Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
He lowers his head, and for a moment, I can’t read him. My breath burns, caught in my chest.
There’s a quiet fierceness in the way he looks at me—unflinching, unguarded.
I don’t understand it. I don’t know what he’s asking.
After all these years, I should. But my thoughts have scattered like leaves in a storm, and my heart beats so loudly I swear he must hear it.
My pulse flurries fast enough that my body turns light and all I can think about is how breathless I am.
I press my lips together—
And then he kisses me.
It’s not sweet. Not slow. One hand anchors me while the other cradles the back of my head as Mallen grips my hair as though their strands might slip through his fingers.
His mouth moves over mine and I’m startled.
It’s everything, but I don’t know what I’m doing. Gods, I don’t even know how to breathe.
My lips part out of instinct, not certainty, and I mimic him—clumsy, breathless, burning.
This isn’t how I imagined my first kiss.
I imagined warmth. Certainty. A sense of readiness. Too many times I’d half-dreamed it would be Mallen, but now I’m swept away in him. By him. I’ve stepped off the edge of a sheer cliff face and I haven’t figured out if I’m falling or flying.
His teeth graze my bottom lip and I flinch. His tongue brushes mine and I taste him—smoke and winter spice and something I can’t name. Something older. Something born before fire had a name. He is too much. Too close. And I can’t keep up.
He pulls back slowly, like he’s loath to end it. His forehead rests against mine and for too many racing heartbeats, neither of us moves. I don’t want him to move.
I am shaking. Not from fear. Not from cold.
His voice is soft as he whispers, “Azhara. Have me instead.”
My mouth falls open. My arms and legs seem heavy, barely responding. The world sounds muffled. His words don’t make sense at first. They ring like a bell that hasn’t finished echoing.
My breath catches. Mallen—protector, shadow, constant. He’s never touched me like this before, never hinted.
“I…” My words tangle.
I didn’t see this coming.
Not from him. Not like this. Not now.
He tenses, bracing. My hesitation is a storm he’s already preparing for.
Mallen’s expression falters. “I’ve wanted you for years,” he says.
“I’ve stood at your side, kept guard when you slept, and learned the shape of your silences and the weight of your courage.
You’ve never been a duty. Just a choice I made a thousand times over.
But if this isn’t what you want—say so.”
His arms don’t tighten, but they hold firm while his gaze rakes over me like he’s searching for a sign.
For some proof I won’t vanish. I’m not sure I’m built for this kind of tenderness, and one more breath from him might scatter me like dust. I’ve stepped into a moment too delicate to survive, and Mallen just stares at me, like he’s waiting for just one word from me and he’ll give me the world and all the stars.
I am small and trembling and unmoored.
And still—I don’t want to run.
Because just like that, the world tilted. I could say no. I could walk away.
I could stay.
Or keep falling and let him catch me.
I reach for him, desperate for an anchor.
His tunic bunches between my fingers and I’m half-tempted to cling to it.
But my mind is pulling me in every direction.
Duty. Magic. The Reaping. The man from Larksbind I’m meant to marry when they win.
The peace that union would promise. The kingdom I’m meant to protect.
All of it feels brittle now. Distant. Like a future meant for someone else.
“We can’t,” I whisper.
He lifts my chin, carefully—never demanding, only asking.
My eyes meet his and I see the ache he’s been carrying.
The devotion he’s hidden behind distance.
He’s only four years older than me, but that’s not what sets him apart.
It’s the grief in him. The depth of his restraint.
He never speaks of the wound; he only keeps watch over what it made of him.
“Why not?” he asks. “You can choose a man from Starsfall.”
“It would mean war,” I breathe.
He gives a small, rueful smile. “Wars have been fought for less, Azhara. I’ve killed for you before. And I would burn a thousand kingdoms if they tried to take you from me.”
I swallow hard. There’s no fire in his voice. No posturing. Just quiet certainty. It chills me more than if he’d shouted.
My gaze traces the sharp lines of his face—the scars, the strength.
The dark hair that makes him seem more menacing than he is, and the emerald eyes that pierce my thoughts.
The way he moves like he was forged to endure and overcome.
He’s beautiful in a way that almost frightens me. Lethal in the way he holds it all back.
He’s been my antagonist, my protector, my shadow, and my shield. I never thought he could be anything more. Never thought he’d want anything more. But now that possibility hangs in the air between us like lightning waiting to strike, like snowdrops daring to rise from the frozen earth.
“Why tell me now?”
“You ran. I thought I had more time. I didn’t realize how close I was to losing you.”
“You don’t love me,” I say, because I need to hear it.
His brows knit, a crease of disbelief drawing across his forehead. “You truly haven’t seen it?”
I glance away. “You’ve mocked me more often than I can remember. You hate the parades and formal receptions where you’re forced to smile at my side. And let’s not forget all the times you told me I wasn’t strong enough. That I was soft.”
“You were,” he says, not unkindly. “I needed you to survive.”
A breath leaves me.
His hand curls around my fingers. It dwarfs my hand, as his frame dwarfs mine. “I pushed you to make you harder. Stronger. Not to break you. Because I wanted you to endure.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m left sorting through memories that seem different now that he’s told me this truth.
And gods, I believe him. Because Mallen never acts without a reason.
Now, what was cold and calculated has also become an act of devotion, and all those mornings he made me spar in frostbitten dawns take on an entirely different meaning.
“I didn’t know,” I murmur.
He leans in, presses his lips to my cheek with aching reverence. His fingers thread through my hair and a quiet sound escapes me. A whimper. Gods, it’s small and helpless.
“You deserve to feel,” he says. “More than duty. More than fear. I’ve never used or held your wants or wishes against you. I would die before I let anyone else try.”
I try to turn away again, but he doesn’t let me. Not with force. Just the press of his gaze. Just the steady warmth of his hand on the small of my back.
“Azhara. You must have known. The way I watched you. The way I never stopped watching.”
I shake my head, too overwhelmed to speak.
And then he says it again, quieter than before. “Do you care for me?”
The words root me in place. His voice is low, and dark with a different kind of danger—the danger of being seen. Of being known.
Every path is a risk. Every decision comes with consequence.
And in a life of never having choices, I don’t know how to handle having one.
“I don’t know if I’m allowed,” I say. “I’m supposed to marry someone from Larksbind. I don’t know if I’m brave enough to want what will hurt this many people.”
“You are,” he says, without hesitation. “You know you can choose.”
I wish I knew which one he meant.
My throat tightens. “You serve my father.”
“I serve you,” he answers, leaving no room for argument. Or doubt. “Always you. Only you.”
He kisses me again—not hard, not wild. Just slow. And devastating.
And I let myself fall.
“Was that better?” he rasps as he breaks the kiss, and the words scrape over me like a knife sheathed in silk.
Mallen takes my chin, fingers firm but reverent, guiding my face back to his. He smiles like a man with the sun in his hands, like this moment is everything he’s ever wanted. His gaze drinks me in slowly, possessively, savoring the effect he has on me.
There’s no need to rush when you own the hourglass.
“You’re serious?” I whisper. “What about my magic? We can’t. It’s too dangerous to release. Even the gods—”
He inclines his head, not in challenge but acknowledgment. Calm. Grounded. His gaze holds a storm, but it’s not fury I sense. I cannot name this emotion, only feel it, like a thunderstorm running along the edges of my skin.
“The only force that could turn me from this path,” he says, voice low and deliberate, “is you. Am I without hope?”
I shake my head, wordless.
His eyes search mine, fierce and vulnerable. As if he’s bracing for impact and hoping, quietly, that I’ll spare him.
“You’re in every breath I take,” he says. “You’re not a need, Azhara. You’re not even a want. You’re a truth. A foundation I build my soul around.” His voice softens. “I only hope I haven’t failed in showing you.”
His fingers graze my sternum, featherlight. A question, not a claim.
“I see no proof your magic is any more dangerous than your father’s,” he continues.
“And if it truly is, I will face it. I don’t think your magic is wicked.
I think it simply is. And I would far rather bear the consequences of having you than I would have you bear any man, any army, or any fate that tries to cage you. ”
I blink up at him, speechless.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” I whisper.
“You expected to run,” he says, almost playful. “You still can try, but we both know your father won’t let you get very far. And if you stay, I won’t trap you. I’ll walk beside you, step for step, as long as you’ll have me. Until you decide otherwise.”
I believe him.
Not just because of his words. Because of the way he waits. The way he gives me time to decide. The way he needs me to know it’s still my choice.