Page 23

They all move out of the way without saying a word, and I appreciate the effort, even if their pretending is as subtle as a blade to the throat. It’s the closest they know how to come to respect—for me, for her, for whatever this is becoming between us.

The tavern hums around us, all noise and flickering lamplight, but the only thing I register is the slight shift of Luna’s body as she straightens, as if bracing herself. As if she knows something is about to happen and isn’t sure whether to run from it or lean into it.

I don’t speak immediately.

I let her breathe.

And when I finally do, my voice is low but not mysterious. Not deliberately theatrical. Just quiet enough to keep this between us.

"I see you’ve been made aware," I murmur, glancing at her sidelong, "that I am willing to bond with you."

Her spine goes rigid, but she doesn’t look away. She swallows once, then exhales like she’s trying to steady herself.

"It wasn’t hard to figure out," she replies, voice softer than she probably intends. "The flowers, the speeches, the phases Caspian explained to me like I was signing a blood pact."

A faint smile touches my mouth, not unkind. "It’s not quite that severe. Yet. Though I won’t deny it’s formal."

She bites her lower lip, eyes darting down toward the table between us before flicking back up to meet my gaze. "You’re really doing this."

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway.

"Yes."

Simple. Not layered. Not performative. Just the truth.

Her gaze searches mine, as if she’s trying to find the catch, the trap, the reason a man like me—who has always lingered quietly on the edges of her chaos, who never once made a move—would decide now to lay it at her feet.

"You’ve never said anything," she murmurs. "For months. You’ve just… been there."

I nod once, measured. "Because you needed me to be there."

My thumb traces the rim of the mug in front of me, a deliberate gesture, giving her space to breathe, to process. "You didn’t need me pursuing you when everything else in your life was on fire. You needed someone solid. Unmoving. So I stayed there, exactly where you needed me."

Her lips part, but I continue before she can interrupt.

"But things have changed," I say, voice quiet but certain. "You are not who you were months ago. You are stronger. Sharper. You know your own wants now. And I am done pretending that I do not want you."

Her breath slips out, unsteady but soft, and when she looks at me now, there’s no fear. Just confusion, yes, and something warmer under the surface that she doesn’t know how to name.

"I don’t know how to do this with you," she admits, voice quiet enough that no one else can hear.

My smile sharpens, but it isn’t cruel. "You don’t need to know how. I’m not asking you for anything tonight. I’m telling you that I’m here. That I’ve always been here."

Her gaze drops again, lashes sweeping down, and I see the flush creeping back into her cheeks, blooming high beneath her skin like a secret she doesn’t want to give away.

"Is this where you tell me the next phase?" she asks, voice lighter, almost teasing, but there’s a crack in it, a tremor she’s trying to hide.

I shake my head slowly, deliberately. "No. This is where I ask if you’d like to dance."

That makes her blink, startled enough to glance toward the others—who are deliberately, obnoxiously pretending they’re not listening, every single one of them failing.

Her gaze snaps back to me.

"Now?"

My mouth tips into something quieter. Almost soft.

"Now," I echo. "Or tomorrow. Or next week. Whenever you’re ready to stop pretending you’re not interested."