. Himself.
The thought sits heavily on my chest. Not because I’m afraid of what he might become, but because of what’s stirring inside me. The mark over my heart burns, hot enough that I almost reach for it.
I don’t.
Hadrian said that omens aren’t binding. That the stars point the way, but they don’t ultimately decide our paths.
That the harbinger is a warning, not destiny.
I want to believe him, but every day it becomes a little harder to ignore that something’s changing inside me.
Something that calls to my grief and anger. How much longer until I answer?
The silence between us stretches, loaded with what we refuse to name—what we’re afraid we’ll become.
And I know what I have to do.
“If it comes …” The mark blazes with warning. “If the worst happens ….”
His eyes narrow with the look he usually gets right before he gives me an order he knows I’m going to ignore. “Arden—”
“I’ll find you,” I say again.
His jaw tightens.
“And if I can’t bring you back?” The question hangs like a heavy sigh.
His eyes close for just a second. Finally, he nods.
I force myself to speak around the knot in my throat. “Then I’ll do what you asked.”
A mix of pain and relief flashes across his face before it disappears beneath the mask he wears for everyone else. But I’m not done.
“If it comes,” I whisper, “I’m not letting you face it alone. If it comes … we’ll pay the price together.”
He starts to protest, but I shush him. “Try to stop me.” I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his. “You don’t get to be the only noble one.”
“What I’m asking isn’t noble.”
I draw back just enough that I can look him in the eyes. “Yes, it is.” I trace the outline of his lips. “You are noble. You are good, and I … forgive you. For all of it. I release you, Endymion.”
For a moment, we stay locked like this, and then I whisper, “Fly.”
And he does.
To me.
The promise lingering on our lips tastes bittersweet as his mouth meets mine. But he surges to his feet, carrying me with him.
Because wherever this man goes, I will follow.
His hands worship every part of me by firelight, each of us searching for and sharing those hidden parts of ourselves. When there is nothing left but embers and quiet breaths, he rests against my chest, a hand still tangled in my hair.
But I lie awake, watching the shadows move across the ceiling, plagued by unwanted thoughts as my mind drifts.
Soon, I have to face the queen. Leave the safety of this moment. Answer questions or prove myself worthy. All with his name sitting on my tongue like a coin I’m not supposed to spend.
I close my eyes and try to sleep.
I don’t.
Because deep down, I know Bishop isn’t the one we should fear.