Night fell quietly over Valcor.
Too quietly.
Lord Rylan Veythar stood at the tall window of his chamber, hands braced against the stone sill, staring out at the moonlit city below. The palace was asleep—or pretending to be—but his mind was anything but still.
Adrian's voice echoed relentlessly in his head.
I don't belong to anyone.
If I ever choose someone, it will be because they stand beside me.
Rylan shut his eyes.
He had faced wars, political ambushes, council chambers full of scheming nobles—and none of it had unsettled him like those words.
Because Adrian hadn't spoken them in fear.
He had spoken them in defiance.
And gods help him—Rylan admired it.
He turned away from the window and paced the room, tension coiled tight beneath his skin. His Alpha instincts roared, furious and restless, demanding proximity, demanding contact.
Just one kiss, the voice whispered.
Just to feel his warmth again.
Rylan clenched his fists.
"No," he muttered.
That was exactly what Adrian had stood against.
The memory burned sharply in his chest: Adrian standing tall in his father's hall, eyes clear, spine straight, refusing to be cowed by title or power.
Not weak.
Not pliant.
Unowned.
Rylan dragged a hand through his hair.
That strength—that fire—was what tempted him most.
He hadn't gone to the Severale estate that evening to provoke. He had gone to apologize. To listen. And he had left with something far more dangerous than rejection.
Respect.
And want.
Rylan stopped pacing and exhaled slowly, forcing control back into his body the way his father had trained him since childhood.
An Alpha who lost control was an Alpha who lost everything.
Still… the temptation lingered.
He imagined Adrian's warmth,imagined Adrian Iips on his own,that alone made him hotter—how it had felt when they stood only a few steps apart. The subtle heat of his presence. The way his scent sharpened when he was angry, not submissive but alive.
Rylan's jaw tightened.
"If I went to him now…" he murmured.
He didn't finish the thought.
Because he knew the truth.
If he went to Adrian's room in the night—if he allowed himself even a single kiss—it would undo everything Adrian had fought to claim for himself.
And Rylan refused to be the Alpha who proved Adrian right.
With a sharp breath, Rylan crossed the room and extinguished the lamps one by one, plunging the chamber into darkness.
He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, every muscle tense.
"I will not take what isn't given," he whispered into the quiet.
Sleep came slowly—heavy, restless, filled with dreams of silver eyes and firelit defiance.
---
Across the city, at the Severale estate, Adrian stood at his own window, moonlight brushing his face.
He didn't know why he couldn't sleep.
Only that his chest felt tight. Not afraid. Not weak.
Aware.
He touched his collarbone absently, recalling the heat of Rylan's presence,missing the kisses he had gotten from Rylan—how close he'd been, how easily things could have tipped another way.
But they hadn't.
Adrian straightened his shoulders.
I held my ground, he reminded himself.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the confusion and unwanted longing, something solid took root.
Pride.
He hadn't bowed.
He hadn't broken.
And whatever came next—politics, pressure, the Duke himself—
He would face it standing.