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She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “We’ll need more than bravery.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, curious.

Delilah turned and reached into her satchel, retrieving a round wooden bowl, no wider than her palm. It wasn’t much to look at at first glance—just carved walnut, stained with herbs and age—but it pulsed faintly with magic. Ancient. Waiting.

“I started it before you found me,” she said, brushing her thumb across its rim. “Something the spirits showed me. It’s not just a bowl—it’s a vessel. For focus. For bonding.”

Rollo took it carefully in his hands. “You made this?”

She nodded. “Part of the old rites. But unfinished.”

Her voice dipped lower. “It’s meant to hold the intention of two bonded forces. To unify them into one magic.”

Rollo stared at it for a long beat. Then he sank to the moss beside her and pulled out the bone-handled blade he always kept tucked in his belt.

He offered it to her.

“Let’s finish it,” he said.

She took the blade and carefully etched the first rune—an anchor, for steadiness—into the bowl’s edge. Then passed it back.

He added the next—a bear claw, symbol of protection.

Back and forth they went. Fire. Earth. Moonlight. Vine. Until a ring of runes circled the bowl’s rim like a crown.

Last, they carved their initials at the base. A mark not of ownership—but ofpromise.

When they were done, Delilah pressed both hands to the bowl. It flared warm beneath her palms, accepting the joint magic like breath into lungs.

Rollo placed his hand over hers.

The pulse between them wasn’t just love—it was purpose.

Power.

The kind only possible when two hearts beat as one.

And together, they stood.

Their path clear. Their bond unbreakable.

But just as she looked up, a ripple split the clearing. The temperature dropped—just enoughto be felt. A low vibration rolled through the soil beneath their feet, the magic coiling taut in her chest.

Then the scent hit her.

Cinders. Charred bark. Something sour underneath. Her spine went rigid.

“Rollo,” she whispered.

He stiffened. Turned.

From the shadows, a figure emerged. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Eyes gleaming with corruption and delight.

“Well, well,” Garrick drawled, stepping into the moonlight. His grin was slow and serpentine. “I thought I smelt my future queen.”

Delilah’s stomach flipped.

Rollo stepped forward, low and growling, arm instinctively shielding her.