179

179

Draven’s pov

I ordered a hit on Antonio.

Not out of politics. Not out of power.

Out of rage.

My fingers bled from gripping the armrest too tightly, the wood cracking beneath my hand. I didn’t even realize I’d torn the skin until I saw the blood dripping down onto the black marble floor.

No one threatens what’s mine and breathes long enough to laugh about it.

He should’ve known better. Antonio’s not a fool,but he’s arrogant. Entitled. He thought hiding behind old treaties and smirking across battle lines would shield him from the consequences of threatening Eira.

It didn’t.

“Tell Kalen I want his head,” I muttered coldly.

“Yes boss,” River answered immediately, already half out the door before the words finished leaving my mouth.

Alone again.

The fire burned low in the hearth, but I didn’t move. My knuckles throbbed, my pulse was still hammering in my ears, but all I could think of was her.

Eira.

She had stepped out onto that stone floor like a queen born in fire. She faced that cloaked bastard with her chin raised and her voice steady, and gods, I could barely breathe watching her.

And yet… I didn’t drag her back. I didn’t stop her.

I let her choose to stand beside me.

She wasn’t just brave,she was brilliant. Dangerous. Defiant. And she was mine.

But this world,my world,wasn't built for love.

It devoured it.

Swallowed it whole and left bones behind.

Still… I found myself standing outside her door. Again.

I didn’t knock. I never knocked. The guards knew better than to question me, and the silence inside gave no protest. I pushed the door open, slowly, letting the creak of the wood echo softly through the dimly lit chamber.

And there she was.

Curled beneath the furs, hair spilling like ink across the pillow, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of peace she rarely got in my castle. A rare sight. And even rarer was the feeling that struck me square in the gut.

Something I didn’t want to name.

I moved closer, slowly, my boots soundless against the floor. I just stood there at the edge of the bed, staring like a cursed man staring at the only light left in the world.

She shifted.

Not fully awake, but enough to mumble, “You’re staring again.”

I almost smiled.

“I ordered Antonio’s death,” I said instead.

That got her eyes open.

She blinked, adjusting to the dark, and then sat up slowly, the furs sliding from her shoulders. “When?”

“Tonight. River’s taking the orders.”

She sighed and rubbed her face. “Of course he is.”

“You disapprove?” I raised a brow.

“No,” she said, voice raspy. “I just hoped you’d at least pretend to wait a day before vengeance.”

I looked at her. Really looked at her. “He threatened you. He dared to use your name like it was currency. That’s not vengeance, Eira. That’s balance.”

She pulled her knees up, watching me with those sharp eyes that saw too much. “And when will the blood stop, Draven? When the whole world forgets my name? Or when you’ve killed everyone who’s ever said it aloud?”

I sat at the edge of the bed, facing the fire.

“The blood doesn’t stop,” I said finally. “It just changes hands.”

Eira was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “You came to watch me sleep?”

I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair. “That obvious?”

“You’re not exactly subtle,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Why?”

I stared at the flames. “Because after I give that order, I usually feel something. Satisfaction. Justice. The familiar numbness. But this time, all I felt was the urge to come here. To see if you were still breathing.”

She was beside me in seconds, sliding her hand into mine. “I’m not leaving.”

I looked at her, letting the weight of that promise settle in my chest. “You should. Before this world eats you too.”

“I’m not afraid of your world, Draven,” she whispered. “I’m afraid of losing myself in it. There’s a difference.”

“I’ve already lost myself,” I said. “But you... you make me want to claw my way back.”

She leaned her head against my shoulder, her voice quieter now. “Then don’t go numb. Not with me. Not again.”

“I don’t know how to be soft,” I admitted.

“Good,” she said. “Because I don’t want soft. I want true. I want you,mad, broken, bleeding fingers and all.”

That made me laugh. Just a breath. But it was real.

Her hand brushed over mine, thumb grazing the blood that had dried along my knuckles. “You always bleed for me,” she whispered.

“I’d burn for you,” I answered.

She met my gaze. “Then let’s burn together. But let’s make sure it’s worth something this time.”

Outside, the wind howled again.

Inside, we sat in silence, two creatures carved by war and laced together by something older than rage and deeper than revenge.

“Will you stay tonight?” she asked, not pleading. Just asking.

I looked at her, then at the bed, then at the fire that refused to die.

“I already did,” I said.

And for the first time in years, I let the rage simmer… and chose her instead.