26. Willa
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WILLA
The oversized truck appeared at the end of the dirt road just after nine the next morning, dust rising behind it in a pale cloud. Traig stood at the window of our home, his hands loose at his sides, watching the scribe’s vehicle crawl closer.
I’d made coffee this morning, but I’d barely touched it. The mug sat on the counter, cold now, a ring of cream settled on the top.
Fred floated near the kitchen doorway, his grumbling pitched lower than usual.
Amanda rode his back, her crown cycling between orange and yellow.
She’d tossed aside her stick after stealing a letter opener from Drogar’s desk yesterday, sword-shaped, with a brass handle.
She brandished it now, commanding her army of one. Two, I supposed when we counted Fred.
The vehicle pulled up outside, and the engine cut.
Traig didn’t move from the window.
“He’s here,” I said.
“Yes.”
The door of the vehicle opened. Scribe Kelthren exited, his dark robes settling around him as he straightened. He looked exactly the same as he had almost a month ago: formal and composed.
Traig stepped back from the window.
I took his hand, squeezing it tight. Would this be the last time we’d touch?
The scribe knocked on the door, and Traig opened it.
“Scribe Kelthren,” he said.
“Traig Valtresh. Willa Enford.” The scribe’s gaze swept past us, taking in my jacket beside Traig’s. My boots lined up next to his larger ones. All my things scattered across our home.
His eyes landed on Fred.
Fred grumbled, the sound dropping into a register I’d never heard before. Almost territorial. Amanda’s crown went bright orange. She lifted her tiny sword and pointed it at the scribe.
The male’s mouth tightened.
“May I enter?” he asked.
“Of course.” Traig stepped to the side, gesturing.
The scribe walked in, his robes brushing the doorframe. He stopped in the living room, his gaze moving around the room, taking in the blanket I’d left draped over the back of the couch. My notebook on the side table, open to a half-finished entry.
This wasn’t the cottage he’d assessed a month ago. It had been staged then. Now it looked lived-in. Ours. And he could tell.
“The Council has reached their determination,” he said, his gaze returning to us both.
My belly dropped.
Traig’s hand tightened around mine.
“The inquiry filed by the House of Valtresh has been reviewed,” the scribe said, his voice completely neutral. “The Council finds that the evidence presented—while thorough—does not override the family’s right to arrange suitable bonding for their lineage.”
The words landed like stones.
“Traig Valtresh, you are expected to return to the kingdom within one week to begin the bonding process with the mate your family has selected.”
Fred’s grumble went silent.
Amanda’s crown flared red.
I couldn’t breathe.
Traig’s face had gone completely blank, the expression he wore when he was sorting through something too big to process.
“One week,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Refusal would result in severance from your family line. Loss of name. Permanent exile from the kingdom.” He looked up. “The Council does not recommend this path.”
“I’m sure they don’t.”
I’d swear the scribe’s face softened. “You may file an appeal, but the timeline remains. Seven days from today, you are expected to present yourself at the Central Registry for formal introduction to—”
My mark caught the morning light filtering through the window. The mountain and wave that meant Traig had chosen me and I’d chosen him.
The scribe stared at my wrist for a long moment. Then his expression shuttered.
“A kavresh bond,” he said slowly. “When did this appear?”
“Not long after you left,” Traig said. “I notified the council. I sent word.”
“We…did not receive a message.” The scribe lifted his ledger, flipping through pages at a quick pace. “And you’re certain you sent it?”
“I am.”
“And the mating mark appeared after I left?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” He made a note with his pen, the scratch too loud in the room. “The Council was quite specific in their instructions. They anticipated you might attempt to establish a bond after my initial assessment.”
My heart stopped.
“Attempt?” Traig’s voice had gone dangerously quiet.
“The House of Valtresh suggested I question the authenticity of any marks that appeared after the formal observation concluded.” The scribe looked up, his face sympathetic in a way that made me want to throw something.
“They suggested, and the Council agreed, that such marks could be…induced. Through ritual or application of…” His head tilted. “Too-toos?”
“Tattoos,” I croaked.
“Yes, that. Application rather than genuine fate.”
“That’s not how kavresh bonds work,” I said, my voice shaking. “They appear when two people—”
“Choose each other, yes. I’m aware of the lore.” He closed his ledger. “But the Council deals in verification, not faith. A mark that appears after judgment has been rendered is, unfortunately, suspect.”
Fred’s grumble cut off. Even Amanda went still, her crown dimming to brown.
“So you’re saying it doesn’t matter.” Traig’s shoulders drooped. “The marks don’t matter.”
“I’m saying the Council has made their determination. And while a kavresh bond is indeed sacred under traditional law, the timing of this particular bond raises questions that would require extensive review. Which would take considerably longer than the seven days you have remaining.”
The floor tilted under my feet.
We’d lost.
The mark had appeared when we’d stopped pretending, when we’d chosen each other completely. His parents had already won.
“I need to contact the Council,” the scribe said. “Inform them of this development. They’ll want to convene and discuss how to proceed.” He gestured to the door. “I’ll step outside to make the call. This may take some time.”
He walked out, leaving us standing in our living room with matching marks on our wrists that meant nothing.
Traig’s hand slipped from mine.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I thought it would be simple.”
“Don’t apologize.” His voice cracked. “You did nothing wrong. The marks should be enough. Would be enough if my parents weren’t—” He stopped, his jaw working. “They planned for this. They knew I might find someone. That I might bond. So they made sure the Council would question it.”
I looked down at my wrist, proof of something true that no one would believe.
“What do we do?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
Fred floated closer, bumping gently against Traig’s shoulder. Amanda’s crown flickered orange.
The scribe paced beside his truck outside, his phone pressed to his ear. Talking to people who’d already decided Traig wasn’t allowed to choose his own life.
“They can’t make you go back,” I said.
“They can. If I refuse, I lose everything. My name. Any connection to the kingdom. I’d be exiled.”
“Then we’ll—”
“Willa.” He turned to face me. “I’ve spent my life trying to prove I was good enough. Useful enough. Worth keeping around. And none of it mattered because the only people whose approval I needed decided I wasn’t worth the effort of reaching out to me unless they wanted something.”
His voice broke.
“I thought the mark would make a difference,” he said. “I thought choosing you would finally be the one thing they couldn’t take away.”
“It is,” I said fiercely. “For me. For us. Fuck what they think. I mean it.”
I grabbed both his hands, holding tight.
“I don’t care what the Council says or what your parents planned for,” I said.
“The marks appeared because we chose each other. Because I’m yours and you’re mine.
That’s real, Traig. That’s the only thing that matters.
If they don’t recognize it, we’ll fight.
” The words came out steadier than I felt.
“We’ll appeal. We’ll document everything.
I think we should make so much noise they can’t ignore us.
And if they still try to take you back?” I lifted our joined hands, pressing my marked wrist against his.
“Then we’ll figure out what comes next together. ”
“I could lose my name,” he said quietly. “My connection to the kingdom.”
“You’ll still have me.” My throat burned. “And your brothers. The rescue league. Our cottage and Fred bumping into things and Amanda eager to defend us. You’ll have a life you chose instead of one they assign to you.”
“Exile,” he said. “That’s what you’re talking about. Permanent exile.”
“I’m talking about choosing yourself.” I squeezed his hands. “Choosing us even if it costs you everything they think you should want.” I stiffened my spine. “But this decision is yours to make. Not mine.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
“No, it’s our decision to make,” he said. “We’re mated. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to mate someone my parents pick. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life proving I’m worth keeping when I know I already am. You love me as I am, and that’s enough for me.”
“Then we’ll tell the scribe that the Council can file their determination wherever they want.
You’re staying here with your kavresh mate.
And if they don’t like it?” My voice hardened.
“They can come try to drag you back. I’m not letting you go, Traig.
None of us are. I don’t care what laws they cite or how many generations of precedent they throw at us.
You’re mine. That mark says so. And I’m keeping you. ”
A half-laugh, half-sob escaped him.
“Alright,” he said. “We fight. We tell them the bond is real, that their arranged mating is void. If they want to contest a kavresh bond, they’re welcome to try.”
“Even if it means exile?”
“Even then.” His eyes held mine. “I’d rather be exiled with you than accepted without you.”
The door opened, and the scribe stepped back inside, his phone tucked away, his expression telling me nothing.
“The Council has reviewed the situation,” he said.
Traig stepped forward, taking me with him.
“We don’t need to hear what the Council thinks,” Traig said. “We’ve decided, and our decision is final. I’ll be corresponding with the Council directly. I’ll inform them that their arranged bonding is void. That any attempt to enforce it violates the oldest protections in our law.”
He lifted his chin. “If my parents wish to contest this, they are welcome to file their appeal with the understanding that contesting a kavresh bond is considered an act against sacred law and carries its own consequences.”
Sputters erupted from the scribe.
“Willa Enford is not a convenience,” Traig said. “She’s the person whose happiness I have made my responsibility.” His gaze pinned the scribe in place. “The Council can file that.”
“I will relay this information to the Council,” the scribe said, his voice wavering.
“Good.”
The older male’s gaze moved between us one more time, landing on our joined hands and the matching marks visible on both our wrists.
“The Council will expect documentation,” he said.
“They’ll receive it.”
The scribe nodded and walked to the door.
Traig strode forward and opened it for him.
“Safe travels, Scribe Kelthren,” I said.
He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Congratulations on your bonding.” He left, his footsteps heavy on the gravel path. The vehicle door opened and closed, and the engine started.
We stood in the doorway and watched him drive away.
When the sound of the engine had faded, Traig turned to me.
“Love you, Willa,” he whispered.
My vision blurred.
I rose on my toes and kissed him.
His arms came around me, pulling me against his chest.
When I finally pulled back, Traig’s eyes glistened with tears.
“They gave you one week, and we told them where to file their paperwork,” I said with a grin.
The corner of his mouth curved. “We did.”
“Your parents are going to be furious.”
“No doubt.”
“The Council might appeal.”
“They might.”
“We’ll fight them.”
“Yes.” He kissed my forehead. “We will.”
Fred flew over, bumping into Traig’s shoulder. Amanda’s crown took on a bright pink, and she pointed her letter opener at the road the scribe had driven down.
“She’s very fierce,” I said.
“She learned from you.”
I laughed, the sound coming out shaky and relieved and slightly unhinged.
Traig pulled me back against his chest.
We stood in the doorway with the morning light streaming in.
We’d chosen each other.
That was all that mattered.