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Each breath merges with hers, forging a private realm of desperate hunger and fierce love.

The mounting pressure crescendos, and I feel my body teeter on the brink.

She’s right there with me, eyes rolling back, voice breaking into a keening note.

With a final surge, we cross that edge together, pleasure smashing through any barrier of caution.

We hold on tight, breathless, our hearts pounding in sync.

In the aftermath, I collapse onto the narrow bed, tail draping protectively over her hip.

She trembles beneath me, a hand pressed to my scaled chest. Our shared breathing gradually slows.

My mind tries to process the enormity of what we risk each time we surrender to this, but in her arms, every worry feels distant.

We lie there, sweat cooling on our skin. Outside, thunder rumbles softly, the storm’s approach echoing the tension in my life. She nestles her head on my shoulder, voice quivering. “Thank you,” she whispers, soft but resonant. “For letting me in, even when everything conspires to keep us apart.”

My throat constricts. “I should thank you,” I rasp, “for trusting me, for not walking away despite the threats.” My tail curls more snugly around her, a silent vow. “I won’t let Velna or anyone else destroy what we have.”

She nods, eyes drifting shut, exhaustion tugging at us both. In that fragile moment of peace, we clutch each other like survivors adrift in a storm. The future remains uncertain—Velna’s blackmail, the council’s suspicion—but here, entwined, we banish the shadows with shared warmth.

Time slips by in a haze of spent passion and murmured reassurances. Eventually, I slide off the bed, gathering my scattered robe. Her gaze follows me, a hint of worry returning as the glow of intimacy fades. “Are you going to see her again?”

I secure the robe, tail flicking restlessly. “I’ll have to. She expects an answer soon. But I’ll buy time, search for leverage against her.” My eyes return to Mira’s face. “Until I succeed, keep a low profile. Don’t let her corner you alone.”

She sits up, pulling her robe around her shoulders. A trace of fear dims her eyes, but also resolve. “I can handle her if she tries.”

A faint, wry smile curves my mouth. “I know you can. But I’d rather not put you in that position.”

She nods, standing, hair mussed from our encounter, cheeks still flushed.

She picks up the fallen comb from the floor, sliding it back into her hair with practiced ease.

Watching her perform such a small act of composure after the rawness we shared touches me in ways I can’t fully express.

I want to shield her from the storm gathering outside, but I sense she’d stand by me even if the sky fell.

Steeling myself, I step to the door. My tail lingers behind me, brushing her ankle in a gentle farewell. She stands in the center of the room, lips parted as though wishing for a better goodbye, but we dare not linger. With one last, heated glance, I slip out, returning to the corridors.

My mind roils with conflicting tides: fierce satisfaction from our shared intimacy, overshadowed by the realization that if Velna learns about this, she’ll sharpen the blade of her blackmail. But I refuse to cower. I am a warlord, exile or not. I survived her betrayal once. I can do it again.

The storm outside finally breaks as I stride away from Mira’s door, thunder rattling the glass windows.

Rain cascades in thick sheets, drumming the roof.

A tumult of worry stirs in my gut, but a quiet determination rises to meet it.

We’ve fought for this fragile closeness.

I won’t let Velna or the council tear it apart.

Slipping into my private study, I notice the gloom from the storm has turned the room nearly dark, save for a lone lantern flickering on my desk.

The old scrolled maps and treatises about venom refinement lie untouched, overshadowed by the immediate crisis.

I close the door behind me, leaning against it, breath ragged.

The memory of Mira’s heartbeat pressed to mine lingers, granting a measure of resolve.

Velna may hold a dagger at my throat, but she underestimates my will to protect the one I’ve chosen—even if I never meant to choose anyone again.

I feel my scaled arms prickle with adrenaline.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there’s a way to outmaneuver her cunning.

Sighing, I push off the door and gather my thoughts.

If Velna hopes to climb the ranks of the High Nest, she’ll need allies, funds, or political leverage.

Maybe I can turn her scheme on its head, feed the council alternative scandals about Velna’s own misdeeds, or forge a pact with other families opposed to her rise.

The notion of reentering the High Nest’s labyrinth of politics nauseates me, but for Mira’s sake, I’ll do anything.

Lightning flashes beyond the windows, illuminating the shelves stacked with dusty scrolls.

My father believed in a strictly merciless approach, but that path nearly cost me everything.

Instead, I’ll wield cunning and alliances to shield this domain—and Mira.

I owe it to her, to the vow we forged in the hush of secrecy.

Leaving the lantern’s glow behind, I stand at the window, watching the storm lash the courtyard. Rain washes the stone with furious intensity, as if the jungle weeps for the tangled fates of those living within it. My tail coils around my legs, reflecting the tension in my heart.

No matter how bleak the horizon, I vow not to betray what we share.

The council, Velna, the entire pantheon of naga tradition—let them hiss and strike.

I’ll meet them with a steadfast heart and enough cunning to hold my ground.

And if the storm worsens, I won’t face it alone.

A reminder of her warmth lingers across my scaled arms, a promise that some bonds are worth defending—even if it means defying the laws that once bound me in silence.

Rain pounds the rooftop, thunder rolling.

I place a hand against the cold glass, exhaling a slow breath.

Tomorrow, I begin searching for cracks in Velna’s armor, forging the alliances needed to protect Mira.

The thought of looking that viper in the eyes again sets my venom burning.

But I find comfort in the knowledge that, for the first time, I fight not just for pride or revenge—but for a future that includes her.

My reflection in the window stares back—golden eyes, damp hair from the greenhouse humidity, tension lining my jaw.

Yet beneath the anger and worry, I sense a new steadiness.

Let the storms come. I’ll face them all, and if I must tear down the old ways to keep my mate safe, then so be it.

Nothing and no one will take what is mine.