The frost didn't melt in Frostmoor Pass—but tonight, something else did.
Ren Zian's blood ran hot despite the freezing winds outside the ancient temple. After the vision of the Maw of Harael and the kiss from Arin, tension wrapped his every step. The silence between his companions was thick enough to slice.
Arin stood guard outside the shrine, her breath steaming in the dark. Lyra had refused to sleep, instead sitting near the flames, fingers nervously braiding and unbraiding a lock of hair.
Ren sat between them both.
And felt like a blade caught between scabbards.
"I saw the way she looked at you," Lyra murmured without turning.
Ren didn't pretend not to understand.
"She kissed you. Didn't she?"
He said nothing.
"That's not an answer."
"She did," he admitted. "But that's not what matters right now."
Lyra finally turned to him. "Then what does?"
"You."
Her breath caught. She hadn't expected that.
But before another word could escape them, Arin returned from the entrance. Her eyes flicked to the two, narrowed, then she stepped between them and dropped her pack a little too loudly.
"Someone should be keeping watch," she said.
"I already did," Lyra replied tightly.
"Then you can do it again," Arin snapped, "since clearly you're too busy playing favorites to sleep."
The air crackled with tension.
Ren stood. "Enough—this isn't the time."
"Oh?" Arin crossed her arms. "Then when, Ren? Before or after she tries to take what doesn't belong to her?"
"What are you talking about?" Lyra hissed.
"You know exactly what I mean."
"You had your moment," Lyra said through clenched teeth. "Don't ruin mine."
Ren tried to speak, but they were too far gone—fire and frost colliding. His heart pounded.
"Stop," he said. "Both of you."
But Lyra didn't stop. Instead, she turned to him, eyes full of storm. "If I walk away now… will you come after me?"
He looked at her. Really looked.
"Yes."
So she walked. And he followed.
They found a side chamber in the temple ruins, where moonlight bled through the cracks in the walls and the air smelled like snow and secrets.
Lyra stood by the altar, hands gripping the stone.
"You said I matter," she said.
"You do."
"Then show me. Not like a prince or a pact-holder. Just as a man who wants me."
His steps were slow, but sure. She didn't pull away when he reached her. Instead, she leaned in—forehead to his chest, breathing shallow.
Ren's fingers brushed her cheek, then slid behind her neck. She shivered—not from cold.
"I don't just want you," he whispered. "I've been dreaming of this since the first time you defied me with that smile."
Her lips parted.
And then he kissed her.
There was no hunger at first. Only slow, aching warmth. Her arms circled him. His hands trailed down, resting at the small of her back. The kiss deepened, breath catching, lips parting further.
When his hand slipped beneath her tunic, she gasped—but didn't stop him.
They sank down together onto the furs.
A moan escaped between their mouths, muffled by skin and snow and something older than lust—something that felt like fate.
The flame in the main chamber flickered violently.
Far away, Nyelle sat bolt upright.
"The wards…" she whispered. "Someone's breaking through the veil!"
Eira rushed to her side. "Who?"
Nyelle's eyes rolled back. "The Sixth Pact has been awakened prematurely. Ren is being called by a Herald not bound by the Gods."
"What does that mean?"
"It means…" Her voice trembled. "This next pact doesn't just test the Emperor. It tempts the man."