Eva woke to heat and stillness.
The fire had dwindled to embers, but the warmth against her back remained steady. She blinked, vision hazy, and found herself tucked beneath a heavy cloak, her body pressed to the iron solidity of Lucarion's chest. His arm curved around her ribs; his breath fanned her hair.
Her throat rasped when she tried to speak. He stirred at once, fingers smoothing her hair, lingering at her temple.
"You're awake," he murmured.
"I—" Her body ached; her limbs felt leaden. Beneath the cloak her skin was tacky with dried sweat. "The attack. The water. I had a fever…" Her voice faltered.
He watched her with the kind of unreadable calm that kept people off balance. "You don't remember."
She shook her head.
For a moment he only watched, thumb grazing the hollow of her cheekbone as if committing it to memory. Then his mouth curved — not kindness, but something darker.
"You don't even know what you've done, do you?"
A tremor went through her. She tried to draw away, but his arm tightened, drawing her closer. His gaze dropped to her mouth.
"Stop—"
His lips descended, slow and certain.
She jerked back, shoving against his chest. The cloak slipped from her shoulders. Panic clawed up her ribs as she scrambled upright.
But he was faster. His hands clamped her hips, hauling her into the wall. Stone bit into her spine as his body sealed her in, every line of him pressed against her. His breath came harsher now, eyes fever-bright.
"What are you doing?" Her voice cracked.
"What I should have done hours ago." His grip tightened; a white flash of teeth showed as he leaned close. "Do you want to know what happened? Shall I tell you?"
"What?" she spat, thrashing.
He bent nearer, his voice a low rasp. "I fought a god for the right to keep you. And I won."
Her breath stuttered. "You're lying."
"Am I?" He pulled back enough for her to see. "Look."
Eva looked down at her mottled arms, her shoulders sore—but there were no cuts, no torn flesh. She had been wielded like a weapon, and still her body bore no lasting wound.
Then she looked at him. His tunic hung in bloody tatters, slashed open in long gashes, though the skin beneath was already whole.
Every drop of blood on her was his.
Lucarion leaned in again, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear, voice molten steel. "You wear my blood on your skin. Your god tested me—and I endured."
His grip at her hips bit deeper, possessive and unyielding.
"Do you understand what that makes you, Eva?" he gritted out.
Her lips parted. No sound came.
Finally, a whisper: "It can't be."
He smiled then — sharp, cruel, triumphant.
"Mine."
Eva froze, her chest tightening at his claim.
Her gaze locked on his amethyst eyes, the golden rings flashing at the edges. Her stomach dropped. She knew what that meant. She knew what he was capable of. For a heartbeat, she almost believed him—almost—but her voice trembled as she spat out the words, sharp and disbelieving. "You're enthralling me again. You're making me see thi—"
Her protest faltered as Lucarion's lips captured hers, deep and commanding. Every instinct in her screamed to resist, to pull away, to deny him—but his hands, firm and precise, pinned her against the wall.
She seized his wrists, fingers digging in, straining to break his hold. He didn't so much as flinch. The wall of his body was immovable, every attempt at resistance swallowed in the iron of his grip.
The kiss pressed on, insistent, deliberate, impossible to ignore. Her mind flared with rebellion, fire and fear tangled together, yet beneath it all a small, reluctant truth whispered: there was no lie here. Only the raw, undeniable claim he made on her, while she couldn't access the power that would forbid it.
Only then her body reacted—heart hammering, pulse quickening, breath ragged against his chest. Her grip shifted, sliding up the hard line of his arms to his shoulders, clinging instead of pushing. She arched into him, lips parting, desire flaring like wildfire. Every instinct to resist melted into the heat of their proximity.
Lucarion deepened the kiss, his hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. She felt herself giving ground, inch by inch, until there was nothing left but surrender to the storm of him. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, then the torn fabric at his chest, pulling him closer still.
And then—suddenly—he wrenched free. His hands closed around her wrists, yanking them from him as though her strength meant nothing at all. She staggered with the abrupt loss of contact, trembling, breathless, caught between fury and the ache of absence.
His gaze bored into hers, cold and deliberate. The tension in his body didn't lessen—yet every ounce of heat was withdrawn. "If I were enthralling you to believe any of this," he said, voice low, measured, almost cruel in its restraint, "I'd be a dead man walking."
Her chest heaved, the sudden absence of his warmth leaving her floundering. Her mind scrambled between the fire that had just consumed her and the icy reality of his words. Confusion, relief, and frustration tangled into a sharp pulse in her veins.
Without a word, Lucarion turned, strode to the corner of the cave, and grabbed his cloak. With a fluid motion, he threw it toward her. "A carriage waits. We return to the castle."
—
The ride back to the castle was wordless.
Eva sat pressed to the carriage wall, the heavy cloak gathered around her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Morning stretched wide and bright, the sky washed in pale gold and thinning clouds. She opened the window, letting the cool air of the new day wash over her face.
Her chest rose and fell with every breath, steadying against the hush of wheels over dirt. She had no words for him—none she could bear to say aloud. Instead, her thoughts tangled inward.
What now?
Her god had tested them both. Had spared them both. That meant something. It had to. This land was her future, whether she willed it or not. And Lucarion—her heart thudded uneasily—Lucarion was tied to that future as surely as her own breath.
She turned her face away from him, staring out into the waking fields. She did not look at him, and he did not look at her.
By the time the carriage rolled through the castle gates, silence had hardened into a wall between them. When it halted, Lucarion stepped out first, then turned and extended his hand. Eva hesitated, the weight of his gaze pressing on her, but in the end she placed her fingers in his. He steadied her down with unyielding strength, then released her as if nothing had passed between them. And then they were walking separate corridors as though the cave had never happened.
When she reached her chambers, the door was already ajar. A healer stood waiting.
Eva stiffened. "I didn't summon a healer."
The man bowed his head. "News of the attack reached the palace. I was ordered to wait for your return."
Her grip tightened on the cloak. "Unnecessary. I have no lasting wounds."
The healer hesitated, eyes flicking to the dark marks blooming along her arms, the faint mottling at her neck. "Forgive me, my lady, but I am required to report your condition. At least allow me a look at the bruises."
Her jaw tightened, annoyance prickling sharper than the ache in her body. But she finally stepped aside, gesturing curtly. "Very well. Be quick about it."
After the healer left, Eva moved through the chambers, the warmth of the bath already drawn. A maid assisted her, helping her step in, adjusting the water, and ensuring the towels and fresh garments were ready. Steam curled around the high ceiling, carrying the faint scent of herbs and waxed wood.
As she sank into the warm water, her skin prickling from cold and exhaustion, the maid's eyes flicked briefly to her arms and neck. The mottled bruises were obvious.
Eva let the barest pause linger, then spoke softly but firmly. "I lost control over Lucy when we crossed a river. The current was strong; I hit rocks."
She watched the maid's reaction with a careful gaze, noting the flicker of concern and the precise neutrality of her expression. After a pause, the girl spoke quietly, head bowed. "This lotion will help with the bruising, my lady."
Eva stretched her arms over the rim of the tub for the maid to apply the lotion, her eyes lingering on the girl. "Thank you, Lira. You're always so careful. Discreet." The name left her lips deliberately, a tether cast in recognition. Docile. Unassuming. Yet watchful.
When the maid withdrew, Eva let herself sink deeper into the steaming water, eyes fixed on the rippling surface. Her body ached, but her thoughts had shifted. Adaptation—not resistance—was the right move. Eyes in the castle would soon be watching her more closely than ever.
She drew a steady breath, the taste of herbs and heat filling her lungs. If she could not choose her chains, she would decide how to bear them.
Loyalty was a currency. Every glance, every word would be weighed, and spent at the right time.
Eva opened her eyes again, calm settling over her. Whatever storm had been unleashed by the previous night's events, she would not be swept away. She would navigate it. She would command it.